by C. A. Asbrey
“Tie him up. Gag him.” He crouched behind Nat. “What now?”
“We play our hand, I guess,” Nat replied. “It’s all we’ve got left.” He stood, darting forward to the barn and peering around the edge. “Hey, you. In the house. You’re surrounded.”
“You ain’t takin’ us alive.”
“Well, that’s a pretty dumb move.” Nat’s rich baritone danced with mocking tones. “Don’t you want to find out what you’re up against first? Let them have it, boys.”
The cabin faced a fusillade of shots, battering into the walls, windows and doors from every direction, splintering the wood and shattering eardrums with a shower of explosive bursts. “We still ain’t comin’ out.”
Nat called out once more. “We’re well-armed and we’re ready to blast you out unless you lay down your arms and come out peaceable-like. It’s your call.”
“Blast us? What kind of posse are you? We ain’t comin’ out. We’re just gonna be hanged, anyway,” the voice echoed from the cabin.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” yelled Nat. “We’re not the law. We’re The Innocents, and we’re as mad as hell about you using our name to kill a man. Are you going to face us like men, or do we have to drive you out of there?”
“Ha! And just how do you propose to do that?” a mocking voice demanded.
“What are we famous for?” Nat responded.
“Stealin’.” The voice took on a mocking tone. “Oh, and not shootin’ folks.”
Nat glinted an amused glance at his team over by the bushes. “Yeah, and when we can’t break in, how do we get at the money?”
The voice from the building rattled with impatience. “I dunno! What kinda dumb test is this?”
“We blow the thing open,” Melvin squeaked with delight.
“That’s our explosives man,” chortled Nat. “He really enjoys his work,” his cheeks dimpled into a smile, “so much so, he’s set dynamite under you. I’ve got to warn you, he never bothers with any of the twenty percent dynamite. Oh, no. He only uses the most powerful sixty percent nitro sticks. That stuff gives the best blast, and he’s put it under each corner of that place you’re sitting in right now.”
He paused, letting this information sink in. “You know what it does, but just to drive your position home we put a few stick under the outhouse as a demonstration. Watch out of the back window. Let ’er go, Melvin!”
“Sure thing, Nat.”
There was a long pause before the lighted fuse fizzed its way toward the little wooden building. The light disappeared under the wooden slats and there was an almighty crashing blast. Planks shattered and flew skyward, revealing the centre of the shed as nothing more than a tower of hungry fire. Shards and splinters scattered all around, causing the outlaws to duck and avoid the smoldering fragments showering on them amid the acrid scent of cordite and the heavy fetid smell of some very organic materials.
Chuck sniffed and crinkled his nose in disgust at the matter plopping around their hiding place. “Couldn’t ya have picked a barn, Nat? It’s a shit storm. A real one.”
“You hear that?” Nat called. “I’ll give you to the count of twenty, and then you’ll be what’s splattered around this place. One!”
“You don’t mean it. You’re bluffin’.”
“Two!” Nat jaw tightened. “I don’t take kindly to the likes of you using our name and reputation. You’re not dealing with amateurs, here.” He paused. “Three.”
“The Innocents never shot anyone,” the voice sounded less confident. “This ain’t your style.”
“We don’t shoot the public,” Nat growled, “but we’ll sure as hell deal with anyone else who gets in our way. They say we never shot anyone in a robbery. Nobody says we never killed. But when you think about it, we’re not shooting you either, so it’s fine. Four!”
“What do you want?”
“Five!” Nat glanced over at Jake, both acknowledging the bargaining had begun. “If we’re getting the blame for all those jobs, we want the money. All of it. Then we want you out of our territory and a promise we'll never see you within a hundred miles of Wyoming ever again. Six!”
“All of it?”
“Seven! Yes, all of it. You should’ve thought about that before you bandied our name about. It’s our reputation. So it’s our money. Eight.”
“You’ll blow up the money too.”
“Nine. Yeah, well, I thought about that and I’m prepared to take the chance because it gets rid of you. Are you? Ten! That’s halfway through.”
The voice from the cabin rang with panic. “What’ll you do to us?”
“Eleven. We’re not unreasonable men, unless you’re unreasonable with us. We want the money and we want you gone. Twelve.”
“So you’ll let us go?”
“Thirteen! Some say that’s unlucky,” Nat smirked, “but it’s getting nearer to a number way more unlucky for you. Fourteen.”
“We want your word you won’t kill us.”
“Fifteen. My word? Sure. I’m not interested in killing you.”
“You promise?”
“Sixteen.” Nat shrugged. “I promise I won’t kill you if you come out, but I can’t hold to what’ll happen if you don’t. Seventeen.”
“I need your word you won’t kill us,” the man was almost screaming now.
“Eighteen. And you have my word. None of The Innocents will kill you.”
“Promise. I want you to swear!”There were shouts from within the cabin, signalling spiraling panic in the other gang.
“Nineteen! Yeah. I swear. Nat Quinn gives his solemn word none of The Innocents will kill you. One more, and then the cabin gets blasted to kingdom come.”
“Fine. We’re throwing out our guns.” The door opened a crack and a hand tossed out a pile of weapons, one after the other.
“We’re comin’ out. Don’t shoot.” The burly man appeared first, hands straight to the heavens.
“We want you all out here,” barked Jake. “There were eight of you. We got one, and you’re out here. The other six had better get out here with their hands in the air, and fast.”
The men shuffled out, one by one, the smallest at the end of the line with an anxious smile. Nat broke cover, holding his Schofield on them all the while. “Beau, Jesse. Check the cabin. Make sure there’s nobody else there. Chuck and Melvin. Tie them up.”
“All clear in here, Nat.” Jesse’s sharp nose appeared around the door. “We found this.” Beau dragged out a saddle bags. “They’re full of cash.”
“Is that all of it?” Nat demanded.
“Nope—” the burly man began.
“Where is it!?” Nat bellowed straight in his face, the fury even catching seasoned gang members by surprise. “Talk.”
“We spent it.” Frank dropped his head. “We went to a whore house. We spent the rest on whiskey and supplies.”
Quinn nodded, holding the man’s gaze prisoner all the while. “Which one of you did it?”
“Did what?” the smallest prisoner squeaked.
Nat’s face darkened. “Who killed the guard?”
“Frank. Frank did it. Yeah…it was Frank,” three voices spoke in unison.
Nat followed the hunted eyes of the men to the large man right in front of him. “Well, I guess you’re Frank, huh? A real loyal gang you got there.” He stared at the prisoner, his hands tied behind his back, the disgust rising in the outlaw leader’s craw. “I should drop you where you stand, you piece of dirt, but I made a promise, and I’m a man of my word.”
His fist shot out, catching the murderer right in the solar plexus. The man doubled over and collapsed gasping on the ground.
“Here! That ain’t fair, punching a man when he can’t hit back,” yelled the little man.
Nat flicked a dismissive glance at him. “Yeah, kinda like shooting an unarmed man in the chest, but maybe not quite as low, huh? I ain’t no choirboy. What’s your name?”
“Patterson. Frank Patterson,” the man puffed.
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“Your accent. A Texan? You’re a long way from home.” Nat paced back and forth. “So who put you up to this?” He watched the men shuffle and hang their heads. “Do I need to interrogate you separately?”
“Mister, how did you know we was put up to it?” asked the short man.
“You’re not local. It’s a long way to come to pretend to be another gang; to make sure you use their names on a robbery. You got trains and banks of your own in Texas.” Nat peered at the men in turn. “Who’s in charge?”
“Sam and Frank are both in charge,” squeaked the little one. “We don’t know his name. All we can tell you is he gets called Smitty.”
“Will you shit yer yap, Will?” bellowed the burly man.
“And how do you meet this Smitty?” Nat asked.
“He meets Frank and Sam in a bar. Ain’t nobody else met Smitty,” Will continued, “but I saw him once when I was watchin’ the horses. He’s a real dude with a shiny stove pipe hat and everythin’.”
“Description?” barked the outlaw leader.
“Youngish, real well dressed. It were dark, though, and I never saw his face.”
Nat nodded. “Jake, you take Sam and I’ll take Frank. I want to know everything about there is to know about this Smitty.”
♦◊♦
Nat walked out of the cabin, pulling his gloves over reddened knuckles, his face grim and humorless. He allowed the gang to drag the bedraggled prisoner behind them, his head sagging and covered in blood from his swollen, cut lip and broken nose. He called over to the fair gunman who stood over the thin man as he lay on the ground.
“What did you get, Jake?”
Jake indicated the skinny man lying in front of them. “Smitty, a young dandy with dark hair and a moustache. He doesn’t know anythin’ else about him. He paid them a thousand dollars up front to hold up the trains, and they get the haul, too. They were too scared to kill anyone until the third, and it was almost an accident.”
“And how does he contact them?”
“All they know is he’ll pay them more when he meets them in Denver next month. They’re to meet in a saloon there. I got the details.”
“Yeah, I got the same.” Nat kicked out at a tuft of grass. “Dammit. I need more. There’s no point in me walkin’ into a bar without knowin’ who I’m lookin’ for. Denver’s full of young swells.” He signaled to the gang. “Get them on the wagon, hands and feet tied. I want this garbage out of my sight.”
“You said none of The Innocents would hurt any of us,” the thin man protested. “Ain’t your word worth anythin’?”
The dark eyes fixed on him with withering disdain. “Friend, if you think Nat Quinn is an innocent you’re stupider than you look,” snorted Nat.
The real Innocents made short work of securing the men in the flat bed of the wagon as Jake approached his nephew. “Are you alright, Nat?”
Nat pulled off his hat and ran his hand through his brown hair. “Sure, yeah. We got them. Why do you ask?”
The blue eyes burned into him, full of knowing calm. “You said ‘ain’t’. You only talk like you did when you were a nipper when you’ve really lost it.”
“Do I?” He pulled himself back to normality, his smile filling with a lightness Jake wasn’t buying. “Then it’s a good job I worked it off, ain’t it? I even promised I wouldn’t kill them.” He paused. “But I never promised any of them the law wouldn’t.”
♦◊♦
The sheriff of Bannen paused at the door of his office, alert to the change of routine signalling something wrong. The door was locked and there was no smell of coffee, in a departure from the long-established routine. It was always open and the late shift always had the pot brewing for those starting in the morning. Someone manned the office day and night, and the deputy should be there bright and alert to handover whatever had happened during the night. Since he wasn’t, something must be very wrong.
He pulled out his key and entered the building, calling out as he went. “Dave? Where the devil are you? If you’ve been sleeping again, I’ll—” He stopped short at the sight of the deputy bound and gagged in his chair and the cells full of restrained men. “What in the name of—”
He pulled the gag from the deputy’s mouth, watching him work his jaw free from the constriction.
“What’s been going on here?”
“They said they were The Innocents, Sheriff. That's the men they say killed the guard in the train robbery. Nat was real mad about another gang claiming to be them, so the real Innocents went right out and brought them in for us.”
"They did?” The sheriff turned his keys in the handcuffs, allowing the deputy to rub his wrists. “And these bags. What’s in here?” He flipped one open, his eyes widening at the stack of banknotes inside. “Cash?”
“The one who said he was Nat Quinn told me it was almost everything they took. The gang had already spent some when they caught up with them, but he needed the law to see he didn’t profit from a killing. He says the rest of the gang are cowards and will give evidence against the one who fired the shot and killed the guard. The big one with the moustache.”
“Is that right?” The sheriff lifted the note pinned to the top of the cashbox and smiled over at the men in the cells as he read it aloud. “A gift from Nat Quinn and The Innocents.”
“Do you think it was really them?” asked the deputy, pushing himself to his feet.
“Well, the men who held up those three trains didn’t act like The Innocents. They don’t fit the descriptions neither. I wouldn’t blame Nat Quinn if he brought them in. So the rest’ll turn on the killer you say?”
“That’s what he said. He said he sent a telegram to the press to make sure we stayed honest with the cash too. Someone called Smitty put them up to it to put the blame on The Innocents. Quinn says Smitty paid them a thousand dollars to get them a hangin’ charge.”
The lawman scowled. “Did you get a good look at them, Dave?”
“No, Sheriff. They wore kerchiefs and got the jump on me real fast.”
The lawman nodded, turning over a stack of notes in his hand. “Yeah, but we might not tell the town that bit when we break this news, but you did a good night’s work, son. Real good.”
“I did?” gulped the young man.
“Sure, you did. Now let’s sit and have some coffee. We need to decide what we’re gonna tell people happened here last night. We sure as hell can’t tell them The Innocents walked away from our cells.”
♦◊♦
Jake pulled the wagon to a halt. “I can’t see why we don’t just take this thing straight back to Pearl.”
“We never had time to search the place properly,” Nat dismounted. “There might be more money hidden here. They could have stuff from robberies we knew nothing about. If we’re real lucky we might even need a wagon to take it away.”
“You’re dreamin’, Nat. The only hidden treasure around here was splattered all over us when you blew up the necessary.”
“Probably,” Nat chuckled, “but I want to make sure. Do you want to take the grounds or the cabin?”
“I don’t care,” shrugged Jake. “You take the house. I’ll do out here.”
Nat disappeared into the building and Jake explored the grounds. He searched for all kinds of small signs, like disturbances in the soil, flattened grass, or moss growing on the wrong side of stone. He was too experienced to fall for that old wives tale about it only growing on the north side; it depended on the gradient, the moisture, and the surface. When you put it all together, it was easy to spot stones that had been moved to a position where moss shouldn’t grow.
His practiced blue eyes scanned the area as he strolled around. What appeared to be a casual wander was anything but. The inspection was systematic, grid-like and efficient, but everything was overgrown and unused. It looked like the use of this place was just opportunistic, but Nat was right; it never hurt to look. He peered into the well, but all he could see was the occasional glint of a watery meni
scus in the dank, dark depths of the void. It was too deep for anything to be retrieved with ease, so he dismissed it as a hiding place and moved on. He sighed and turned to the barn Nat hid behind earlier. The ramshackle and dilapidated building settled back into the land from which it was hewn with the help of the invasive vines sending strangling tendrils across the roof and into every nook and cranny. One thing caught his eye almost right away; the padlock. It looked new.
He strode over and gave it a tug. The pristine brass still shone with a patina of recentness which stood out against the peeling, rough wood of the building. His curiosity mounted. Why secure this broken-down old barn? He took out his Colt and stepped to the side and blasted it to smithereens, aiming out into the empty yard beyond.
“What the hell—” Nat appeared gun in hand.
“It was locked.” He put his gun back in its holster and stooped to pick up the biggest piece. “A new lock. What could be in there worth lockin’ away?”
“That? You didn’t have to shoot it, anyone could pick it. Even you.”
Jake grinned. “Thanks, but it’s quicker to shoot it. Anyone could hit it if they stood near enough. Even you.”
Nat smiled and put away his Schofield. “So, what were they protecting?” He pulled back the hasp and opened the door, and both men stepped back, hit by a feculent wall of funk.
“Whoa,” Jake frowned. “I don’t know what they were breedin’ in there, but I don’t want one.”
Nat stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the poor light filtering in between the slats. “I don’t see any animals. The place is empty.”
There was a metallic clatter. “Oh, for cryin’ out loud. I trod in somethin’—somethin’ sticky. And what’s the cloth doin’ there? Is that smell piss?”
“Jake—”
“I stood in somethin’ now. It’s like gruel, or grits, or—sick? Yuck, it’s disgustin’. It’s all over my boots.”
“Jake!” Nat barked. “Is that a body?”
He followed his nephew’s stony stare to the dark bundle in the straw before striding over. “It’s a woman,” he reached out a hand. “She’s warm; far too hot.” He reached out and lifted her in both arms. “Outta my way.”