Blood Red Star

by Shorty Gunn

  Cort stopped eating. Red and Fan didn’t look up, growing more apprehensive with each question. ‘My family lived in Tennessee. That could be what you hear. Being from the South isn’t a crime yet, is it?’

  ‘No, no it sure isn’t, especially out here in the west. We didn’t get much involved in it. This is different country with different people, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘It is different.’ Cort finished off his last bite of steak, Red and Fan wolfing down theirs so they could get up and leave without any more questions.

  ‘Here’s your venison stew, Loyal,’ Lenny came back to the table. ‘If you want seconds, I can try to fish you out a little bit more meat.’

  The sheriff didn’t answer, watching the three men get to their feet. ‘Nice talking to you. Enjoy Whiskeytown. There’s lots to see and do so long as you don’t get yourself in any kind of real trouble.’

  He watched the trio edge their way back across the room until Cort paid for dinner and they exited the Cactus Flower. Loyal Horton might not look or act like much of a real lawman like Nate Whitman, but he did have a sheriff’s instincts of curiosity and suspicion after all the years he’d worn the badge. His three tablemates had said little as possible. It made him wonder why. Were they hiding something, or just not the friendly type. All three seemed to have a quiet kind of tension just under the surface ready to explode if the wrong thing was said or question asked. He’d remember these three if they stayed around town very long. Maybe going over the wanted posters back in his office wouldn’t be a bad idea either.

  Once outside on the street, Red was first to speak. ‘That tin star liked to ask too many questions. I don’t care how old and worn out he looked.’

  ‘You think he might be trouble, Cort?’ Fan asked as they kept walking. Keller didn’t answer for several seconds. When he did it was short and to the point.

  ‘He’s just like the rest of that breed. Always smelling around for something.’

  ‘I’d kind of like to stick around here a while longer,’ Fan replied. ‘This town is wide open and we could use a little fun for once after all the time and miles it took us to get here. What do you say to it, Cort?’

  ‘I think we can if we’re careful. That’s the closest a badge has gotten to me in a long time, even if he doesn’t know who we are. I agree we could use a little rest, and so can our horses. I ran them pretty hard, but I had to. If we are going to lay low I’ve got another idea.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Red questioned.

  ‘I’d like to put all the cash we’re carrying someplace safer than our saddle-bags or camp.’

  ‘Where else is there?” Tyge wondered.

  ‘Like the bank we saw when we rode in.’

  ‘A bank? Banks get robbed . . . by men like us,’ Tyge challenged the idea.

  ‘How could we do that without drawing more suspicion to ourselves?’ Red’s tone made it clear he didn’t think much of his brother’s suggestion either.

  ‘I don’t mean to deposit all of it. About half would be better. We can hold on to the rest of it, then go into the bank one at a time on different days. If anyone does get nosey, we can say we’re looking to buy property and run some cattle. Take a look around us. Money is flowing everyplace you look. The saloons and gambling parlors are open day and night filled with men spending money. The bank has to be used to seeing plenty of hard cash from businesses too, going in and out. I don’t think anyone is going to pay much attention to us making deposits. Even if we only stay here a couple of weeks, I say the bank is the safest place to put our cash.’

  Red shook his head, a small smile creasing his whiskered face. Leave it up to his brother to come up with an idea like this. If there was one thing he could always count on, it was that Cort would have ideas no one else would. That had to be the main reason how they’d been able to stay free on the run, never getting caught. It was the same thinking back home that kept them off the Union Army gallows, when they were still just wild, young teenagers. Now they were even outrunning the United States Cavalry, for the same reasons. If Cort thought it was a good idea to put their cash in the bank, he’d go along with it. Why bet against the success they’d had over these last eight years.

  The sun was well up and the streets of Whiskeytown, at nine o’clock in the morning, were nearly deserted. Cort, Red and Fan sat in their saddles in front of the Mesalands Bank & Trust, waiting for it to open. Cort pulled up his pocket watch. ‘They should open in a few minutes, if they’re on time.’

  ‘Know what?’ Fan said shaking his head. ‘This is the first time I ever went into a bank to put money in instead of taking it out at gun point. It feels kind of funny.’

  Red laughed under his breath. ‘Yeah, it is something different for sure.’

  Shades went up on windows and the front door. An older man wearing a dark suit keyed the lock, opening the door and inviting his early customers inside. Cort was first up to one of the two teller cages. His brother and Tyge flanked him to see how to deposit their cash. A second man entered the bank as Cort began writing. The bank manager got up from his desk, coming to the second cage standing alongside the teller.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Sheldon. You’re in early. Must have had a big night, huh?’

  ‘We did indeed, Jeffery. Did you hear about that bad business up north?’

  ‘Up north? No, what about it?’

  Cort stopped writing. Anything about the country they’d run from might be worth listening to.

  ‘I had a customer last night just down from there. He says some marshal named Whitman killed a couple of men from this Keller gang, that’s been making the papers. They robbed an Army pay roll, and a bank in town too. One was posing as a rancher somewhere near Janesville. The second man was wounded, hiding out at an old mine not far from New Hope. I imagine a marshal like that means real business. We could sure use someone like that around here, instead of you know who.’

  Cort’s hand suddenly clenched the pencil, breaking it in two, crushing the deposit slip in his hand and starting for the front door. The bank manager called after him.

  ‘I can take care of you, gentlemen. No need to rush off.’

  Once outside, Red and Fan drew close fearing Keller might explode with rage. Red put both hands firmly on his brother’s shoulders, locking eyes with him. Before he could speak, Cort cut him off.

  ‘I’m riding back to New Hope, to kill Whitman!’

  Red pulled him closer. ‘You can’t do that. That’s exactly what Whitman wants. He can’t find us, so this is his way of drawing you in. Don’t take the bait. We’ll kill him in due time. But let’s do it our way when we call the time and place, not him. Wic and Coy were close friends and blood kin to me, too. Don’t think I don’t want to settle that score just as much as you do. But this is one time you better listen to me, baby brother. We both want the same thing. Let’s do it together whether it’s two months or two years from now. It will get done, and I’ll be right there with you. So will Fan. I promise you that. I’ll swear to it on Mom’s bible.’

  Chapter Six

  Lieutenant Martin Stanford led his men into New Hope, ramrod straight and square jawed, proudly projecting the prestige and image of the United States Cavalry. This was the very first time he’d been given command completely on his own. He had his orders from Captain Criswell, and meant to carry them out to every letter of military law. The first order of business was to send one of his men riding fast down to Fort Jackson, with Criswell’s message. Sending the trooper on his way, he found Sergeant O’Halloran laying on a cot, face down in the marshal’s office, still suffering from the gaping bullet wound that had raked across his back. The sergeant wasn’t surprised to see the young officer.

  ‘I figured Criswell would send someone when my rider reached him. I didn’t think he’d send you with ten men, though,’ he grimaced as he spoke.

  ‘What about this Keller bunch? Did you learn anything about them before you were wounded?’

  ‘Yeah, they’re stone
cold killers. They shot me and Whitman’s deputy down without a call, killing him. They’re a bunch of southern rebels who think they’re still fighting the war. Whitman is the expert on all of them. He’s tangled with them before. He even killed one of their cousins that was hiding them over near Janesville, and another gang member who was wounded out in an old mine outside of town here. He’s the one you want to talk to, if you’ve got orders to go after them.’

  ‘Where’s he at now, do you know?’

  ‘Here in town someplace. Probably making the rounds himself since he doesn’t have a deputy anymore. He’s easy to spot. Stands over six feet tall and wears a wide brimmed tan Stetson.’

  ‘Is there some way you can get down to Fort Jackson, and have a military doctor take a look at your back wound?’

  ‘Not likely. I can’t ride like this. I’m full of stitches. Every time I even draw a breath it feels like I’m being torn apart. Unless someone wants to take me in a wagon where I can lay down, I’m not going anyplace.’

  ‘From what you’ve said this marshal sounds like the man to talk to. You rest easy while I try to find him.’

  ‘I wish I could get up off this cot and go with you when you ride out. I’ve got a lot to get even over. I want to see that whole bunch howling in hell with the devil. Even that’s too good for those Johnny Rebs!’

  Marshal Whitman and his Crow sidekick stood talking on the street to the owner of Hinky’s Brass Rail saloon, when Lieutenant Stanford walked up introducing himself.

  Whitman looked the young cavalry officer up and down sizing him up, while Sanford explained his reason for being in town.

  When he finished, Whitman commented, ‘The cavalry is sending you and who else after Keller?’ His tone already made it clear he thought the whole idea was pure folly.

  ‘Me and my men, sir. I’ve had them bivouac just outside town until I get the information I need from you.’

  ‘Do you have any idea where you’re going to start running him down?’

  ‘No sir, not yet. I was told you could help me with that information. Captain Criswell ordered me to look you up when I got into town. I’m following those orders.’

  ‘I don’t know who this Captain Criswell of yours is, but just because he thinks all this is simple as that, tells me he doesn’t have any idea what he’s talking about. If I knew where Keller is I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you, I’d be out after him myself. Him and that bunch of killers who run with him could be anywhere by now. I’ve already killed two of his men. I’ve got at least three more to go. You ought to take your soldier boys and ride back to your captain and tell him Keller could be a thousand miles away by now. You’d also save yourself a lot of boot leather riding all over the country for nothing.’

  ‘I can’t do that, sir. Captain Criswell has given me my orders. I have to try to carry them out. I’m sure you can understand that.’

  Whitman was already getting tired of the conversation. He stared back at the young lieutenant, his impatience rising. ‘I don’t care if Ulysses S. Grant told you to go after Keller. I’m telling you it’s a waste of time. No one right now knows where he might be. I’ve got Crow friends of mine out looking for him. Until I get some solid information like that, there’s no sense riding off anywhere. Do I make myself clear?’

  Stanford stood dumbstruck with the rank disrespect the law man showed for the military he loved so much. Even worse were his remarks about General Grant, his personal hero. He struggled to respond. ‘At least . . . if you won’t help me, will you even suggest what general direction Keller might have gone?’

  ‘If you insist on an answer I’ll give you a simple one. He can be anyplace between here and the Mexican order. Does that give you enough ground to start out on, lieutenant?’

  Little Hawk stood at Whitman’s side without uttering a word. There were few white men he’d normally speak to or tolerate. His hate for the cavalry that had waged an incessant war against his people made him look upon the young officer as a bitter enemy never to be trusted or helped in any way. Stanford saw that hate in his dark eyes, avoiding his penetrating stare.

  ‘I’ve been given a week by Captain Criswell, to try and pick up the gang’s trail. I won’t waste any more time here in New Hope. I had hoped we could join forces to go after this bunch together. You’ve made it quite clear that isn’t going to be the case. I’ll bid you good day, Marshal.’ Stanford saluted smartly and started back up the street as Whitman watched him go slowly shaking his head.

  ‘Those poor fools have no ideal what they’re doing. They’ll never catch Keller with some cavalry patrol. They come riding in here all high and mighty like they think they can demand anything they want because they ride in here with flag flying and fancy uniforms. Cort Keller is too smart for them and the rest of the government too. I’m the one who’s going to end his career. I know more about him and how he thinks than any regiment of cavalry ever will, and I’ll prove it to all of them one way or the other.’

  The setting sun lost itself behind slanted, black rock mesas, while Cort sat lost in thought in the small camp the three men had made several miles outside of Whiskeytown.

  Red and Tyge glanced at each other without saying a word. They knew Cort was suffering in silence over the killings of his cousin and Wic, at the hands of Nate Whitman’s bloody badge. The smoldering hate Cort felt wouldn’t burn itself out until he faced the marshal man to man, gunning him down, no matter what it cost him.

  Red lifted the boiling coffee pot from the fire, pouring himself a cup and one for Fan too. Looking to his brother, he wondered if he should break the silence. He decided to take the chance. ‘Coffee’s hot. You want a cup, Cort?’

  Keller broke his stare straightening up with a barely audible sigh. ‘Yeah, Red, I’ll have one.’ He reached for the steaming cup. ‘And I want to thank you for talking some sense into me back at the bank. I guess I lost my head for a few minutes. Coy and Wic gone makes me wonder if sometimes we all wouldn’t have been better off to stay back in Tennessee, and ride out the bad times. Those two men were like brothers to me, as close as you are to me. I still can’t believe they’re both dead.’

  ‘I know how you feel. I feel the same way myself. We’ll get Whitman, somewhere, some time. Just not right now. I know your hurt, kinda made you crazy for a few minutes. I’m just glad I was there to stop you.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘What’s next for us?’ Tyge wondered.

  ‘I still want to deposit some of our money in the bank.’ Cort answered. ‘We’ll go in tomorrow and get it done this time.’

  ‘I figured we’d do that, but what about afterwards? Are we going to stick around for a while or pull up stakes in a week and ride out?’

  ‘We’ve got plenty of cash, so we don’t need another job, at least not right now. You said you wanted to spend some time in town enjoying yourself, so we can lay low for a while. We’re far enough south we can rest a while instead of always being on the run.’

  ‘What about you two? You going to join me?’ Fan questioned.

  ‘You and Red go in if you like. I’m not as big at it as you two are. You can cut the dog loose as long as you don’t cause any trouble. Just remember not to draw any attention to yourselves. We don’t need that.’

  ‘Me, draw attention to myself?’ The sly grin on Fan’s face made it clear he thought the comment was almost funny. ‘What about you, Red? You going to join me for a little drink and maybe a dance with some pretty lady? You remember ladies, don’t you? They’re sort of soft and smell good?’

  ‘I might if Cort doesn’t mind staying out here alone.’ He looked to his brother for an answer.

  ‘I don’t. You two go ahead. Only be careful.’

  The streets of Whiskeytown were already crowded with dark figures going in and out of bars and gambling dens, when Red and Tyge pulled their horses to a halt in front of the Red Eye saloon. From somewhere up the street the jangling sound of banjo music could be heard. The two men tied their
horses off at the hitching rail before pushing through the door into the Red Eye, taking in the scene. A single large room had a long mahogany bar along one wall opposite tables filled with drinkers talking loudly. At the far end a small, elevated stage stood empty. In one corner right of the stage, a bald-headed man sat at a piano tickling the keys, warming up his fingers for another night of shouted requests.

  ‘Lively joint, ain’t it?’ Fan turned to Red with a smile on his face, working his way up to the bar. A burly man with hair parted straight down the middle came up behind the counter.

  ‘What’s your poison, gents?’

  ‘Give us a couple of whiskeys,’ Tyge said, the bar man pulling up a bottle and two stubby glasses, filling them to the brim.

  ‘That’ll be five dollars,’ he said.

  ‘Five dollars for two whiskeys?’ Fan questioned.

  ‘That’s it, mister. This is the genuine article, Old Stump Blower. Not that swill other saloons pour watered down with creosote oil. Take it or leave it.’

  Fan pushed a shiny, five dollar gold coin across the counter still eyeing the man skeptically, as he turned away to other customers.

  ‘Maybe I should buy the whole bottle, and not get five dollared to death,’ Fan mocked.

  ‘No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. We don’t want to get drunk. Remember what Cort said?’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But after that long ride down here from up north, we’ve got to cut loose and have a little fun, don’t we?’

  ‘Damn little. When the whiskey starts talking trouble is right behind it. If we want to stay around town for a while we’d better keep that in mind. Let’s get to a table and sit down. I don’t want to prop up this bar all night.’

  The pair made their way across the noisy room to sit at a small table next to the piano player. Tyge ordered two more whiskeys chasing the first pair down. The piano man began playing an upbeat tune without singing words to it. Tyge listened a moment before turning toward him.