How the West Was Weird, Vol. 2

by Barry Reese

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Storm’s coming.” Elora’s eyes sparkled like a pair of wet jewels as she allowed bluish smoke to dribble out of her nostrils. “And I think it’s gonna be a bad one.”

  Before she could elaborate further, four men shuffled into the cantina. Sebastian Red sized them up as they made their way to the bar, making no secret of their giving Sebastian the once over. He reached for more hot snake meat with the chopsticks, dropped it into the bowl and cracked another egg into the bowl as well. While he stirred he did his own share of eyeing.

  Sebastian Red knew this type well. Had seen them in over a hundred towns. They wore their guns low on their hips, flexed the fingers of their right hands just a bit too often.

  Two of them were useless. Sebastian Red could tell that just from the way they stood. Their balance was all wrong. The third man was a little bit better. If he managed to stay alive long enough, he could eventually be dangerous. But it was the fourth man that Sebastian had to truly watch out for. He stood there in that relaxed way a true gunfighter relaxed without relaxing. And he was the only one out of the four who positioned himself in such a way that no matter where the threat came from, he could cover the entire common room of the cantina with either one of his guns.

  The threat wouldn’t come from the fourth man, Sebastian reckoned. No, he’d send one or two of the other three to feel him out, watch and see what he did, how he dealt with the situation. Sebastian’s respect for the man went up a couple of notches. This one was a thinker and planner. He appeared to not be paying attention to Sebastian at all.

  “You from Latronica?” It was one of the off-balance guys who threw that question at Sebastian Red. “You come outta Latronica?”

  Sebastian Red wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before answering; “What business is that a’yourn?”

  “You look like a hombre what owes me money, that’s my business!” The hired gun stepped away from the bar, his face flushing with excitement. He was the type to rush the confrontation and as a result rush his shot also.

  “Haven’t been to Latronica in more’n three years, friend.” Sebastian Red went back to shoveling his food in his mouth.

  He wouldn’t leave it alone. He swaggered up to the table, the floorboards creaking, the heels of his boots thumping as he covered the distance between the bar and the table and leaned on it, between Elora and Sebastian Red. “I said you owe me money, mister. Now I—”

  Sebastian swiftly snatched up his rifle in its fringed leather sheath and with one terrifyingly economic motion, rose to his feet, and slammed the man across the face with a quick swipe of the rifle butt.

  The man crashed to the floor, holding onto his face with both hands, trying to scream but so great was the pain he couldn’t get it out. Sebastian Red calmly put the rifle on the table and stood facing the remaining three, his hand barely brushing the butt of his Nightmaster.

  “Anybody else here think I owe ‘em money?”

  The fourth man smiled thinly, his eyes amused and Sebastian knew why: he’d learned what he wanted to know. He was the one who spoke now. “Naw, mister. My friend there made a mistake. You don’t owe nobody here nothing.”

  “Then get this squealin’ bastard outta here and let me get back to my food in peace.”

  The fourth man jerked his head at the two others, indicating they should comply. They quickly ran over to their companion, lifted him to his feet, and hustled him out of the cantina.

  The fourth man sauntered over to the table and gestured at a chair. ‘Mind if I sit down and palaver for a spell?”

  Sebastian reseated himself and picked up his bowl and chopsticks. “You could’a done that right from the start and saved yourself ruinin’ a man.”

  “Cody ain’t worth a fart in a high wind anyways. You knew that ‘cause you didn’t kill him. You taught him a lesson in manners, instead.”

  “I don’t mind killin’ a man in a fair fight but killin’ him would have been worse than murder.”

  The fourth man shrugged as he seated himself. “Some-times killin’ guys like Cody is doin’ them a favor. He ain’t gonna last too long in this kinda work, anyway.”

  “So what did you hire him for?”

  “When the shootin’ starts, he can stop a bullet that might hit me. My name’s Corbeau.”

  “Sebastian Red.”

  Corbeau’s blue-green eyes widened in recognition and surprise for a tick before narrowing in suspicion. “You’re quite a bit off your range, ain’tcha, Red?”

  “Been tracking two bounties in these here mountains. Lost ‘em a few days back. Thought they might’a headed here.”

  Corbeau’s next question was directed at the woman. “He a friend a’yourn, Elora?”

  “Never laid eyes on the man until today.”

  Corbeau seemed satisfied with what he was hearing so far but still puzzled. “So lemme ask you a question, if’n you don’t mind, Red.”

  “If I do, you’ll be the first to know,” Sebastian replied with what might have been amusement. He continued to eat.

  “You wouldn’t be here on behalf of the Pertwees, would you?”

  “The who?”

  Elora said, “There’s two families here in this town. The Pertwees and the Buckleys. They’ve been here for ‘bout two, three months now. They used to live in the town of Tenaj, over on the other side of the mountains. But they were kicked out, exiled here.” Elora removed her pipe from her mouth, toyed with it as she told her story. “The story goes a little somethin’ like this: a Buckley boy fell in love with a Pertwee lass. The two of them were goin’ to be married. Somewhere durin’ the wedding plans, somebody got insul-ted over damn foolishness an’ a Buckley ended up getting killed by a Pertwee. That started a feud. The boy and girl were told they couldn’t marry. They planned on elopin’ but their plans got found out. Somehow or another they also got killed. Some say they killed themselves. Some say it was Old Joe Buckley himself killed his boy and the girl. Some say it was Missus Pertwee. Which way was it, Corbeau?”

  Corbeau shrugged. “Depends on who you talk to. I done heard the story four, five different ways since I been working for Mr. Buckley.”

  “Just what do you do for this Mr. Buckley?” Sebastian Red asked, even though he full well knew the answer. He set his empty bowl down and poured himself another shot of tequila.

  “I do whatever killin’ for him he don’t have time to do hisself. Me an’ a bunch of other guns hired on to work for him.”

  Elora resumed the story. “No matter which way it was, the Buckleys and the Pertwees commenced to killin’ each other off at an awful rate. Durin’ this mutual massacre you had your innocent bystanders cut down in the crossfire.”

  Corbeau chuckled. “Is there such a thing as a guilty bystander, you reckon?”

  “The Town Fathers put their collective foot down and said enough was enough. At gunpoint the good citizens of Tenaj run both families outta town and told ‘em don’t come back until the feud was settled one way or t’other.”

  “So you mean that ever since then, the Pertwees and the Buckleys have been here killin’ each other?”

  Corbeau shrugged. “More like a standoff. Oh, we swap shots from time to time but both sides are pretty well matched in terms of numbers. And both sides have got some pretty good guns workin’ for them. The Pertwees have Blindeye Burns, Sam Marr, Saul the Rope…”

  “And the Buckley’s have you,” Sebastian Red finished.

  “Not just me. There’s Nate Crenshaw, Funny Ned Breena, Stomp Simpson…”

  “I know Stomp. Worked with him up in the Goldprice Territory. You see him before I do, I’d be obliged if you tell him I said ‘hey’.”

  “Be my pleasure. But I got to get an answer from you, first. You give me your word you give me the straight of it? That you bein’ here is because you’re hunting bounty? You wasn’t hired to gun for Missus Pertwee?”

  “You got my word.”

  Corbeau nodded, satisfi
ed. Men such as he and Sebastian had no reason to lie to each other. “That being established, would you be open to comin’ to work for Mr. Buckley?”

  Sebastian Red shook his head, the gold coins woven in his dreads clinking slightly together at the movement. “Nah. This feud ain’t no concern of mine.”

  “So I can take that to mean you won’t hire on with the Pertwees, then?”

  “Like I said, this business don’t concern me noway, nohow. I plan to stay two or three days to rest my horse, get a couple nights sleep in a real bed then push on. Try to pick up the trail of my bounties.”

  Corbeau nodded and stood up. “Good enough for me, Red. I’ll tell the boys to leave you be. Most nights we drink it up at the big house down on the other end of town. You wanna come on by after supper and pull a cork with me an’ Stomp, you’re welcome.” He touched the brim of his hat to the woman. “Good afternoon to you, Elora.”

  Sebastian Red lifted his glass in salute as Corbeau left the cantina. “I like that man,” he said to Elora.

  “Corbeau’s better’n most of the trash workin’ for Buckley. I like him, too.” Elora leaned forward, her eyes on Sebastian’s. She smiled. “You said you wanted to sleep in a real bed, rest your horse. That all you wanna do while you’re here, Sebastian Red?”

  He put the shot glass down. “I got other things in mind.”

  “Let’s get to it, then.” Elora left her long pipe on the table and got up to close the door and bar it shut.

  “Just like that?”

  Elora returned to the table. Sebastian slowly stood up and as she pressed herself closer he could feel such sweet heat radiating from her. Combined with her marvelously intoxicating smell he felt an ache in his loins he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “Just like that. Folks like us don’t have time for all that fancy talk that don’t mean nothin’ nohow, do we?”

  “No we don’t.”

  Elora took his right hand and guided it to where she wanted it to be. “Then come on, Sebastian Red. Remind me of what that there is really for. Remind me right now.”

  And so he did. Yes. Yes.

  Sebastian Red yawned and stretched contentedly. He sat on the porch out front of the cantina. A bottle of tequila rested within easy reach along with a glass. He sat sombrero-less in the strong afternoon sun and just relaxed, letting the sunlight wash over him. Despite the chill in the air, he felt warm. His gun belt hung on the back of his chair. His sword leaned against the wall of the cantina.

  The past two days had been very pleasant ones. Days of rest and nights of torrid passion. Elora was a woman of volcanic urgency when it came to the art of lovemaking. She made no secret of the fact that she gave up her body freely in the hope that Sebastian would take her with him when he left. He was agreeable to that. Elora wouldn’t be a burden on the trail. She’d pull her weight and wouldn’t slow him down. He’d already made up his mind to take her to a city or town of decent size and then, he’d simply leave her there. Hell, he might even take her all the way to Hayes City. It had been an age since he’d been there himself. A woman like Elora would make out fine there; he had no doubt of that.

  Several men walked on by, nodded to Sebastian who nodded in return. They were Buckley men and true to Corbeau’s word, they left him in peace. Last night Stomp Simpson had stopped by the cantina. Sebastian Red and Stomp had spent most of the night talking about friends and enemies both living and dead. Stomp had spoken of the blood feud between the two families;

  “Problem is that Buckley and the Missus Pertwee won’t just cut loose and bring it to a head. They only wanna fight when th’ odds are so heavily in their favor there ain’t no chance a’them losing.” Stomp had shaken his big shaggy head ruefully. “Hell, me an’ the boys don’t care. We got plenty of women, liquor, food. But this thing been goin’ on for three months now. Winter’s comin’ on. Soon these mountains will be full’a snow and when that happens, whoever is here in this town will have to stay here until spring. Damned if’n I’m gonna be holed up here that long. Things don’t happen and happen soon, I’m pullin’ out.”

  Sebastian looked up into the sky. Not a cloud there but that could change and change rapidly. Elora said herself that snow was coming soon but they had time. She advised resting another day or two before leaving.

  A group of men were crossing the street, coming towards him. Sebastian Red had seen them around, knew they worked for Missus Pertwee, nodded to them as they passed by, but that was it. They had kept an eye on him but left him alone.

  The straw boss indicated that his men should hang back a bit. He stepped up on the porch, all barbed wire attitude, his mouth working on a wad of gum or tobacco. “Okay, Red, you come on with us. Missus Pertwee wants a word with you.”

  Sebastian languidly rocked back and forth in his chair, the front legs coming up off the thick planking of the porch. “An’ who might you be?”

  “The name’s Doone. I work for Missus Pertwee. An’ she says that if you ain’t workin’ for Buckley then you’re workin’ for her. So you come on along and pay respects to her.”

  “I ain’t workin’ for nobody. I was huntin’ a couple of bounties and got myself lost. I’m just restin’ up for a spell. I’ll be moving along in a day or two. Tell your Missus Pertwee what I said. An’ get outta my sunlight.”

  Doone’s face twisted in anger. “I heard that bullshit story you told Corbeau. He’s fool enough to believe it. I ain’t. Now you come along right now before I—”

  The front legs of Sebastian Red’s chair came down with a thud. His hand went out, seized the scabbard of his sword and out came the blade with a hiss. Silver flashed and then the sword was back in the scabbard, locking in with a faint click.

  Doone’s eyes couldn’t get any bigger. The buckle of his gun belt had been cleanly sliced in half. The belt thumped to the porch.

  Sebastian once more rocked back and forth in the chair. The sword back in the exact spot he had taken it from. He picked up his bottle of tequila and poured himself a shot. He tossed it back and looked hard at Doone. “You still here?”

  Doone bent down to retrieve his gun belt, but Sebastian’s voice stopped him. “Leave it be. Git.”

  Doone turned and left, pushing his men in front of him as they retreated. They were obviously ready to dispute the issue but just as obviously, Doone wasn’t.

  From behind him, Elora’s amused voice said, “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  “If there’s one thing I can’t abide, its rudeness. From man, woman or child. Shows poor home trainin’.”

  “You want to take your supper out here or inside?”

  Before Sebastian Red could answer, something caught his eye down the road apiece. Strangers were coming into town, riding slowly.

  Elora came all the way out of the cantina, her ever present pipe in her hand. “More strangers. This is getting to be a reg’lar boom town.”

  Sebastian and Elora watched as the riders drew nearer. They dressed in robes of almond and dark red. Wide brimmed hats sat atop their heads and their eyes were remote and unreadable. Their weapons were huge shotguns with extra long barrels that they carried as easily as if they were straws. Six of them all told. Three each on either side with a seventh man driving the wagon. Four huge black horses drew the carriage. Horses even bigger than Ra. They had to be big and strong because whatever was in that wagon was heavy to pull. Sebastian could judge that by the deep ruts the wheels left in the ground.

  Sebastian could feel a chill right down deep in his bones. In his years of traveling he’d picked up enough of the Art of the Spirit to know when he was in the presence of some-thing supernatural. Whatever these men brought with them, it wasn’t anything natural.

  Elora felt it as well. “They don’t have anything good in that wagon.”

  “You feel it too, huh?”

  “And more than that.” Elora gestured to the sky. Sebas-tian looked up. The sun was gone. Muddy looking gray clouds were moving in rapidly from the east.

>   “We should leave first thing t’morra,” Elora said. “Get started at first light.”

  Sebastian frowned slightly. “We don’t have to scurry like rabbits just ‘cause a buncha strange men come in pullin’ a wagon. I agree it don’t feel right, but if we tend to our business and leave them be to theirs, we won’t have no problems. I wouldn’t mind another couple of days of sitting ‘round doin’ nothing. Once we get on that trail we ain’t gonna have it nice and comfortable like we got it here.”

  Elora sighed. She had known enough men like Sebastian to know when to keep her thoughts to herself. “I’ll go cook your supper, then.”

  Sebastian Red stood up suddenly, looping his gun belt over a shoulder and picking up his sword. “We can always eat later,” he said with meaning, and Elora led the way inside and into the back of the cantina where her bed was.

  And the sky continued to grow darker.

  Old Joe Buckley looked like a man carved out of old, weather-toughened wood. Brown as a nut with a wild shock of iron gray hair that stood out all which-a-way. And with a soul to match.

  He stood looking out the window of what had once been the town’s City Hall. He’d shot the mayor of Zeso in the forehead and proclaimed the office null and void. Moved into City Hall with his whores, children, extended family, and the gunfighters he’d hired.

  He looked out the wide front windows of the building at the strangers riding into town with their dark wagon. He spat out a vile oath and turned to Corbeau who stood nearby, also looking with interest at the strangers.

  “What the hell is goin’ on ‘round here, Corbeau? You make a deal with the Pertwee bitch?”

  Corbeau lifted eyebrows in mild surprise. “Not sure what you mean, boss.”

  “You gimme your word that Sebastian Red said he wasn’t here to gun for the Pertwee bitch. Okay, we leave him be. Now here come some more guns, lookin’ like outriders from hell! I sure didn’t hire ‘em!”

  Corbeau shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t, either.”

  Old Joe Buckley spent the next minute or so expressing his passionate opinion that whatever thinking instrumen-tality Corbeau possessed was quite obviously composed of excrement.