Brothers of the Gun

by B. S. Dunn

  Kane nodded.

  ‘So that still leaves a few of ’em. I’ll find a couple of men to go with you. They won’t be much with a gun but they’ll see it through.’

  The gunfighter shook his head. ‘I’ll go alone.’

  ‘OK,’ said Brooks, understanding. He then opened a drawer in his desk and fished out a deputy sheriff’s badge. ‘I best make it all legal then.’

  Once the formalities were over and the badge pinned in place, Kane fingered the unfamiliar object on his chest then looked at Brooks.

  ‘What is it you’re goin’ to do while I’m gone?’

  ‘I might have a word to Lance.’ Brooks could see the thoughts going through the gunfighter’s mind and reassured him. ‘It won’t be nothing too much. I’ll just let him know that I know that he’s behind it.’

  ‘Maybe I should come with you,’ Kane suggested.

  ‘Don’t worry none about me,’ Brooks said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Just watch your back then.’

  ‘Always do.’

  The mid-afternoon sun was still hot when Brooks’ horse splashed through the stream and followed the trail up the small cut to the B-L connected ranch house. He rode into the yard and up to the front of the house.

  There were a couple of hands doing maintenance in the yard as he rode up. Foreman Chuck was standing on the verandah in front of him when he finally dismounted.

  ‘What brings you out here, Brooks?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘I’ve come to see your boss.’

  ‘You’re wastin’ your time. He ain’t here. He’s out on the range.’

  ‘Let him come in, Chuck.’

  Brooks shifted his gaze and saw that Buford Lance stood in the open doorway.

  The sheriff was about to put his foot on the first step when another man appeared beside the rancher. He was dressed in black and Brooks knew instantly that this was the infamous Jordan Kane.

  He hesitated briefly but continued to climb the stairs, his boots clunked with every step.

  The Buford sheriff followed them inside the house and into the plush living room.

  ‘What do you want, Brooks?’ Lance asked in a no-nonsense voice. ‘Make it quick. I have no time to be wastin’ bandyin’ words with you. I’m busy.’

  ‘It would seem so.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Lance snapped.

  Brooks shifted his gaze to Jordan Kane, who graced him with a cold smile.

  ‘I had a visit from a homesteader from the wagon train that’s shifted on to the free graze range along Cottonwood Creek,’ he explained. ‘It seems they were attacked by hooded riders not long after they set up.’

  ‘So?’ Lance’s reply was flippant.

  ‘He said the feller leadin’ ’em wore black clothes.’

  ‘Could’ve been anyone,’ Lance said. ‘Might have been rustlers. They’ve been gettin’ around. I’ve been meanin’ to come see you about them.’

  Brooks shook his head. ‘No. They shot some of their stock and some of their people. But that’s not all. Seems some riders, I’m assuming the same ones, hit the Hamilton spread last night and burned ’em out.’

  Once again Brooks looked at Jordan Kane. ‘Your brother brought them in, along with four bodies. He knew one of ’em. Feller by the name of Kemp.’

  There was no reaction from Jordan.

  Brooks continued. ‘You wouldn’t know anythin’ about Lucas bein’ bushwhacked the other day, would you?’

  And there it was. A momentary flicker in the killer’s eyes was enough to tell the sheriff that what he’d just heard about his brother was news to him.

  Then it was gone.

  ‘No? Anyway,’ he turned back to Lance. ‘I just thought I’d let you know to keep an eye out just in case.’

  ‘We’ve had no trouble here,’ Lance said impatiently. ‘If there ain’t anythin’ else I have work to do.’

  ‘No, nothin’ else,’ Brooks told him. ‘But if you do, you can let me or my new deputy know.’

  ‘Deputy? What deputy?’ Lance snapped.

  ‘I hired a new one because of all this trouble startin’ up with these hooded riders. I can’t do it on my own,’ Brooks replied.

  ‘Who is it?’ Lance asked.

  Brooks smiled. ‘Lucas Kane.’

  Lance’s eyes snapped across to Jordan then quickly back to Brooks. Inside, the rancher seethed at the failure of Concho Bell once more.

  ‘Why would he help you?’ Lance sneered.

  ‘Maybe because he wants to find the feller who bushwhacked him. Or perhaps it’s become personal now after the riders burned down the home of the homesteaders who took him in when he was wounded.’

  Brooks let his words sink in before he added, ‘Oh well, I’ll be off now. I can show myself out.’

  When he was gone, Jordan Kane’s icy gaze settled on Lance.

  ‘Do you know anythin’ about Lucas bein’ ambushed, Lance?’

  The rancher shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he lied. ‘Could be one of his many enemies has caught up with him.’

  ‘When I find out who it was they’ll be sorry,’ Jordan growled. ‘I want to be the one to kill my brother. Nobody else.’

  ‘How about I give you another job to do instead?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I want Brooks out of the way,’ Lance elaborated. ‘He came out here because he knows I’m behind it all and he wanted to let me know that he knows. And maybe with him gone, your brother might ride on.’

  ‘How do you want me to do it?’

  ‘Quietly if possible.’

  ‘Consider it done.’

  The hooded riders hadn’t bothered to cover or even attempted to hide their tracks. Perhaps it was arrogance or just sheer stupidity. It did, however, make it easier for Kane to track them. He supposed they figured that no one would come after them.

  Then he thought about Jordy and guessed that his brother figured himself to be invincible and wouldn’t care if anybody did.

  The trail had led Kane into the foothills to the base of the mountains. There he followed the trail alongside a rocky bottomed stream. The far bank rose up through tall spruce trees and stopped at the foot of high, grey-faced peaks. Lush green grass grew along the edge of the water and small wild flowers broke up the sea of green.

  Overhead, a blue sky was dotted with leaden clouds.

  The trail cut away from the stream and followed a dry gulch for a mile or so before it climbed a tree-lined ridge.

  As Kane moved higher, he broke out of the trees. On a bench at the bottom of a scree slope, surrounded by rock, grass, and a few aspen, was a shack. By the looks of the workings up the slope from the building, he assumed that it was probably an old mining shack.

  There was a patched-up corral beside the shack with rails made of aspen. Four horses were enclosed and paced around.

  ‘Unless I missed my guess,’ Kane murmured, ‘I’d say I’ve found what I was looking for.’

  He eased back into the trees and tied the buckskin to a low branch. Then he crept forward where he could see the shack. He didn’t want to ride in until he knew what he would have to deal with.

  Kane sat and watched the shack for an hour. No one left or entered.

  The buckskin whickered and Kane instantly dropped his hand to the butt of his Peacemaker. The dry triple-click of a gun hammer being eared back stayed his hand.

  A harsh voice warned, ‘Pull that and you’re a dead man.’

  Slowly Kane eased his hand away from the six-gun. Inwardly he cursed himself for allowing the man to get the drop on him.

  ‘Turn around,’ the man ordered.

  With raised hands, Kane turned to face his captor.

  ‘Well I’ll be, Lucas Kane,’ the man sneered.

  Kane stared at him. The speaker was a two-bit gunman from around Trinidad called Dexter Jones. He had a square-jawed face with buck-teeth and ice-blue eyes.

  ‘Howdy Dex, fancy seein’ you here,’ Kane said. ‘Bat Masterso
n run you out of Trinidad?’

  ‘Jordy said you was about,’ Dex told him. He pointed at the star pinned to his shirt. ‘Didn’t say anythin’ about that, though.’

  Kane shrugged. ‘Are you boys goin’ to come in quietly?’

  The gunman frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘I just want to know if you and them other three in the shack are goin’ to come in quietly,’ he explained. ‘I know one of them is wounded because I put the lead in him myself.’

  Dex smiled and gave the gunfighter a look that told him that the man thought he was crazy.

  ‘You do know that you’re starin’ down the barrel of a cocked six-gun, right?’

  ‘Yeah, but I figure that you ain’t goin’ to shoot me, Dex,’ the gunfighter opined. ‘You see if Jordy knows I’m still about, which you said he does, he ain’t goin’ to want you shootin’ me. I’m guessin’ that he said that if any one of you fellers shoot me, instead of him, he’d kill you. You see, Jordy wants to be the best. And to do that, he has to kill me. Am I right?’

  Dex was quiet.

  Kane nodded. ‘Uh-huh, I thought so. So it seems to me that you have yourself a dilemma.’

  ‘A what? Is that even a word?’ asked Dex, pulling a face.

  Kane relaxed and let out a long, even breath.

  ‘It means that you are in two minds about what to do with me, Dex,’ he explained. ‘Which is a bad place to be for men like us who live by the gun. Because while you are still thinkin’ about what to do I can. . . .’

  By the time Dex realized what was happening it was too late. Kane’s right hand had dropped and come up full of belching Peacemaker.

  The hammer fell on the .45 calibre cartridge and the slug smashed into Dex’s chest. His mouth flew open at the shock of the impact but no sound escaped and a large blossom of red appeared.

  The six-gun fell from lifeless fingers and thudded on the matted grass at his feet. Dex slipped to his knees and toppled sideways on to his back. His sightless eyes stared up at the blue sky above.

  Kane shook his head. The shot was a dead giveaway that someone else was up here, and he still had to get the rest of them out of the shack.

  He moved back into some cover to think about the situation. He decided that his best course of action was to wait until after dark. It wasn’t a great plan but maybe he could get them under the cover of darkness without getting himself killed.

  Chapter 7

  Three hours after the sun had sunk behind the great mountain peaks of the Sangre de Cristo Range there was still no sign of Kane. Brooks wasn’t all that worried because he was sure the man could look after himself. He’d just have to wait patiently for his return.

  Brooks sighed and pushed his empty plate away across his desk. A few brown streaks of gravy were all that remained of his meal of steak and potato. He stood and walked to the gun rack on the wall and took down a sawed-off coach gun.

  He returned to his desk and took shells from the top drawer. He broke open the gun and fed them into the twin barrels. He snapped them closed and looked at the gun in his hands.

  He wouldn’t normally carry it on his rounds but he had a nagging feeling that wouldn’t go away.

  Outside the jail, the main street was lit by intermittently placed kerosene lanterns. Long shadows were cast by inanimate objects.

  Brooks’ boots sounded unusually loud as he stepped out on to the boardwalk.

  It was a clear night and the stars twinkled in the dark sky. The air held a slight chill but in all, it was quite pleasant.

  ‘Evenin’, Tom.’

  Brooks spun sideways towards the voice and breathed a sigh of relief that the speaker was only the local hostler, Frank Redmond.

  ‘Evenin’, Frank,’ he managed to get out, annoyed at himself for jumping at shadows.

  ‘Sorry, Sheriff,’ Redmond apologized. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  ‘Gettin’ jumpy in my old age,’ Brooks said, as he attempted to make light of the comment.

  ‘Is that why you’re carryin’ that cannon around?’ the hostler asked, and nodded at the coach gun.

  ‘Just in case.’

  Brooks watched Redmond continue on his way then turned and walked off in the opposite direction.

  As he went, Brooks mentally ticked off the businesses. The drug store, the laundry run by Xoa Ping, the assayer’s office, land office and the barber shop.

  Further on was the Nugget saloon. Brooks paused and peered in over the bat-wing doors. The place was close to capacity and the noise that emanated from the smoke-filled room was raucous.

  Brooks continued on to the end of the main street then crossed over and walked the boardwalk on the opposite side.

  This time, he passed the gunsmith’s shop, Sigurd’s blacksmith shop, and the newly transformed drapery. Beyond that was the Cattleman’s Bank, Lisa’s Kitchen and the hotel.

  As he walked past the alley between Horton’s dry goods store and the telegraph office, he heard a strange noise coming from the darkness beyond.

  Brooks stopped and listened intently. He heard the noise again. It sounded like a muffled moan. Something a man would make when hurt.

  The sheriff eared back the hammers on the shotgun and stepped cautiously into the mouth of the alley.

  ‘Hello?’

  Another moan.

  Brooks edged forward slowly deeper into the darkness, his left shoulder all but rubbed against the plank wall of the telegraph office.

  ‘Hello?’

  This time, there was silence.

  When the sheriff reached the end of the alley he almost fell over a prone form that lay across the exit. A small sliver of light cast from inside Widow Baker’s house was enough to prevent his fall.

  ‘What the hell?’ Brooks muttered as he knelt down beside the unconscious man.

  As he rolled him over, the light shone on the bloodied face of the hostler, Frank Redmond.

  ‘Hell Frank, what happened?’ Brooks whispered.

  Even though the hostler couldn’t hear him, the sheriff said reassuringly, ‘I’ll go and get Doc Reed. Be back in a moment.’

  Brooks stood and turned hurriedly towards the main street only to be faced with the dark shadow of another man. Before he could say or do anything, the stranger stepped forward and drove a knife between the sheriff’s ribs. The sudden explosive departure of breath from Brooks’ lungs was followed by a burning pain in his chest and weakness as his life began to ebb.

  A second thrust as hard as the first completed the killer’s intent and the coach gun dropped from Brooks’ grasp. It thudded dully at the sheriff’s feet.

  His knees buckled and he slid to the ground beside the unconscious Redmond.

  Jordan Kane bent down and wiped the blade of his knife clean on Brooks’ pant leg. Then as he sheathed it, he smiled.

  Lucas Kane decided that the time was right and moved out of the trees with an armful of dry twigs and sticks, which he needed if his plan was to work. He approached from the blind side of the shack. Bent low he moved cautiously, aware that if the outlaws emerged now he would be caught in the open.

  None of them had poked their heads out after the shooting but he knew they would remain vigilant because Dex hadn’t returned.

  When he reached the shack, he paused and listened intently. He heard nothing from within and proceeded to set the sticks against the dry wood of the shack wall. Once done, he reached into his pocket for the matches he always carried.

  The first one flared and went out. The second stayed alight long enough to get it amongst the smaller, dry twigs. Once the pile had caught, he stood back and called out to those inside.

  ‘I smell smoke,’ Morg said and lifted his head like a wolf testing the air.

  ‘I don’t smell nothin’,’ Cutter said.

  ‘I tell you I smell it,’ Morg insisted. ‘Do you suppose he’s still out there? Maybe he’s tryin’ to burn us out.’

  ‘You’re dreamin’.’

  ‘But Cutter. . . .’


  ‘Just shut up and check on Bert,’ Cutter snapped and turned back towards the window.

  Bert was asleep on the bunk and had been since Cutter had dug the bullet from his back last night. Morgan, on the other hand, had done nothing but moan about his flesh wound.

  ‘Hey you in the shack! Come on out!’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Morg whispered.

  ‘Who the hell do you think?’ Cutter said bitterly.

  ‘What do you want?’ he called out.

  ‘You fellers best come on out if you don’t want to burn in there,’ Kane told Cutter.

  ‘I told you I smelled smoke,’ Morg said, his anxiety levels raised at the prospect of dying.

  Cutter drew his Colt and called out, ‘Who the hell are you, stranger?’

  ‘Lucas Kane,’ Kane answered.

  ‘Oh hell,’ moaned Morg.

  ‘Was that you at the homesteader’s place last night Kane?’ Cutter asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What happens if we do come out?’

  ‘For one thing, you won’t burn alive,’ Kane called out. ‘But you will be taken back to town to stand trial.’

  ‘Don’t much like that idea, Kane.’

  ‘It’s all you have. Take it or leave it.’

  Cutter thought briefly but the smoke began to fill his nostrils as the fire took hold of the old hut.

  ‘All right, Kane. We’re comin’ out.’

  ‘Unarmed or I’ll shoot you down,’ Kane warned him.

  ‘All right.’

  Outside, Kane waited for the men to appear. His hand rested on the holstered Peacemaker.

  The door opened and two men emerged supporting a third. Once in the open they stopped and looked at Kane.

  ‘What now?’ Cutter asked.

  ‘Put your friend down and saddle up them horses. Unless you want to walk to town.’

  ‘Go to hell, Kane,’ Cutter snarled loudly and brought his arm out from behind the man he was carrying. As the six-gun came up, Cutter thumbed back the hammer and the sound alerted Kane to the threat.

  The Peacemaker leapt from its holster and roared loudly. The bullet smashed into Cutter’s chest before his gun could level at Kane. He cried out in pain and fell to the ground.