by B. S. Dunn
He smiled wanly at Ford and, barely able to speak said, ‘Evenin’.’
Then he fell at the doctor’s feet.
~*~
The sound from the semi-darkened saloon was thunderous. Mike Stall’s snores could be compared to the sound of a herd of buffalo stampeding along the street. The vibrations almost made the saloon shake.
He sat in a chair with his booted feet up on another. He was relaxed from the now two-thirds-empty bottle containing the remains of the red-eye he’d consumed.
‘What are we goin’ to do?’ Murphy whispered to Kansas, worry evident in his voice.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what the hell I mean, Kansas!’ Murphy shrilled loudly before he caught himself. He leaned in close. ‘Mike’s gone crazy. The only thing that hangin’ around here is goin’ to do is get us an invitation to a neck-tie party. How long do you think it’ll be before a posse or the cavalry come ridin’ into town? One night here was fine, but we shoulda rode out of here today. And all because of one man. Hell, he’s goin’ to get us killed!’
Kansas fingered another bottle of whiskey and nodded in agreement.
‘Maybe, but he’s the boss.’
The disgruntled outlaw threw back his shot and screwed his face up at the harsh liquor’s slow burn.
He cleared his throat and cursed.
‘Hell, you’re as crazy as him!’
‘Maybe, but what else did you expect me to say?’ Kansas nodded at Stall.
Murphy turned; his eyes widened a fraction. Stall was no longer asleep. He was sitting there with one of his six-guns drawn and pointing at Murphy.
‘Are you goin’ to shut up?’ His tone was menacing. ‘Or am I goin’ to have to shoot you to shut you up?’
Murphy dropped his gaze and turned back around. He grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured himself another shot.
‘I thought so,’ Stall sneered.
The outlaw boss stood up.
‘Where are you goin’?’ Kansas asked.
Stall grabbed the bottle of red-eye from the table.
‘I’m goin’ next door,’ he snapped, ‘where I can get me a bed and some peace and quiet.’
~*~
A low keening filled the small room and steadily grew into a wail. The noise dragged King from a deep, dreamless sleep. He sat up and blinked furiously to clear his vision. Instinctively, he clutched at the empty holster before he remembered where he was.
Once his vision had cleared he glanced at Candy. The whore had a look of utter devastation on her face.
‘She’s dead,’ Candy whimpered. ‘Letty’s dead.’
Her shoulders trembled then slumped as her grief at the loss of her friend overwhelmed her. King got to his feet. His body protested fiercely at the movement. He crossed the room and gently put his arms around Candy. She melted against him and buried her face into his chest. Her sobs came freely as King held her tight and tried to ease her pain.
They stood like that for several minutes before Candy pulled back. She wiped at the wet patch on his jacket with her hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ she apologized.
King gave her a sympathetic look. Then his expression changed and his jaw set firm.
He took her arm.
‘Come on, we’re gettin’ out of here.’
Candy wiped at her eyes, confused.
‘What? How?’
‘Out the side window,’ King informed her.
‘But it’s too high ...’
King ignored her protests. ‘Grab a blanket. It’s goin’ to be cold out and you’ll need it.’
Candy gently removed the blanket from the bed where Letty lay. She looked down at her friend and whispered:
‘I’m so sorry, Letty.’
While Candy retrieved the blanket, King limped across to the window and opened it. A freezing gust of wind blew in, bringing with it small snowflakes. He shivered as the cold blast of air filled the room.
He stuck his head out of the window. The exposure to the cold breeze made the bare skin of his face hurt, as though it were being pricked with sharp needles. He looked down into the alley below. The window was high, but a leap was not impossible. Candy appeared beside him.
‘Give me the blanket,’ he said.
‘What for?’ she asked. King had told her she’d need it and now he wanted to take it from her.
‘I’m goin’ to use it to lower you part-way down,’ he explained.
‘But it’s not long enough,’ she pointed out.
‘Once you get down as far as you can, you’ll have to let go and drop to the alley.’
Candy was horrified.
‘I can’t do it, I’ll still be too high.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ King reassured her. ‘Now climb out.’
With few further protests and a lot of effort, King managed to help Candy out and start lowering her down. When they ran out of blanket she was still fifteen feet from the ground.
‘OK, let go,’ King told her.
‘I … I can’t,’ Candy stammered.
‘You must.’
‘No, I can’t.’
Before King could say more he heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming along the hall. They stopped outside his room and he heard the key rattle in the door lock.
He glanced at the door, then back to Candy, who was clinging to the blanket as if her life depended upon it.
‘Sorry,’ King murmured. He let the blanket go.
When Candy realized she was falling her scream pierced the night. It stopped abruptly when her rump hit the snow-covered ground.
‘What the hell?’
King whirled and saw Mike Stall standing in the doorway, a Colt in his fist. The outlaw snapped a shot off and splinters flew from the window frame near King’s head. He ducked instinctively and watched with horror as Stall took deliberate aim.
King had no time to think. To pause was to die. He did what was needed to survive and threw himself out of the window.
The second shot crashed in the small room and glass from the window shattered because the store owner was no longer there.
King fell like a stone. When he landed he felt as though he’d been run under in a stampede. The air whooshed from his lungs and pain shot through every part of his body.
In the distance he could hear Candy’s screams; as his head began to clear the screams grew louder.
King lurched as though drunkenly to his feet. He looked about, saw her, clutched her slim arm and started to drag her down the alley away from the street.
Stall leaned out of the window and fired two more shots at the fleeing couple. Then, round the corner of the building, guns drawn, came Kansas and Murphy.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ Kansas called out to his boss.
‘The woman and the damned greenhorn have escaped,’ Stall bellowed. ‘Get the hell after ’em!’
‘In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s damn well snowin’,’ Kansas pointed out. ‘And you want us to go traipsin’ about in it to bring back a girl and a greenhorn?’
‘I don’t care about the girl,’ Stall roared even louder, making a point. ‘But I do want that feller back pronto.’
Stall disappeared back inside the room and slammed the window.
‘I told you he was damned crazy,’ Murphy grumbled.
‘Just shut up and help me look,’ Kansas snapped.
They hunted for the escapees for an hour before the bitter cold drove them back indoors. When they entered the saloon, covered in wet snow, they found Stall waiting.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
Kansas shrugged and sat down at the table where he and Murphy had been drinking. He popped the cork from the bottle and took a long swig.
‘There ain’t no sign of ’em,’ he gasped as the alcohol burned his throat. ‘We looked around but couldn’t see hide nor hair of ’em anywhere.’
‘Well, get the hell out there and keep lookin’,’ the outlaw leader ordered.
Kansas shook his head
.
‘Not like this, Mike.’
Stall leaned forward, his eyes turned to slits.
‘What do you mean?’
Murphy backed away from the pair. The look on Stall’s face was one he’d seen before.
‘If we go back out there now we’ll die. The cold will kill us sure as shootin’,’ Kansas explained. ‘The longer we stay out there, the wetter we’ll become and then we’ll freeze to death.’
Stall mulled it over for a short time, then he nodded.
‘Fine. But you’re both goin’ back out there when the sun comes up. And that’s final.’
~*~
King and Candy managed to get over the river without being seen. From there they kept to the shadows until King stopped.
‘We need to get inside or we’ll die out here.’
Candy shivered uncontrollably. The blanket meant to keep her warm lay back on the ground in the alley.
King knocked on the door of the first house they came to. When no one answered he tried the knob. It was locked.
‘Do you know who lives here?’ he asked Candy.
‘The mayor.’
King nodded, clenched his jaw and drew back his leg. He gave the door a savage kick. With a loud crack the timber around the latch splintered and the door flew open.
They walked inside. King closed the door and propped it shut with a chair. Inside the house was almost as cold as it was outside. Candy stood shivering in the darkness.
‘Let’s find the bedroom,’ King said. ‘We need to get you warm.’
They checked the rooms until they found the one they wanted. Candy took off her dress and climbed into bed in her undergarments. King climbed in beside her.
‘Thank you, for what you did for me,’ Candy said softly. ‘For getting me out of there, I mean.’
King could feel her body still trembling beside him so he moved in close to her and reached out.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, drawing back from him.
‘I’m just tryin’ to help you get warm is all,’ King explained. ‘Body heat from another person is the quickest way to warm you up.’
‘Oh.’
They snuggled in close and King tried to make light their situation to help Candy feel more at ease.
‘I’m sure glad my wife ain’t here,’ he said. Then he added, ‘Once the sun comes up we’ll see if we can find some help.’
He realized then that the soft, supple body he was holding had stopped shivering. The sound of exhausted snores filled the darkness.
Fifteen
The snow fell all night across Miller’s Crossing. On the following morning dawn’s watery light revealed a thick white powdery blanket draped over the whole town. The sky was overcast and bleak, the air frigid and biting.
Inside the home of Doctor Simon Ford the log fire kept the outside chill at bay and the rooms inside at a constant temperature.
Brolin stirred, then came awake with a start. He felt the pressure of a hand on his shoulder and a man’s voice saying:
‘Take it easy Mr. Brolin. You’re safe here.’
First, Brolin realized that he was lying in a bed and second, the man had used his name.
As the doctor’s face swam into focus, Brolin asked:
‘How do you know my name?’
‘You talk a lot in your sleep.’
Brolin closed his eyes and sighed. ‘Where am I?’
‘You’re in Miller’s Crossing,’ Ford informed him. ‘I’m Simon Ford, the doctor. This is my house.’
Brolin sat up and looked about the room. Other than the bed, there was a drawer cabinet, a night stand and a wash table with a dish and a pitcher for water. In the far corner stood a wooden dining chair, just to the left of a window. The door was open and he could feel the warmth drifting in.
‘Where’s my gun?’ he asked Ford.
‘I’ve hung it over a chair in the kitchen.’
Brolin frowned and looked at the doctor. ‘Why are you still in town? I thought everybody had upped and quit.’
‘This is my home. Nobody has the right to scare me from it,’ Ford replied firmly. ‘Besides, I have a man in the other room who has a head injury and hasn’t woken up yet.’
Brolin swung his legs over the side of the timber-framed bed and rested his feet on the carpeted floor.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Ford asked.
‘I got me some men to kill, Doc,’ Brolin told him.
‘Stall?’
‘Yeah. That’s right.’
Brolin went on to fill Ford in on the previous day’s events.
When he’d finished, the doctor said:
‘From what I’ve heard about you, Mr. Brolin, and what you’ve just told me, it is hard to picture you as the cold-blooded killer the stories declare you are.’
‘Don’t let what I’ve told you fool you, Doc,’ Brolin told him. ‘I’ve done my share of killin’. Some of it questionable. But what they said I did to the trail crew was lies. That was Stall. Now I figure it’s time for payback.’
Ford was about to say something when there came a loud, urgent knock at his door. He looked puzzled. He was thinking along the same lines as Brolin: that most, if not all of the town’s citizens had fled when things became wild.
‘Get me my gun,’ Brolin ordered.
While the doctor was gone Brolin found his clothes laid over a chair in the corner. When he put his shirt on his wounded shoulder felt a little stiff, but the doctor had cleaned it and bandaged it.
The knocking continued.
When Ford returned, Brolin was mostly dressed. He took the Remington from the doctor and buckled it on.
‘Right,’ said Ford, ‘let’s see who it is.’
When Ford opened the front door, Brolin stood behind it with his six-gun cocked. He waited and listened.
‘Doctor Ford, we saw your smoke. May we come in?’ a woman’s voice pleaded.
More than one person, Brolin thought.
‘Well ...’ Ford hesitated a moment, ‘I guess. But who’s your friend?’
One other person. Brolin tensed. He guessed it was the doctor’s way of letting him know the other person was a stranger.
‘He helped me get away from those men,’ the woman explained. ‘His name is Emmett.’
Brolin stepped round the open door and looked at the two people standing in the doorway.
‘Let ’em in, Doc,’ Brolin told Ford. ‘King’s one of the good guys.’
The pair walked through the door and they all went on through to the living room. King stared at Brolin, barely able to contain his relief that the gunfighter was there in the same room.
‘Damn it! You’re alive.’
‘So it would seem,’ Brolin answered. ‘What happened to you?’
‘We escaped from them last night,’ King answered.
He related to the gunfighter the events of his ordeal after Brolin had gone into the river.
When he’d finished Ford disappeared; he soon returned with four mugs of steaming hot coffee. He left again and came back with a dress for Candy.
He held it out for her.
‘Please wear it. It was my late wife’s. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.’
Candy hesitated.
‘Please; it will be warmer than the one you have,’ Ford urged her, smiling reassuringly.
Candy took it. ‘Thank you.’
‘You can change through there.’ Ford pointed at a closed door.
After she was gone King turned to Brolin.
‘What are we goin’ to do?’ he asked.
‘We are goin’ to do nothin’,’ Brolin told him. ‘I, on the other hand, am goin’ out there to put an end to this.’
‘Not without me you ain’t,’ King protested.
‘We’ve been through this before,’ Brolin said impatiently. ‘You ain’t comin’. This is what I do - did. Besides, this is between me and Stall.’
‘They killed my son.’ King seethed. ‘If you think you can stop me, yo
u go right ahead and try.’
Brolin knew the store owner wasn’t going to change his mind. He could see it in his face. His eyes blazed, his jaw was set firm.
Brolin nodded.
‘OK. You do what I say, when I say it.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘And no questioning when I tell you what to do. If I tell you to do something, it’s for a reason. More than likely keep you from gettin’ killed.’
Brolin turned towards Ford. ‘Is there a place in town where we can get some more guns? A gunsmith maybe?’
Ford nodded. ‘There’s a gunsmith’s shop down the street a little way.’
Brolin thanked Ford, found his boots and finished getting dressed. He moved to leave, then turned to King.
‘Come on then,’ he said, ‘let’s go and find you somethin’ to shoot with.’
Outside the snow had stopped falling, leaving everything covered in a crisp blanket of white. The two men found the gunsmith’s shop situated beside the blacksmith’s.
Brolin hammered on the door with a fist. When no one answered he broke the lock and they went inside.
The interior was small and dim. Brolin looked about, trying to find something to suit. Along the back wall was a timber gun rack filled with rifles and shotguns. In front of it was a display cabinet where the six-guns were kept.
Brolin walked over to the gun rack first and selected a sawed-off shotgun. He passed it to King.
‘Take this,’ he ordered. ‘It’ll only fire two shots but it’ll give you more chance of hittin’ somethin’.’
He left the rifles where they were. If things went the way he expected the range would be close and they wouldn’t need them.
Next, Brolin moved to the glass-topped counter and looked at the handguns. Inside were a matching pair of Colt Peacemakers. He took them out and looked about the room until he found a twin-holster gunbelt. He unbuckled the Remington and passed it to King.
‘Put it on,’ he told him. ‘After you fire them two shots from the scattergun, you may need it.’
King strapped the gunbelt on while Brolin found some boxes of cartridges for the Colts and the scattergun. He filled the loops on the new belt, then the Peacemakers. He buckled on the belt, then used the rawhide thongs to tie the guns down.
Once finished, he adjusted them so they sat comfortable. Then he relaxed, watching Brolin, curious as to what he was doing.