Sol had been nursing the same glass of whiskey for nearly the entire length of time he’d been there after his workday was through. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he sure would have liked to toss back the liquor as if it were water. He didn’t exactly have the money to do that, so he sipped at his drink and let the firewater trickle down his throat.
The Railway Saloon was a large tent filled with dozens of small round tables that looked more like oversized stools. Because the canvas walls had proven to be too big of a temptation for the local drunks to resist, there were lengths of rope along the top and bottom of each wall. Cowbells were tied to those ropes at odd intervals so they could make enough noise to alert the barkeep and his workers if anyone tried to sneak out before settling their bill. That constant jangle of cowbells gave the saloon its own brand of music that grated men’s nerves almost as much as it amused their inebriated minds.
Normally, Sol enjoyed the odd mix of bawdy singing and clattering bells. Now it seemed more like an ache in the back of his head that would follow him no matter where he tried to go. Sol closed his eyes and took another sip of his drink. Since that little bit of whiskey didn’t make a dent in his frustration, he drained the rest of it in one more swallow.
‘‘Looks like you’re out to raise some hell tonight, huh, Sol?’’ Matt asked as he raised his glass.
Despite the nod Sol gave the other man, he wasn’t able to make the gesture too convincing.
After emptying his own glass, Matt slammed it back onto the bar and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘‘Want another round?’’
‘‘I can’t afford it,’’ Sol replied.
‘‘This one’s on me. After all the rounds you’ve bought in the months I known you, I’d say I owe you a few.’’
Sol grinned with genuine surprise. ‘‘That’d be great,’’ he said. ‘‘Thanks.’’
Matt smiled even wider as he waved to get the bartender’s attention. They were at the end of the bar farthest from the door, simply because they were less likely to be shoved outside from that spot. ‘‘Hey!’’ he shouted. ‘‘A couple more drinks over here!’’ Seeing that he still wasn’t getting a response from the wiry man behind the bar, Matt leaned over until he almost slid across the top of the warped wooden boards and onto the floor.
As soon as the bartender felt the tug at his apron, he reflexively swatted at Matt’s hand. The barkeep clipped Matt’s shoulder, which was just enough to take away the rest of Matt’s balance and send him to the floor.
Wincing from a mix of pain and embarrassment, Matt held up two fingers. ‘‘Two more whiskeys, please?’’
‘‘What in the hell’s wrong with you, boy?’’ the barkeep snapped.
‘‘Me and my friend’s glasses are empty,’’ Matt explained sheepishly.
Before the barkeep could respond to that, a shot blasted through the window and cracked one of the rickety supports holding up one end of the tent. That was enough to silence most of the conversations in the saloon as men either drew their own weapons or ducked for cover under the pathetically small tables.
‘‘Holy—’’ Matt grunted before being cut off by another shot. After that piece of lead had hissed through the saloon to punch through two walls, Matt gasped, ‘‘Was that gunfire?’’
‘‘Yep,’’ the barkeep replied. ‘‘Some fools in the street got guns.’’
‘‘Who?’’
Sitting with his back against his bar and his knees drawn up to his chest, the bartender looked as if he might be sitting alongside a river, skipping stones. He shrugged easily and reached for a shotgun propped against a central spot behind the bar. ‘‘Don’t know for certain, but I can see ’em through my window,’’ the barkeep replied as he nodded toward the flap that was held open by a crudely stitched hook and eye. ‘‘Looks like there’s three or four of ’em headed toward Charlie’s place.’’
‘‘Do you think they got Charlie?’’ Matt asked.
Pausing as another wave of gunshots crackled outside, the bartender grinned and shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘You wanna ask ’em, you can be my guest.’’
When he heard something moving directly behind him, Matt twisted around and cocked his fist up close to his right ear. He almost took a swing at Sol, even after he’d spotted his face.
‘‘What’s the matter?’’ Sol asked. ‘‘Were you hit?’’
‘‘Hit? No. Those shots are being fired over at Charlie’s place.’’
‘‘The hell they are,’’ Sol replied. ‘‘I counted at least five bullets passing through this saloon.’’
The barkeep winced at the sound of that and muttered, ‘‘Aww, damn!’’
‘‘What do those men want with Charlie?’’ Sol asked.
Matt shook his head as if he’d suddenly found himself in a dream. ‘‘I don’t know what’s going on. I just hope I don’t get hit by any of that stray lead.’’
‘‘Hear, hear!’’ a nearby drunk hollered.
Sitting with his back against the outside of the bar, Sol drew his pistol and checked to make sure it was loaded. His gun belt was old and well worn, but not from excessive use. It had been handed down from one of his cousins right before Sol had struck out for New Mexico. With all the commotion going on around him, Sol couldn’t even recall which of his cousins had previously owned that holster.
Sol leaned toward the door and said, ‘‘I’m going to see who those men are.’’
‘‘What?’’ Matt hissed from the other side of the crack. ‘‘Are you loco?’’
‘‘Not hardly. I may not be able to trust Charlie farther than I can toss him, but he sure won’t be able to pay me if he’s killed. He won’t be able to pay any of us.’’
After chewing on that for a few seconds, Matt cursed under his breath. ‘‘You’re right.’’
‘‘You want to come with me?’’
"No."
Snapping his pistol shut, Sol asked, ‘‘Will you come with me anyhow?’’
After another pause, Matt replied, ‘‘I guess. It sounds like the shooting’s about done anyway.’’
Sol got his feet beneath him while the gunshots tapered off until finally their echoes faded away. Only then did Matt stick his head up from behind the bar.
‘‘Sounds like they’re gone,’’ Matt said happily. ‘‘That calls for another round.’’
Although all the drunks within earshot were plenty happy to hear that, Sol wasn’t so enthusiastic. Standing up with his gun in hand, he continued toward the front door. ‘‘Then stay here where it’s safe,’’ he told Matt. Glancing at a set of holes that had been recently blasted through the canvas wall, Sol added, ‘‘Or at least where it’s kind of safe.’’
Matt saw those holes and he also saw Sol walking through the door. After letting his eyes bounce back and forth between those two sights, he cursed once more and hopped over the bar. ‘‘Not so fast,’’ he hissed as he made it out of the saloon. ‘‘If they are still about, you don’t want them to see you.’’
Crouching a bit as he slowly walked down the crooked lane that passed for Warren’s Main Street, Sol squinted into the distance. The street ahead of him was littered with water troughs, hitching posts and a boardwalk that looked more like a series of boards that had fallen off the back of a slowly moving wagon. Another saloon was in his line of sight, but that place served up more whores than whiskey. The patrons in there had probably been too busy to even notice any gunfire.
There were also two stores nearby, which were merely open-backed wagons covered by drooping awnings. The people who ran those stores had most definitely heard the shots, since they were huddled under their wagons.
Sol approached the closest wagon and hunkered down to put his face a bit closer to the old woman hiding beneath it. ‘‘Did you see who fired those shots?’’ he asked.
The woman shook her head. ‘‘I didn’t see nothin’.’’
‘‘The barkeep in the Railway says it was some men over at Charlie’s place.’’
&n
bsp; Before too long, the old lady nodded. ‘‘Yeah. Maybe two or three of ’em.’’
‘‘I thought you didn’t see anything,’’ Matt pointed out.
When the old lady shifted her gaze to Matt, she showed him plenty of fire in her eyes. ‘‘And if Charlie is alive and in any condition to ask about it later, that’s just what I’ll tell him.’’
‘‘Do you know if those gunmen are still around here?’’ Sol asked.
The old lady leaned forward just enough to put her nose out slightly past a wagon wheel. She stretched her neck out a bit more so she could look in the direction of Charlie’s house. Once she’d seen her fill, she allowed herself to plop back into her original spot. ‘‘You’re that Brakefield boy who works at the mine?’’ she asked.
Sol nodded. ‘‘Yes, ma’am.’’
‘‘Maybe you should come under here with me where it’s safe.’’
‘‘I appreciate the offer, but Charlie may need some help.’’
The old woman scowled and shook her head. Although she clucked her tongue a bit, she didn’t say another word.
‘‘She may have a point, you know,’’ Matt told him.
But Sol already had his sights set upon Charlie’s house. ‘‘Then you can stay here and I’ll go.’’
Matt glanced down at where the old lady was hiding and saw her scoot a bit farther under the wagon. As much as he wanted to join her, he gritted his teeth and took hold of his pistol. ‘‘We need to find the law is what we need to do,’’ he said once he’d caught up to Sol.
‘‘The law don’t even care enough to post a man in camp,’’ Sol pointed out. ‘‘Why would they start to give a damn about some shooting now?’’
‘‘We could always let them know what happened. I bet the sheriff will ride out here.’’
But Sol kept walking. His back was to the Railway Saloon and his eyes were locked upon the house at the end of the crooked street. One hand was wrapped around his old .44 and his free hand was outstretched to brush against each hitching post he passed along the way.
‘‘It might be too late to catch those gunmen now,’’ Sol whispered. ‘‘By the time the sheriff comes along, there won’t even be any tracks left to follow.’’
‘‘Really?’’ Matt asked hopefully. ‘‘You think it may already be too late?’’
Sol glanced back at the other man and had to smile. Matt looked like he’d just heard the working girls in town had suddenly decided to cut their going rates in half. Before Sol could say anything to dash Matt’s hopes, another set of gunshots did the job for him.
The shots came from the vicinity of Charlie’s house, but not from within the house itself. Sol could tell that much, simply because the shots echoed and rolled through the open air like thunder.
Apparently coming to the same conclusion as Sol, Matt whispered, ‘‘Those came from outside.’’
Sol froze in his spot and reflexively thumbed back the hammer of his pistol. ‘‘Right there,’’ he said as he pointed toward the left side of Charlie’s house. ‘‘You see them?’’
It would have taken a blind man to miss the sight of those three figures backing away from the house. But even that same blind man would have heard the scrape of boots against the dry ground or the rushed voices of those men growling back and forth amongst themselves.
‘‘Yeah,’’ Matt whispered. ‘‘So what are we supposed to do?’’
That was a good question.
In fact, Sol felt his teeth grind together as he tried to think of what to say. His eyes twitched in their sockets as he watched the three gunmen move away from the house. It wasn’t until one of those gunmen looked directly at him that Sol knew what to do.
‘‘Move,’’ Sol hissed. ‘‘Just go.’’
First, one gunman looked in Sol’s direction. Then, after a few quick taps to his partners’ shoulders, the rest of them were glaring down the street. One of the men shouted, but those words were swallowed up by the blast of gunfire erupting from all three men’s pistols.
‘‘Aw, hell,’’ Sol grumbled as he dove behind the closest water trough. Fortunately, Matt wasn’t far behind him.
‘‘What now?’’ Matt asked.
Sol scrambled to get himself situated so his shoulders were pressed against the trough and the rest of his body was more or less covered by the flimsy wooden box. As the gunmen focused their aim, more and more bullets began drilling through the trough. Before too long, splinters and dirty water were raining down on both of them.
‘‘I’d say it’s too late to run,’’ Sol declared. With that, he rolled away from the trough and tucked his legs in beneath him.
As soon as his boots dug into the ground, Sol got his feet beneath him and started running toward another wagon that was parked a few yards in front of the shot-up trough. His initial thought was to keep something solid between himself and the gunmen, but that wasn’t going to do the trick as well as he’d hoped. Two of those gunmen were running down the street to shoot from a better angle, while the third had disappeared altogether.
Sol leaned against the wagon, glanced quickly to his right and caught sight of Matt running to try to catch up with him. One of the two closest gunmen fired a round, which caused Sol to reflexively fire back.
It was the first time Sol had ever taken aim at another man.
For that matter, it was one of the few times Sol had even fired his gun. When he felt the pistol buck against his palm and let out its powerful roar, Sol felt every muscle in his body twitch. To his surprise, the gunman at the receiving end of that shot had a very similar reaction.
That gunman tried to jump and duck at the same time. Not only was the movement awkward, but it almost put him on his backside in the middle of the street. The second gunman hunkered down and sighted along the barrel of his own weapon. By the time he pulled his trigger, his target had already ducked out of his view.
Sol pulled his head behind the wagon and closed his eyes as a pair of bullets whipped past his face. One of those rounds took a bite from the edge of the wagon and the other hissed through empty air. When he opened his eyes again, Sol saw someone looking up at him from beneath the wagon.
Much like the old lady at the first wagon, the owner of this wagon had sought refuge in the first place available to her. Unlike that old woman, however, this one was trapped under her wagon and still in the line of fire. She was also barely in her teens.
Cursing under his breath, Sol waved at the young woman to try and get her to move away from him and toward the farthest end of the wagon. When she wouldn’t move, he slammed his fist against the wagon’s wheel the way he might stomp his foot to get a stubborn cat to jump. He may have put a heck of a fright into her, but Sol’s efforts were successful: The young woman moved farther under the wagon.
‘‘I think one of them’s circling around,’’ Matt said as he rushed up to stand beside Sol.
Sol nodded and inched toward the edge. ‘‘Fine. You take that one and I’ll take these two.’’
Sol didn’t have to wait around to see if Matt would put up a fuss about that arrangement. He didn’t even have to look in Matt’s direction to know the other man would be squirming and trying to think of something else he would rather do. Since he wasn’t about to waste time trying to shove Matt in one direction or another, Sol ran in his direction and hoped Matt would follow suit.
As soon as he jumped out from behind the wagon, Sol raised his gun and was ready to fire. Both of the gunmen had the bottom halves of their faces covered by a bandana. One of the men blinked furiously as he shifted from one foot to another. His breaths were coming so quickly that the front of his bandana expanded and contracted like a bullfrog’s neck.
For a moment, all three men stood still and glared at one another. The temporary cease-fire was broken within seconds and lead filled the air once again. Sol did his best to empty his pistol as quickly as possible, while the other two gunmen scattered like birds that had been flushed from a bush. In the space of those few seconds,
Sol was all but deafened by the gunfire. As hot lead whipped past him on all sides, he held his ground and kept firing.
His finger was still clamping down upon his trigger when Sol realized his gun was empty.
The other two gunmen had taken cover behind an empty cart on the side of the street less than ten paces in front of him. Both of those men seemed rooted to their spots in much the same way Sol was rooted to his.
‘‘I got him!’’ a stranger shouted from that direction. ‘‘Let’s get the hell out of here!’’
Hearing that, the two gunmen sidestepped away from the cart and then broke into a run.
Since he’d already emptied his cylinder, Sol could only watch the men go and wonder how he’d managed to survive.
Chapter 3
As much as Sol wanted to chase after those men, he wasn’t stupid enough to do it with an empty gun. Most of the loops on his gun belt had been flattened after years of being empty, but there were enough bullets stuck in here and there for him to reload his .44. Once that was done, Sol rushed to the spot where he’d last seen Matt.
The other gunshots he’d heard had come from that same direction, which didn’t give Sol much confidence. Even so, he worked his way back to that wagon and held his gun at the ready. Matt wasn’t there, but neither were the gunmen. When Sol made it to the spot where those first few bullets had hit the edge of the wagon, he looked down and spotted the face of the young girl who’d been hiding underneath the wagon.
She looked up at him with wide eyes and asked, ‘‘Are they gone?’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ Sol replied. He looked up and kept shuffling around the wagon. Just as he was approaching the wagon’s front end, he heard several horses break into a run.
Sol took a few more hurried steps and immediately regretted it. The moment he cleared the wagon, two of the three gunmen opened fire. If they weren’t also trying to rein their horses in, one of those men might have put Sol down right then and there. As it was, the gunmen seemed more concerned with getting themselves turned toward the edge of town than in lining up a proper shot.
Death of a Bad Man Page 2