Reaper's Fee

by Marcus Galloway

  “What in the hell are you doing?” Kinman growled.

  Nick leaned to one side and used the same hand that had swatted Kinman’s gun to point toward Hale and his men. “Watch where you’re shooting!” was all he had time to say before pulling hard on his reins and steering Kazys away.

  In the space of a heartbeat, Kinman turned to where Nick had been pointing and saw why Nick had stepped in. Both of Hale’s gunmen stood in front of and within spitting distance of the wagon, which had enough dynamite to turn a healthy section of railroad tracks into twisted metal. Ducking low, Kinman swore under his breath and snapped his reins to move out of the gunmen’s line of fire.

  Even though Hale and his men were nowhere near as quick on the draw as Kinman or Nick, they’d had plenty of time to pull their triggers by now. Gunshots cracked through the air and lead hissed past Nick and Kinman. Fortunately, the men doing the firing were just as rattled by Nick’s sudden actions as Kinman had been. Their shots went wild and sailed harmlessly into the night.

  The biggest struggle for Nick was to keep from drawing his gun. He left the modified Schofield in its holster so he could have both hands free. He rode around the wagon and reached out, snagging the horse’s bridle to take control of Hale’s wagon.

  “Get away from there, God dammit,” Hale said as he turned and aimed at Nick.

  All those years of lugging coffins paid off, as Nick was able to pull his feet out of the stirrups, get clear of Kazys’s back and pull himself onto the other horse, just as Hale’s shot whizzed over his head.

  Meanwhile, the other two gunmen kept firing as Kinman raced around them. They knew better than to empty their cylinders too quickly and still had a few rounds each by the time their target came to a stop.

  Dropping from his saddle, Kinman turned toward the gunmen. His boots slammed against the dirt, but the sound of the impact was masked by a shot from his pistol. The bullet caught Cy in the shoulder, twisted him in his saddle and knocked him off of his horse. Kinman wasted no time in shifting his aim to the other gunman. Now that he’d steadied himself, he took proper aim and sent a round straight through that one’s face.

  Cy heard the solid thump of the body hitting the dirt, and that told him all he needed to know. He gritted his teeth and fired his remaining shots at Kinman, who had gotten into a prone position.

  Grinning like a kid in the middle of a game of tag, Kinman pushed himself to the left and rolled toward Hale’s wagon.

  Cy’s hammer dropped onto the back of an empty brass casing.

  Kinman kept his aim on Cy as he got himself back onto his feet. When Cy dropped his gun and held up his hands, Kinman shook his head. “Too late for all that,” he said. Before Cy could speak a word in his own defense, Kinman pulled the trigger and sent his final bullet into Cy’s chest.

  Nick wasn’t able to hear what Kinman said, but the shot blasted through the air so close to the horses that it got the animals shaking their heads and stomping their hooves. Hale, too, had fired off his remaining rounds and was cursing loudly. Nick poked his head up to get a look at him and had to quickly duck as Hale threw his gun at him.

  “I’ve come too far to stop now!” Hale said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “I wasn’t the one to start this riot, but I sure as hell won’t let it pass without making some progress.”

  Nick pulled himself up onto the wagon and immediately caught Hale’s fist in his jaw. The impact was barely hard enough to turn Nick’s head.

  “It’s not a riot,” Nick said. “It’s a damned massacre!”

  “Call it what you want. This town’s a powder keg thanks to those filthy Chinamen!”

  As he cocked his arm back, Nick said, “Whatever this town is, you’re only making it worse.” He drove his fist into the middle of Hale’s face.

  Blood spewed from Hale’s nose, which was now flattened awkwardly against his head. He turned onto his belly so he was draped over the back of the wagon’s seat and his legs were pointed toward the anxious horse. Digging into his pocket, he said, “You and Kinman have already done enough! All this shooting must have drawn a crowd.”

  Nick glanced back in the direction from which they’d come and saw plenty of movement among the trees and neighboring buildings. He couldn’t be sure how many folks were watching from back there, but he could feel those eyes fixed upon him. They’d been given one hell of a show.

  When he turned around again, Nick was treated to a sight that made his own eyes widen.

  Hale had twisted around onto his side. His face was contorted into a twisted, grinning mask and his fingers were pinched around a single lit match. “Back the hell away from me or we both get blown sky-high,” he said in a disturbingly calm tone.

  “Your men are already dead,” Nick said. “No need for you to join them.”

  “We’ll all join them unless you do what I say. I’ve brought this too far to back up now.”

  “Go on and do what he says,” Kinman said from a few yards away.

  Nick only had to shift his eyes a bit to get a look at Kinman. Keeping Hale in the edge of his vision, Nick saw Kinman step forward while casually reloading his pistol.

  “There’s enough dynamite to kill us all,” Nick warned.

  Kinman shrugged. “Then standing here or there won’t make much difference. Might as well do what he says so we don’t have to die in the name of some greedy Chinese.”

  Hale smirked and slithered away from Nick until his back was against the edge of the driver’s seat. “That’s right. This town’s in the grip of a cleansing fire and it needs to burn until all the wickedness is purged. I only represent the good, honest workers of Rock Springs, who are trying to provide for their families.”

  “Those Chinese have families, too,” Nick said.

  “And they’ve got their jobs at these mines as well as at plenty of others. The line was crossed when they were set up to replace good Christian workers and put them out of their jobs.”

  “Take it up with the mining companies.”

  “Save your breath,” Kinman said before Hale could reply. “Let Hale do what he’s gonna do. Better that than have some more good workers suffer.”

  “That’s absolutely right,” Hale said. He continued to look at Nick as the match in his hand burned down to his fingers. Flailing like a trout that had been dropped onto dry land, Hale squirmed over the back of the seat and landed on one of the crates of dynamite. His hands buried themselves into his pockets and then came out with another few matches.

  Nick let out an aggravated breath, just managing to release the horse’s tracings as he climbed down from the wagon before Hale started another little fire.

  “What about the money?” Kinman asked. “You put on your show and we’re the ones who’ll take the blame no matter what, so we might as well get our payment.”

  Hale grunted as he righted himself with his back against the side of the wagon. “Quite right,” he wheezed. He reached into another pocket to take out a bundle of money. Tossing the cash at Kinman, Hale said, “Take it and go. When you read about the history we’ve made here today, you’ll thank me for letting you be a part of it.”

  Nick was already on Kazys’s back and riding away from the wagon. As soon as he’d collected the money and stuffed it into his own pocket, Kinman followed suit.

  “Mark my words!” Hale shouted as he made his way back to the driver’s seat. “This is a historical day!” Smiling victoriously and sitting like a king upon his throne, Hale snapped his reins. As soon as the leather cracked against its flank, the horse bolted and pulled free of the wagon.

  “What the hell?” Hale grunted.

  Nick drew his pistol and fired at the back of the wagon. His first bullet drilled through the wooden panel without a result. His next shots, combined with gunfire from Kinman, were more than enough to ignite the dynamite.

  It seemed to spool out like a series of pictures that slowly passed in front of Nick’s eyes. First, he saw the flash of orange light from the back o
f the wagon. Next, he saw bits of wood fly out in every direction. Everything after that was a blur.

  Nick’s ears were ringing so badly that he wasn’t exactly certain if he’d heard the explosion or not. Heat from the fire washed over him until he found himself wondering if he’d fired too soon and would perish in the flames right along with Hale. Despite all the heat, Nick swore he could feel the cold touch of the Reaper’s skeletal hand closing around the back of his neck. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt the grazing touch of those fingers, but Nick casually wondered if it would be his last.

  And in a flash, those thoughts were forced out of Nick’s head as he was flung straight back into the world of the living.

  The rest of the dynamite went up in a thunderous roar, but Nick and Kinman were riding away from it as quickly as their horses could take them. Nick didn’t recall snapping his reins, but he also didn’t recall covering enough ground to get where he was now.

  Flames crackled and sputtered, but there wasn’t much of the wagon left to burn. Nick found himself on the other side of the railroad tracks, watching charred wooden hunks hit the ground. Kazys was panting like a dog that had been left out in the sun. The horse’s sides swelled like a set of bellows against Nick’s legs.

  For a while, Nick could only hear his own heart beating. Then, the sounds of his own breathing rushed through his ears. After that, the rest of the world made itself known to him as shouts and clanging bells rippled through the air.

  The fire brigade was coming. Nick could see a large wagon racing from town toward the explosion. Now that he’d collected most of his wits, Nick looked down to find the railroad tracks still crossing the ground in front of him. They were a bit cluttered, but otherwise fine.

  All Nick could think about was the trainload of Federals still bound for Rock Springs. Despite the grit in his teeth, smoke in his eyes and ringing in his ears, Nick couldn’t help but smile. When he finally caught sight of Kinman riding up to him, Nick saw a similar grin on the man’s face.

  “Crazy bastard got what was coming to him!” Kinman shouted so he could be heard above the ringing in his own ears. “Let’s get the hell out of here, before the rest of his men get here!”

  Nick wished he could stay long enough to see the Federal troops blast apart any of Hale’s remaining gunmen. Then again, those gunmen could very well be just a bunch of angry locals who’d been pushed too far by their circumstances and whipped into a frenzy by a man who liked the taste of blood. That part struck a little too close to home for Nick’s tastes.

  Pulling on Kazys’s reins, Nick pointed the horse eastward and touched his heels to the animal’s sides. Kazys was more than willing to get moving again and the smoking remains of the wagon were soon lost behind him.

  On his way out of town, Nick spotted more than a few grateful Chinese faces looking out at him from darkened windows. He hoped the Federal train would arrive before the situation in Rock Springs could get any worse.

  FIFTEEN

  Nick’s mind wandered as he rode out of Rock Springs. Tearing out of a town with the grit of smoke in the back of his throat and the law possibly on his heels was nothing new to him. In fact, running away sometimes felt more natural than walking. He was ashamed to consider that it was more natural than any of the skills his father had taught him.

  After taking a moment to get his bearings, Nick steered Kazys toward the northeast, making certain head away from Rock Springs. He couldn’t be precise, but that put the Dakotas more or less in front of him.

  When he heard another horse coming in his direction, Nick reflexively reached for his gun. He stopped short of clearing leather as Kinman drew to a stop a good distance away from him.

  “Keep riding that way and I’ll catch up to you,” Kinman shouted.

  Nick waved him off and kept moving. “Don’t bother. I’ve got business to tend to.”

  “Yeah,” Kinman grunted. “So do I.”

  Rock Springs felt as noisy and crowded as a saloon, even at the late hour that Kinman returned to it. Folks walked the streets, talking hurriedly to each other or shouting out to familiar faces they passed along their way. Lawmen rode in pairs either dragging someone to jail or keeping their eyes out for another man to toss into a cell.

  All Kinman had to do was keep his head down and his gun out of sight. He wasn’t too worried about being recognized, since the only men who’d been close enough to spot him before the wagon exploded were either dead or miles away.

  Staying well away from the smoldering Chinatown district, Kinman rode to a small house behind a blacksmith’s shop. A quick glance into one of the windows made him fairly certain that the little house was still empty. He wasn’t too worried if the owners had stopped by, though. Kinman only hoped that none of them had needed to relieve themselves before heading out again.

  Kinman rode around the house, swung out of his saddle, and walked over to an outhouse that leaned partially against a tree. The narrow shack wasn’t quite as tall as Kinman, himself, and was decorated with a star pattern cutout in the door. Stopping with his hand on the knotted rope threaded through the door, Kinman peeked through the star-shaped hole.

  Lester looked right back at him.

  “You done in there?” Kinman asked.

  Although Lester glared intently at Kinman, he didn’t even try to make a sound. After all the screaming he’d done already, he knew well enough that the bandanna that had been stuffed into his mouth was more than enough to keep him from being heard.

  Kinman pulled open the door to admire his handiwork. Lester was just as he’d left him: both ankles bound tightly together and both arms tied to up and stuck between his legs. Using his boot to shove Lester’s legs aside, Kinman double-checked that the rope was also still looped through the hole he’d knocked in the commode. Sure enough, if Lester wanted to go anywhere, he would have had to drag the entire outhouse along with him.

  “Damn, Lester,” Kinman said with a wince. “What the hell have you been eating?”

  Lester glared silently at Kinman over the bandanna hanging from his mouth.

  “Anyone been around here since I left?”

  When he saw that Lester wasn’t moving a muscle, Kinman placed his right hand upon his holstered pistol and used his left to pull the bandanna from Lester’s mouth.

  “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Lester snapped the instant he was able. “This whole town’s going to hell and you decide to take off and stretch your legs?”

  “Not just stretch my legs, Lester. I turned a pretty profit as well.”

  “Doing what? Setting fires? I’ve been smelling smoke the whole time I was in here. You know those flames we saw when our train was stopped? I think they’re still burning somewhere.”

  Kinman’s grip tightened around the bandanna he’d used to silence his prisoner, but his spirits were too high for him to put the dirty cloth back into use. “You’re gonna have to be quiet, now. There’s something I need to talk about.”

  “Now you wanna be polite? Now you wanna be neighborly? Why don’t you start off by untying me and then we’ll see how polite and neighborly I can…” Lester’s words trailed off when he heard the subtle brush of iron against leather and found himself looking down the barrel of Kinman’s gun. “You were saying?” Lester squeaked.

  Leaning against the outhouse door, Kinman announced, “I’ve acquired a partner for our little venture into the Badlands. His name’s Nicolai Graves.”

  As much as he wanted to respond to that, Lester found himself without enough breath to utter a single word. Filling his lungs was difficult work. It was also not very rewarding considering where he was sitting. “You mean the same Nick Graves who used to ride with Barrett Cobb?”

  Kinman nodded.

  “This is the Barrett Cobb whose grave we’re going to see,” Lester pointed out. “You do realize that?”

  “Oh, I sure do realize it. And it just so happens that Graves the man might turn out to be every bit as valuable as the grave we’re
out to find. Whatever you say is buried in that coffin—”

  “It’s in there,” Lester said quickly. “I swear it!”

  Kinman nodded and patted the air as if he was calming a frantic child. “We’ll see about that when we get there. But whatever it is, it’s the same as what it was when that last bit of dirt was thrown on top of it. Over the last few years, the price on Nick Graves’ head has only been getting better.”

  Lester squinted and cocked his head to one side. “Why? I hear that Graves was nearly killed when he was run out of Montana. Lord knows he ain’t been leading no gang like he used to.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass if he pissed off Jesus Christ himself, and all three wise men are the ones putting up the money. All I do care about is that the money’s being put up by some very reliable sources. Even if I can’t coax a bit more out when the time comes, the reward is pretty damn good as it stands.”

  “Wait a second,” Lester said as he suddenly hopped up as if he meant to stand. Before his legs could straighten, he found the limit of the rope tying him to the commode and was jerked right back down again. Even as his ass bumped against the splintered wood, the smile remained upon his face. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. Shouldn’t I get a percentage of the reward, too?”

  Despite Kinman’s good humor, there was no way for him to hide the murderous glint that came into his eye. “You telling me you had something to do with those crazy fools blocking the railroad tracks?”

  “No.”

  “Then maybe you had some way of making certain Graves and I crossed paths once we were both stuck in this mess?”

  As much as he wanted to say otherwise, Lester shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Oh. Then shut yer damn mouth and count yourself lucky that I haven’t put a bullet through your skull and dragged your carcass in for the reward.”