Brothers in Blood

by Lee Lejeune

Sunshine shook his head.

  ‘I’m not sure about that. At least it helps me to focus in on your son Bart.’ He took the frame in his hands and held it close. It showed just an ordinary family dressed in the manner of the day. Hard-working people who used all their strength and energy to keep the wolf from the door. The father didn’t look exactly sick but, at the same time, he didn’t look to be in the best of health either. The boy, Bart Junior, couldn’t have been more than sixteen and the girl, Elspeth, was even younger. She had the eagle eyes of her mother and looked anxious to explore the world.

  To Sunshine it was a sad picture, the picture of a family that didn’t know that break-up was just around the corner. Even Bethany looked somehow different, a little more hopeful about life in general.

  ‘What do you see?’ Bethany asked him.

  ‘I see an ordinary family with hopes for the future,’ he said. ‘What happened to those two kids?’

  ‘Well, after their pa died a family from the East took Elspeth under their wing. They could see she was bright and eager and they offered to have her educated at their expense.’ She shrugged. ‘As for Bart, he just lit out after his pa died. He sort of idealized Bart Senior and went to pieces after he died. There weren’t nothing I could do to stop him. My guess is he got in with a bad bunch and this is the result.’

  Sunshine placed the framed photo respectfully on the table.

  ‘That’s a real nice picture, ma’am, and it has convinced me I’m doing the right thing.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad about that, Sunshine, because to tell you the truth, I feel real sick to my stomach about this whole business. So what do we do next?’

  Sunshine worked his jaw for a moment.

  ‘Could there be some sort of tie-up between these two moustachioed gents and the Cutaway brothers, d’you think?’

  ‘I’ve thought about that,’ she said. Then she took up her pipe and started loading it with tobacco. Sunshine got up from the table, then sat down again.

  ‘Do you happened to have a pen and ink, Bethany?’

  ‘I sure do,’ she said. ‘You thinking of writing a letter or something?’

  ‘In this case it’s something,’ he said. ‘What I’m going to do is draw portraits of those two kidnappers so I remember exactly what they look like.’

  ‘Well, that’s a good idea if you can draw as good as you talk,’ she said. Then she produced pen and paper and Sunshine set himself to drawing the two hombres. Bethany got up from the table.

  ‘There’s chores to do. I got to feed the livestock and look around the place, see everything’s in good order. You don’t have too much rest in a place like this.’

  While she was out Sunshine concentrated on the portraits till he had the two faces just about right. While he wasn’t exactly proud of them he thought they were good likenesses. When Bethany came in, she said:

  ‘Someone’s been poking around the place.’

  ‘You seen the signs?’

  Bethany sniffed. ‘The animals notice these things. Even that hoss of yours seemed a little restless.’

  ‘Well, that’s not surprising since Chingalong likes to keep on the move.’

  She looked down at the portraits on the table.

  ‘My, my,’ she said. ‘These are just the living image of those two rascals, just like they’re all set to talk to a person.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Sunshine, ‘because I hope you’re going to talk to me and tell me a whole lot more than I know right now.’

  ‘Did you study art work at school?’ she asked.

  ‘To tell you the truth, I didn’t study much at all,’ he admitted. ‘I just like observing nature. Those two moustachioed gents were two of nature’s great monstrosities.’

  ‘So, what do you aim to do with those portraits?’

  ‘Well, with your permission, Mrs Bartok, tomorrow come sunup I’m going to ride into town and see what I can dig up.’

  She eyed him cautiously.

  ‘You don’t need my permission, son. You just need a word of advice.’

  ‘And what would that be?’ he asked.

  ‘Strap that gunbelt to your side and be ready to use that hogleg if necessary because town can be more than a little rough at times, as you saw earlier, and you got to be ready.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he said.

  ‘And don’t come back dead,’ she said, ‘because dead you won’t be no good to me at all.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Next morning they were both up good and early. Bethany served a full breakfast that included almost everything she could devise.

  ‘So you’re set on going into town?’ she said.

  ‘I’m set to go into Logan,’ he agreed. ‘I don’t know what I’ll find but I have a hunch I’ll find something.’ He went out and saddled up.

  ‘We’re going right into town, buddy,’ he told Chingalong. ‘You do right and we’ll get along just fine.’

  They trotted along nice and easy and it didn’t seem far at all. They went past the store with the horse trough outside, then right through to the end of town. There wasn’t much doing and not many people around. So they turned and went back until they came to the sign that said CLOSE SHAVE and underneath We do you good.

  ‘OK, buddy, this is the spot,’ Sunshine said to the horse. He dismounted and tied Chingalong to the hitching rail. ‘Just in case you’re tempted to take a stroll,’ he added.

  He walked into the barber shop and saw a man sitting in a chair facing the door. He had practically no hair on his head at all.

  ‘Are you the receptionist?’ Sunshine asked him.

  ‘No, I’m the barber and the funeral director,’ the man replied. ‘Which service would you prefer?’

  ‘If there’s a choice, I think I’ll go for the barber. Right now I think I need a haircut.’

  The barber gave him a critical look.

  ‘Pity to spoil such a good head of hair. How did you get it so yellow? Did it come naturally or did you dunk it in a vat of dye?’

  ‘That’s just the way it sprouted out,’ Sunshine said, ‘so I’ve decided to keep it that way till I grow old and grey.’

  The barber studied him critically again.

  ‘How do you want it?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to come out bald if that’s what you mean. Just trim it back by two or three inches so I look a little more hand in hat.’

  ‘I think I might manage that,’ the barber said. ‘Why don’t you just sit yourself down in the chair and make yourself good and comfortable.’ The barber chuckled as he draped a big cloth over Sunshine’s front. ‘So you’re keeping that gunboat on?’ he said.

  ‘That seems the best policy,’ Sunshine conceded. The barber didn’t argue with that.

  ‘I heard what happened the other day,’ he said.

  ‘What did happen?’ Sunshine asked.

  The barber started snipping and combing, laughing quietly to himself.

  ‘Like you came into town with that half-crazy woman Beth Bartok.’

  ‘Well, sure I came into town with her,’ Sunshine agreed, ‘but I have to disagree with you on one thing. Bethany Bartok isn’t even a quarter crazy. She has a lot going for her – and enough cojones for two men.’

  The barber stopped snipping.

  ‘You’re right about that. Mrs Bartok is as brave as any turkey-cock I know.’ The barber snipped the air for a moment. ‘And another thing: I saw what you did to that gunslinger Slam Smith. I saw him trying to pull himself out of the water trough and you pushing him right down again, I won’t forget that in a thousand years.’

  ‘Well, I hope you come from a long-lived family,’ Sunshine said.

  The barber held a mirror up so Sunshine could see what the scissors had accomplished.

  ‘How’s that, sir?’

  Sunshine could see he’d done a presentable job. His hair had shrunk but his face and head looked a whole lot bigger. The barber untied the cloth and took it to the door, where he shook the c
lippings on to the sidewalk.

  ‘Good for the birds,’ he said to himself, ‘except they might not like their nests looking quite so bright.’ He chuckled as he came into the shop again. ‘Will there be anything else, good sir?’

  Sunshine showed him the two drawings.

  ‘Take a look at these pictures and tell me what you see.’

  The barber took the two portraits and held them up to the light.

  ‘My my, my good sir. So you’re an artist too?’

  ‘I just do a few sketches from time to time. The question is, have you seen these two moustachioed gents anywhere around?’

  ‘Sure I’ve seen them. You’ve got them just about right.’

  ‘That’s good because I need to talk to them.’

  The barber grinned.

  ‘They ain’t much for talking – at least, not from their mouths. They generally talk more with their shooters.’

  ‘That’s what I suspected, and that’s why I need to talk to them. So maybe you can tell me who they are and where I can find them?’

  The barber pulled his face into a frown.

  ‘Well, young sir, you’re new to this town and I think you have a lot to learn.’

  ‘Like what in particular?’ Sunshine asked.

  ‘Like it ain’t healthy to ask too many questions around here.’

  ‘Not even when people’s lives are at risk?’ Sunshine said.

  The barber was still frowning, only now he looked more like a funeral director than a barber.

  ‘Whose lives?’ he asked guardedly.

  Sunshine crammed his hat on his head. It fitted just fine.

  ‘Like the life of Bart Bartok Junior,’ he suggested. The barber’s eyes widened somewhat.

  ‘You mean Mrs Bethany Bartok’s son?’

  ‘So you remember the boy?’ Sunshine said. The barber looked at the door and shook his head.

  ‘Why, what happened to Bart Junior?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing so far,’ said Sunshine, ‘but I have reason to believe he’s been kidnapped.’ He waited for this to sink in. ‘And he’s being held by those two moustachioed gents – or by someone who’s using them as a front.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  Sunshine saw little beads of sweat on the barber’s bald pate. He nodded.

  ‘I’m gonna tell you what happened yesterday.’

  The barber set himself down on a chair while Sunshine told him about the events of the day before, including the ransom demand. The barber sat there like a stone image until Sunshine came to the ransom demand. Then the barber, looking shocked, grunted and shook his head.

  ‘I can’t believe this,’ he said. ‘So you think that boy’s life is in danger?’

  ‘I do believe it might be,’ Sunshine told him. ‘So maybe you can help me on this?’

  ‘How can I help?’ Now larger beads of sweat were breaking out all over the barber’s forehead.

  ‘Well, I have to find out where that boy’s being held,’ Sunshine said.

  ‘That won’t be easy. He could be anywhere.’

  ‘The point is, he must be somewhere.’ Sunshine swivelled his chair round to face the barber. ‘Now, mister, there is something else you can help me with, too. Is there a tie-up between those two scarmouches and the Cutaway brothers?’

  The barber’s jaw dropped, but what he might have said next remained a mystery because at that moment the door of the shop swung open to reveal a burly man in a wide-brimmed Stetson. He didn’t look any too friendly.

  The barber gave a sort of squawk, sounding like a chicken that sees the chicken farmer coming towards it with a sharp knife.

  ‘Why, good morning, Mr Smith,’ he croaked. The new arrival was Slam Smith, the man whom Sunshine had dunked in the drinking trough the day before.

  The man stood in the doorway and peered down at Sunshine through bloodshot, malevolent eyes, looking like the Devil incarnate.

  ‘So you’re back in town,’ he snarled through tobacco-stained whiskers. Sunshine swung round in the chair.

  ‘Thought I’d ride in for a hair trim,’ he said, sounding calmer than he felt. He was glad to be sitting down because he thought his legs might turn to jelly if he tried to get up, and it gave him a moment longer to get used to what might be about to happen.

  ‘You cut this cissy-boy’s hair?’ the bully barked at the barber.

  The barber tried to reply but his mouth was suddenly too dry and nothing came out. Slam Smith’s grin widened and he switched to Sunshine again.

  ‘I see you got your gunbelt strapped on today, sonny. You think you can use that toy or is it just to impress your amigos?’

  Sunshine suddenly felt anger welling up.

  ‘I guess I won’t know the answer to that question until the time comes,’ he said. Slam Smith sniggered.

  ‘Well, the time’s come a little sooner than you expected, sonny boy. Why don’t you just step outside on to Main Street and we’ll see what you can do with that toy.’

  Sunshine glanced at the barber and the barber gave a slight shake of his head. Sunshine dragged himself up from the chair and found, to his surprise, that his legs were far less shaky than he had feared. Is this the end or the beginning? he asked himself. He reached down to check that the Colt Peacemaker was in place; when he looked up again he was looking at the barrel of a gun. Slam Smith chuckled.

  ‘Don’t try anything in here, sonny boy. After all, we don’t want to spill your blood all over the floor, do we?’

  ‘What exactly do you want?’ Sunshine asked him.

  ‘What I want is for you count to three and then come out on to Main Street and we’ll take it from there.’ Smith backed out through the door and walked across the sidewalk on to the dust of Main Street.

  Sunshine turned to the barber, who looked more like a stone statue than a man, except that he was trembling.

  ‘What do I do now?’ Sunshine asked him.

  ‘Well, you have a choice,’ the barber said. ‘Either you can go out on to Main Street and face up to that bully and his shooter, or you can disappear through the shop and vamoose out through the back way.’

  Sunshine thought things over. The second option was certainly tempting. He could run and live to fight another day. On the other hand vamoosing had its down side: if he ran he would be branded a coward and become a laughing-stock and that wouldn’t help anyone, least of all him.

  ‘Did you notice something?’ he asked the barber.

  ‘Nothing in particular,’ the barber admitted, ‘except Slam Smith was mad enough to kill a man.’

  ‘He sure was mad,’ Sunshine admitted, ‘but he was also drunk as a skunk. The way he walked across the sidewalk and the way he stank of booze. Does he always sway and stink like that?’

  ‘Slam Slam is drunk but that’s nothing unusual. He spends most of his time tipping back the bottle and when he’s sober he’s usually snoring away in some cathouse.’

  Sunshine shook his head. ‘Well then, that means he’s a really sad case and I’m sorry for him.’

  ‘Don’t waste your tears, because he sure won’t be sorry when he shoots you down, son.’

  Sunshine braced himself. ‘I’ve made up my mind. I’m going out to face the music, whatever tune it might play.’

  The barber shook his head. ‘Well, I prefer a dance to a funeral march and I hope you can do a jig, ’cause I hear there’s a deal of dancing and rejoicing in heaven.’

  ‘Thanks for the encouraging words,’ Sunshine said.

  He stepped out on to the sidewalk. For some unfathomable reason his legs weren’t shaking at all. The bully Slam Smith was standing no more than a hundred feet away with his back to the sun. He had his legs apart and his hands by his sides and he looked as steady as Pike’s Peak.

  ‘You said your prayers, sonny boy?’ he snarled.

  ‘You got your dancing shoes ready?’ Sunshine shouted back. ‘They tell me they dance all day in hell but the dances are sort of grotesque.’

  T
he word grotesque had a strange effect on the bully, as if an invisible bullet had struck him right in the middle of the forehead.

  Don’t weaken and don’t feel sorry for him, Sunshine told himself. Just keep talking and using words as bullets.

  ‘Mr Smith,’ he said, ‘why don’t you just walk into the saloon, have a pint of good booze, then lie down somewhere and take a long nap?’

  That hit Slam Smith just like a second bullet between the eyes. His head jerked back.

  ‘You think I’m too pissed-up to kill you, boy?’ he roared.

  ‘I think you’re too pissed-up not to try,’ Sunshine replied.

  Slam Smith turned purple in the face and his eyes flamed with fury.

  ‘Get you to hell!’ he raged. He reached down for his shooter and tried to pull it free. He wasn’t a quick-draw man and he never would be, especially when he was drunk, which was most of the time.

  Sunshine saw what was coming; he dodged back into the shadows of the overhang, drew the Peacemaker and fired. Slam Smith’s shot had come a split second later; the bullet went wide, smashing a window in the barber shop. Sunshine had aimed low but the bullet had found its mark. Smith staggered back and fell.

  Sunshine walked forward under the overhang and stepped out on to Main Street. Slam Smith was struggling to get to his feet but it was too difficult since Sunshine’s bullet had struck his right leg just below the knee, shattering the bone; blood was spurting from the wound on to the dust of the street. Smith raised his shooter and tried to level it but the pain from his wound defeated him; he groaned and hopped to one side.

  Sunshine levelled the Peacemaker and drew back the hammer.

  ‘Just drop that gun before I shoot you right between the eyes,’ he said.

  Slam Smith half-rose, then fell back, clutching his wounded leg. His shooter fell into the dust of Main Street. He stared at Sunshine in total bewilderment and terror, as though he was seeing a railway locomotive coming full tilt towards him.

  Sunshine drew back, still holding the Peacemaker.

  ‘Somebody get help to this man before he bleeds to death,’ he shouted. Now his legs were beginning to feel like jelly, after all.

  ‘Send for the sawbones,’ the barber shouted. He had just emerged from the shop with his first-aid kit. ‘Lie down right there,’ he said to Smith. ‘I’m gonna tie that wound so you don’t lose too much blood.’