The Devil's Snare

by Tony Healey

  Myra asked, “Is your father in a relationship with these women?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Look, can you let me go now? I told you everything I know.”

  “Not just yet.”

  Bobby whimpered beneath the potato sack, hanging his head. “I just want to go home . . . ,” he whined, sounding like a scared child.

  Ethan circled the fire, arms crossed. He was now finding it real hard to feel angry at the kid. Bobby Denton was as much a victim of his father as anyone else, only he probably didn’t realize it. “Has your father ever told you about his past?”

  “No, he doesn’t talk about the past. Not really. He says he focuses on tomorrow, not what happened yesterday.”

  Myra snorted. “That’s the defense of someone who has committed unthinkable acts, for sure.”

  “My pop is a good man!” Bobby sobbed.

  “That’s not true and I think you know it, kid,” Ethan said. “Has your old man ever told you that he wasn’t always Jack Denton?”

  “What? That’s crazy. That’s his name. Jack Denton.”

  “Your father’s real name is Bertrand Woodward. He’s a former outlaw, a killer and a crook. The worst kind of human you could imagine. The kind who kills women and children and doesn’t think twice about it. That’s your father, Bobby.”

  “You’re wrong,” Bobby said, shaking his head vigorously. “You’ve got the wrong man.”

  “I watched him murder my entire family, so I know what I’m talking about. Your father is not a good man. He’s not an honorable man.”

  Bobby was silent.

  Ethan looked at Myra. She stepped forward, working her face covering free. “You don’t have anything to say to that?”

  Again, Bobby was silent.

  “What do you know about the murders of the Hart family?” Myra demanded.

  “Nothing.”

  Before Ethan could talk her down, Myra had pulled Bobby’s sack off and tossed it to one side. Her face covering was nowhere to be seen now, either. She crouched down in front of Bobby and the two of them locked eyes. “What do you know?”

  Bobby studied her face, his eyes flitting back and forth. Then he looked away in shame.

  To Ethan’s shock, Myra smacked Bobby across the face, leaving a bright pink handprint.

  Bobby looked at her, hurt and low.

  “What do you know?” Myra shook him angrily. “Damn you, kid!”

  “Myra . . . ,” Ethan warned in a low voice.

  Bobby was crying now. “You’re the sister who came and buried the Harts, aren’t you?”

  Myra let go of him. She got up, stood tall. “My brother. His wife. Their two children. Children, Bobby. All killed in cold blood. What do you know about their murders?”

  “Don’t make me choose,” Bobby pleaded.

  “Choose?” Myra said, outraged. “Did you know they executed my brother at point-blank range? My sister-in-law tried to shield her son and daughter with her body. They shot her down in front of her children’s eyes, and then they killed the children. I can only imagine how scared they were. How terrified. When I close my eyes, I can hear their screams, Bobby. I can hear them scream, and then I hear the gunshots as they’re silenced.”

  “And if you don’t think that is callous enough, I haven’t told you how your father and his men dragged my mother and father outside on a winter’s night and murdered them both. Your pop then took me and my brother out to the barn. He had us stand on the backs of our horses with ropes around our necks and choose which of us would die,” Ethan said bitterly. “That’s your father, Bobby. That’s his true nature.”

  Bobby Denton was beside himself now. “Please . . . no more . . .”

  Myra produced her pistol again. “Remember this?” She held the weapon up so that he could see it. “There’s no limit to how far I’ll go.”

  “Please don’t, please don’t,” Bobby pleaded.

  Myra cocked her pistol and shoved it into his face.

  Ethan started forward, hands out. “No, Myra!”

  Bobby cried out, terrified. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you, damn it!”

  Myra took a step back, but kept the pistol trained on Bobby. “Speak quickly.”

  “Pop wanted ’em gone. But he didn’t kill your family himself. He got someone else to do it for him.”

  “Who?”

  Bobby sagged, head down, whimpering. A broken man if ever there was one. “Please, if I tell you, he’ll kill me himself. Don’t matter if I’m his son or not. He don’t think that way.”

  “Bobby, if you don’t tell us, Myra here is gonna kill you, and there ain’t a thing I can do to stop her,” Ethan said in a calm, even voice. “Now spill what you know.”

  “He got the sisters to do it. I think Mikhail helped, too. I heard them all talking about it. I don’t think they know I know. . . .”

  Myra faltered. She backed off, her hand to her mouth. Ethan stepped in, steering Myra away into the shadows to deal with the upswelling of grief she was experiencing. He knew it all too well himself. It came in waves, even years later. For Myra it was fresh and raw. In some way they’d treated Bobby so harshly because they were both taking it out on him, and Ethan began to feel a pang of guilt at making Bobby the recipient of their pain. “Bobby, where are these sisters now?”

  “I saw ’em ride past me into town.”

  “Do they go to town much?”

  Bobby shook his head. “My father don’t let ’em go to town, in case anyone recognizes them. They’re wanted pretty much everywhere.”

  “What for?”

  Bobby looked up, his eyes red and wet. “Robbery and murder. All kinds of bad crimes. I don’t know the half of it.”

  Myra holstered her gun. She drew near to the firelight again. “We must’ve just missed them.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Ethan said.

  The fire crackled. Bobby wiped his wet face, sniffing up.

  “You never thought to go to the sheriff?” Myra said, her anger done with.

  Ethan suspected she too was now feeling guilty at breaking the boy.

  Bobby shook his head in disgrace. “No . . .”

  “A man who turns his back on his family ain’t no good,” Ethan told Myra, “even if that family is rotten to the core like his. Gotta toe the line, I guess.”

  “Could you do that?”

  Ethan looked at the fire, then at the human wreckage of Bobby Denton. “Who can say, if things were different?”

  “I don’t believe you,” Myra said.

  “Come this way a minute.” Ethan led her into the trees so they could speak without Bobby Denton overhearing their conversation. “I knew Denton had no intention of facing me in town. He’s no gunslinger. I knew he’d send someone else. I just assumed it would be the Russian.”

  “But he’s sent those three women?”

  Ethan nodded.

  “They killed my family, Ethan.”

  “I know they did. That’s why I’m going to ride into town now and kill them in turn.”

  Myra said, “I’m coming with you.”

  Ethan took her by the shoulders. “No, I can’t allow you to do that.”

  “You’re not my keeper,” Myra retorted. “If I say I’m coming, then I’m coming.”

  “I can’t let you walk into a gunfight.”

  “You’re not letting me do anything. I’m doing it. There’s a big difference. Those three women killed my family, and now I’m going to help you kill them.”

  “An eye for an eye ain’t as easy as it sounds,” Ethan said. “We might not walk away from this.”

  “It will be what it’ll be,” Myra said.

  Ethan searched her expression for anything resembling doubt, but found only resolve and purpose. He’d seen that look so many times, and he knew that no matter w
hat he said to her now, Myra was set on seeing it through. He’d carried that same resolve inside for years and it had sustained him through the many hardships he’d faced. “Okay, then,” he said.

  They returned to Bobby and he looked up at them helplessly. “What’s going to happen to me now? Are you going to kill me?”

  Myra said, “No, of course not.”

  “What’re you planning on doing to me?”

  Ethan picked up the potato sack. “For now we plan on leaving you here. Give you plenty of time to think everything over. With your hands bound and the sack over your head, you won’t get very far before you run into something and do yourself some damage. Best thing you can do is just sit still and think on things a while. I’ve a feeling that after tonight you’re gonna be a changed man, Bobby Denton.”

  * * *

  * * *

  They found their way back to Ruby and led her down to the road. Ethan warned Myra he would be riding fast. “I’ll be pushing her harder than I’d like, if I’m honest.”

  “Well, the sooner we get there, the better,” Myra said. “I wanna see this done.”

  “When we’re done with these three witches, Denton gets what’s coming to him,” Ethan said. “I’ve waited a long, long time for it to happen.”

  “I know you have.”

  “One way or another, a lot of lives will be spent tonight, ours or theirs,” Ethan said. “Blood for blood, the only way it can be. Ready?”

  Myra wrapped her arms around him and it was the only answer he needed. Ethan charged Ruby forward, and soon they were flying through the night, heading for town, their combined destiny awaiting them—for better or for worse.

  PART THREE

  BLOOD FOR BLOOD

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The town of Amity Creek sat pensive under a full moon as Ethan Harper and Myra Hart reached its periphery, as if the whole place knew what was coming. They rode up to the town’s general store, closed for the night, a light gust of wind blowing scattered paper along the main street.

  “What do you think?” Myra asked.

  “I think it looks like the town is holding its breath,” Ethan said. He removed a cigarillo from his shirt pocket and lit it. He smoked for a moment, eyes never leaving the bisected layout of the town before them: the main street its spine, with everything else taking a position on either side.

  “No way those three devils rode in without somebody noticin’ them.”

  “Shall we press on?”

  “Not on horseback,” Ethan said, already climbing down.

  Myra remained in the saddle. “Aren’t we easier to pick off on foot?”

  He shook his head. “Not necessarily. We’re more nimble on foot, less conspicuous. Trust me, it’s easier to take cover by yourself than to take cover on the back of a frightened horse.”

  “Good point,” Myra said, following his lead.

  They hitched Ruby to a post at the back of Dr. Murphy’s office. There were plants in pots back there, and even though in the darkness Myra could not make them out, she could smell rosemary, setting off the memory of shooting hare with her brother, Glendon.

  “She’ll be safer out here,” Myra said.

  “I would never intentionally put a horse in danger,” Ethan said, running his hand along Ruby’s flank. “I’d sooner take a bullet myself. She’s been good to me. Haven’t you, Rubes?”

  Ruby stamped her hooves as if in answer.

  Myra checked her pistol and ammo, while Ethan drew his silver pistols and twirled them on his fingers, showing off. He slipped them back into their holsters as easily as they’d been pulled free, and flashed her a confident smile.

  “You didn’t have to do that for my benefit,” Myra said, unable to help herself from smiling back.

  “I know, but I did it anyway,” Ethan said.

  They strode back to the main street, and with each step Myra felt as though she were walking in her own funeral procession. “I’m nervous,” she said in a hushed voice.

  “I know you are.”

  She swallowed. “What should I do?”

  “Watch the shadows. Watch the upper windows for movement. If we get shot at, watch for the flashes to see where the shots are coming from.”

  “Got it.”

  “You’ll do fine,” he told her, breaking into a smile. “Just don’t get shot.”

  Myra glared at him.

  “Sorry. Humor isn’t my strong suit,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Could’ve fooled me. . . .”

  * * *

  * * *

  Nothing moved, but muffled sounds came from the saloon. Old Lew on the piano playing with gusto. A few drunken voices raised, singing along to whatever rolled off the keys. A lone black bat crossed the dark sky overhead, letting out a screech that made the back of Myra’s neck prickle with tension as it passed above them.

  Ethan drew his pistols. Myra did the same, holding her gun at the ready. Her eyes darted from corner to dark corner, watching for movement, for phantoms poised to strike from the shadows.

  They progressed up the main street.

  “Where are they?” Myra whispered.

  Ethan glanced at her. There was no humor in the man now. She could see he was on edge—he’d looked like that the first day they’d met, when he’d brought Myra into town in the wagon and he’d tensed as if anticipating trouble. Right now he had that same demeanor.

  “They could be anywhere. You’d think they’d be waiting in the street,” Ethan said, “though I have no idea what time it is.”

  “Me, neither.”

  Ethan grimaced. “This town is too quiet. It knows something’s coming.”

  As if on cue the saloon doors slammed open, and both of them jumped in surprise. A drunken old man with a long white beard stained yellow from years of smoking cigars staggered out across the boards of the porch, choosing to swing off one of the posts there for support, mumbling the lyrics to the song Lew was playing inside. The old man hadn’t noticed them, and they made no effort to alert him to their presence, either. Just held their ground and waited to see what happened. As they looked on, the old-timer proceeded to relieve himself against the side of the saloon, one hand braced against the timber, his other holding his Johnson.

  Ethan gestured for Myra to get to one side of the street while he took the other. She followed his lead and pressed herself up against the building next to her, shrinking into the shadows as best as she was able. Ethan looked over, gave her the nod. His eyes searched the windows on her side, and she did the same for his side, watching them for movement.

  The saloon doors opened again, and this time two women emerged. One was dressed in blue, the other in a maroon dress. Ethan caught their attention as he stepped into the light to reveal himself, guns shining in his hands.

  “Oh, look what we have here, June. If it ain’t trouble himself.”

  June moved to the right, maintaining eye contact with Ethan. “April, look at those guns.”

  “Pretty things, ain’t they?”

  Ethan nodded toward them. “Evening, ladies.”

  The old man staggered back inside the saloon, fastening his pants as he went, oblivious to the presence of anyone outside the saloon but himself. He pushed through the doors and was gone.

  June said, “Before you say, ‘I don’t want no trouble,’ let us stop you right there. We’re not here for that. We were told to meet you here, so here we are.”

  “No, you were told to meet me here and kill me,” Ethan corrected her.

  “Hear that, June?” April whirled the forefinger of her left hand around in a tight circle at the side of her head. “He’s lost the plot.”

  “I agree,” June said.

  “Am I wrong? You’re not here to kill me?” Ethan asked. “Jack Denton invited me to join him here tonight, I assumed because he wa
s going to try to shoot me down in the street. But I knew he didn’t have what it takes. I knew he’d send someone else.”

  “Betcha didn’t expect us.” June reached inside her dress and withdrew an old black revolver.

  April produced her own gun, face devoid of emotion. “Right there with you, sis.”

  June stepped down off the saloon porch front and into the street. “Appreciate that as always, April honey. Now how’s about we show this rooster how to crow, huh? We outnumber him.”

  Myra presented herself, aiming her gun directly at June. “Let me even the odds,” she said so loudly that her voice reverberated off the silent buildings.

  April turned from Ethan, aimed her gun at Myra and pulled the trigger. The shot cracked through the night. The bullet zipped past Myra’s ear, and she felt its burn but didn’t have time to take notice of it. She cut to the right, firing her pistol. Her shots struck the wooden post next to April, causing the Proctor sister to move back toward the saloon doors.

  Undeterred by the bullets exchanged around her, June lined up her shot and took it. But Ethan was already on the move, June’s shot punching a hole in the wall at his back. Raising both guns, Ethan turned and fired both at once, slinging four rounds her way in rapid succession, one of them punching through her upper arm. June retreated into the saloon, cursing loudly. April followed close behind.

  Ethan ducked behind an empty wagon that was tipped up on one end.

  “Myra!” he hissed across at her.

  “I’m okay. Just got a scratch,” she said, holding her hand to her ear and then examining the blood. “It’s not bleeding too badly.”

  Ethan stalked out from behind the upturned wagon and fired into the second story of the saloon building. The window on the right exploded inward, showering in broken glass whoever might have been up there watching. He did the same for the window on the left.

  Ethan glanced at Myra. “Whatever you do, watch the windows. Don’t follow me inside,” he said, charging into the saloon before either Myra could advise him against it or he could think it through properly.