Killer's Draw: The Circuit Rider

by Dani Amore

  “What’s this for?”

  “I can’t shoot the rifle and a pistol at the same time. Makes more sense for both of us have guns than for me to have two but only able to fire one.”

  Tower nodded, tucking the revolver into his waistband.

  They left the dead men in the middle of the trail as the rain began to lash them with a brutal intensity.

  Within minutes, Bird recognized the formation ahead.

  She slid her rifle from its scabbard, and waited for Tower to ride up next to her, then they both covered the short distance to Killer’s Draw.

  The ravine was choked with water. The rain must have started earlier, higher in the mountains, because the glorified stream now closely resembled a raging river.

  Unfortunately, they were on the wrong side of it.

  The scene revealed itself in yet another blast of lightning and thunder that seemed to shake the ground.

  Across the river, the girl had Joseph Parker tied to the very tree against which Bird had rested after shooting Downwind Dave Axelrod. The arrogant bull Parker had always resembled was now reduced to a quivering mass of bloody wet flesh. Most of his clothes were gone, and his skin bore marks that could only have been applied by the working end of a bullwhip. His face was swollen and distorted, smeared with blood.

  The girl used Parker’s bulk to hide behind.

  She held a pistol, one of Bird’s pistols, with the muzzle firmly planted against Parker’s temple.

  On the other side of the river, the same side Bird and Tower now shared, were nearly a dozen men, most of them without their Rectifiers hoods, a few still wearing them. Half of the group swung their guns toward Bird and Tower, the remaining kept their aim on the girl.

  Bird studied the faces of the vigilantes. She recognized a few of them, but most held no meaning for her. All of them looked scared and unsure of themselves and she understood why. The Conway brothers were dead, and their leader appeared to be moments away from the same fate.

  “Get out of here, you two!” one of the men yelled. “We are in control here.”

  “Doesn’t appear that way to me,” Tower yelled back.

  A thick branch, torn off from somewhere upstream, roared down the river, twisting and spinning in the wild and chaotic current.

  Bird looked across the river at the girl. At her pistols. She was an expert with the rifle, but those pistols were a part of her. Extensions of her hands, really.

  “Say it again!” the girl yelled. Bird could see Paige’s face, wild with anger, pale as the moon with her fair hair wet and straggled, strands stuck to her ghostly translucent skin.

  “We killed her,” Parker said.

  “Louder!” the girl yelled.

  Bird saw the blood on the girl’s shirt. Maybe those shots the Conway brother had gotten off found their mark.

  “Who did you kill, Parker?” Paige yelled again. “Say it. I want you to say her name.”

  Parker thrashed against the ropes that held him in place. The girl pistol whipped him, opening up a gash along his forehead and leaving a strip of skin that hung down and flapped as he struggled.

  “Francine!” he finally yelled.

  “Why? Why did you kill her?”

  Parker began to weep.

  “I loved her!” he yelled out, his voice hysterical. “But my wife found out. She arranged it,” he said. “Tried to make it look like she was a cattle thief so they could kill her,” he said, looking at the group of men on the other side of the river.

  Upon hearing Parker’s confession, a few of the men turned and rode away.

  “This is for her and my brother!” the girl yelled.

  “No!” Tower yelled.

  The girl pressed the muzzle into Parker’s head and pulled the trigger.

  Instantly, the draw erupted in gunfire with the remaining vigilantes firing across the river at the girl, and the others opening fire on Bird and Tower.

  Bird had already dropped to one knee, and now she fired with a methodical precision, working the lever on the rifle so fast the shots came as a continuous roll of thunder.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Bird saw the girl now using both pistols, firing with unnatural ease and speed.

  The rifle’s hammer clicked an empty strike plate. She was out of ammunition. She dug in her pocket for more bullets, turned to see Tower firing the pistol she had given him.

  There were two men left. One of them turned to ride back to town, then fell off his horse, shot between the shoulder blades.

  Bird didn’t know if Tower or the girl made the shot.

  She fed the last bullet into the rifle’s magazine and brought it to her shoulder just as the last man standing aimed his pistol at Bird.

  They fired simultaneously, and Bird heard a whistle as the bullet passed within inches of her head.

  She didn’t miss. Her round caught the man just under his left eye and the back of his head blew apart. He toppled over his horse and into the river, his body catching in the current and taking him away.

  Men were strewn about the banks of Killer’s Draw, and even with the amount of water now roaring down the wash, Bird could make out dark pools of water along the edge. Once again, she knew, Killer’s Draw was running rich with blood.

  Bird looked across the river and saw Tower emerging from the other side on his horse. He slid from the saddle and scooped the girl up into his arms.

  Bird ran to the Appaloosa.

  She hoped they could make it to Big River in time.

  Eighty-Six

  They arrived in Big River just as the storm was leaving. The trail had been a mess of mud and washouts but it hadn’t slowed them down.

  They rode directly to the doctor’s office. At the sound of their horses, the door opened and the old doctor hurried out.

  He took one look at them, at the girl with blood all over her, and ducked back inside.

  Tower carried the girl in and Bird followed with two whiskey bottles. Tower carefully set the girl on the table where the doctor had put down clean towels and bandages. He had a stethoscope around his neck.

  “Oh, Frannie,” he said.

  “Her name is Paige,” Bird said.

  “How can I help?” Tower asked.

  The doctor cut away the girl’s shirt and looked at the wounds. She had been shot three times. Once in the shoulder, once in the lower abdomen, and once in her upper thigh.

  The doctor said to Tower without looking up, “Hold her down if it comes to that.”

  The old man went to a table where a row of instruments was laid out on a towel next to a pot of boiling water. He selected a scalpel and some sort of tongs.

  He came back to the table and began digging through the girl’s gunshot wounds. Paige opened her mouth and screamed, and the doctor used the opportunity to place a strip of wood between her teeth.

  “So she doesn’t bite her tongue,” he said to Tower.

  The doctor studied the first wound. “Passed clean through,” he noted. He spent more time in the second wound until he pulled out a chunk of lead that he dropped into a pan next to the table. It landed with a thunk and Bird saw the blood dripping from it. The third wound had lead, too, but in several smaller pieces.

  “She’s lost a lot of blood,” the doctor said. He poured some of the whiskey from one of Bird’s bottles into each wound, then carefully stitched the wounds closed before covering them with bandages. The doctor then put the stethoscope on the girl’s chest. “Her heartbeat is strong. I think if she doesn’t get an infection, she’ll live.”

  Tower closed his eyes, and Bird knew he was praying.

  “Help me get her into this bed,” the doctor said, pointing at the small room just off the main area.

  Tower carried the girl to the room. Bird pulled back the blankets and when Tower placed the girl in the bed, she covered her with the blankets.

  The three of them looked at each other, then left the small room and closed the door.

  The doctor looked at Bird. “By
my count, you’ve got at least one bottle of whiskey we didn’t use. Let’s put it to good use.”

  Eighty-Seven

  Tower rode with Bird to the saloon, and when she went inside, he continued on. He really wanted to go back to the hotel, sleep for a month, and then leave Big River once and for all.

  But something had been bothering him and he felt a strong desire to confront the issue right now. It was a night for settling scores, and this one could not be left unfinished.

  Tower got to the church, left his horse by the main door, and went inside. It was silent, save for the sound of water dripping somewhere; maybe a leak in the roof had allowed rainwater to pool and it was now finding its way out. Things always managed to get where they wanted to go. Sometimes, it just took longer for them to find a way out.

  He walked through the church and continued straight into the small office tucked in back.

  As expected, he found Morrison sitting at the table that served as his desk, reading from the Bible.

  “Looking for forgiveness?” Tower asked.

  He looked up at Tower, read the expression on his face. He closed the bible, and offered a weary smile.

  “I was wondering if you would come back. Figured that you would.”

  Tower pulled out one of the chairs and dragged it well away from Morrison. He sat so that the butt of the pistol Bird had given him was within easy reach. Morrison noted the movement.

  “You’re not going to need that.”

  “I would trust you, but I’m guessing that’s exactly what Bertram Egans did and look where it got him. Facedown in Killer’s Draw. Dead. Just like his mother all those years back.”

  Morrison shook his head. His face contorted with grief or guilt. Tower figured it was a combination of both.

  “Why did you do it?” Tower asked.

  Morrison looked away from Tower, at the crucifix on the wall. It was small and simple, constructed of dark pine. Handmade. Tower wondered if Morrison had made it himself.

  “It was a mistake.”

  “It sure was. Parker and his mob didn’t know about Paige. They didn’t know who she was. All this time we were in town, they were trying to figure it out. They’d already killed Bertram, so who killed Parker’s wife?”

  Morrison nodded.

  “So, I wondered,” Tower continued. “If they didn’t know who Paige was, then how did they find out about Bertram? That he was Francine Pascal’s son?”

  “It was an accident,” Morrison said.

  “A pretty costly accident.”

  “I didn’t go to Parker. I went to those damned lawyers and asked a simple question,” Morrison said. His eyes were watery and his nose was dripping. The words came out slow and wrenching, just like any other painful confession Tower had heard over the years. However, in this case, he was not going to offer any penance.

  “It’s just that right away I knew something was wrong about Bertram. Too late, I realized what a wonderful young man he was. But by then, I had already alerted the very people who eventually …”

  “Killed him.”

  “Yes, they killed him. It’s just that I figured Bertram really was a preacher, but I thought there might be something else to it. Like, maybe he was going to rob the church, or banks, or fleece the congregation. So I went to those sons of bitches and asked if they could look into his background for me. You know, if they had anyone back East who could verify he was who he said he was. I honestly didn’t know the history of his mother and the vigilantes!”

  Morrison hung his head.

  Tower remained silent.

  “It wasn’t until after they killed him that I started to piece it together.”

  Tower shook his head, allowed the anger to seep into his voice. “But why didn’t you just tell me all of this from the beginning? “

  “I was ashamed. And I didn’t know that the girl was here, too. Bertram kept that part of the story from me. That she was his sister. I tried to hint to you that there was more to the story, but I just wanted you to go away, really. I thought maybe it was over.”

  “I could have helped prevent more people being killed if you told me,” Tower said. “You’ve got just as much blood on your hands as the rest of them.”

  “I know,” Morrison said. “Are you going to kill me?”

  Tower got to his feet. He hesitated for just a moment. If Bird were here, would she kill him? It would be so easy, just take the gun out and do it.

  But he knew he couldn’t.

  “No. But you are not going to have anything else to do with this church. I’ll let Silas know what you did in exacting detail. You’ll be banned permanently from the church. And if I ever see you again with a bible, or near a church, I’ll personally put a bullet in your head. That’s a promise.”

  Tower turned and left him there.

  He thought he heard Morrison weeping.

  Eighty-Eight

  Bird, by her count, was on her tenth glass of whiskey when Tower walked into the saloon. He sat next to her at the table and she saw that he looked utterly exhausted.

  “No one said doing the Lord’s work was going to be easy, Mr. Tower,” she said. She laughed and slugged back another whiskey. She motioned for the bartender to bring another glass.

  He did so, and Bird filled it, then pushed it across the table to Tower. She filled her own glass again and raised it.

  “To Paige,” Bird said.

  “And a full recovery,” Tower added. He drank the whiskey down and pushed the empty glass toward Bird. She smiled at him. “Now we’re speaking the same language,” she said and filled his glass.

  Despite himself, Tower laughed.

  “So, where did you go?” Bird asked him.

  He filled her in on his conversation with Morrison.

  “I wondered about that,” Bird said. “I probably would have shot him.”

  Tower drained his whiskey. “I know.”

  “Parker sure ran this town, though, didn’t he?” Bird asked. “And Poor Stanley Verhooven. He must have seen the murder in progress, and knew the Rectifiers had done it, so Parker had Downwind Dave kill him, too, just to be safe. Parker was a bloodthirsty bastard, wasn’t he?”

  “Some men lose their moral compass; some never had one to begin with. I suspect Parker was the latter.”

  “I’ve got a moral compass,” Bird said. “And it works—I just haven’t figured out how to read it.”

  “You’re doing just fine, Bird,” Tower said.

  She smiled at him and glanced down at the gun still in his waistband. “You know, you look a lot more natural, a lot more comfortable, with that gun than you do with that damned bible you’re always carrying around.”

  Tower laughed. It was a sound she could get used to. Very used to.

  “So what now?” she asked.

  “Let’s check on Paige, then we’ll wire Silas a short note and give him the general idea of what happened. I’ll follow that up with a letter explaining the whole thing in detail. Maybe he’ll want to meet so we can tell him everything in person.”

  Bird poured the rest of the whiskey into her glass, and drank it.

  “He’ll probably try to give us another assignment,” she said.

  She got up, went to the bar, and bought another bottle. She carried it by the neck and followed Tower out the door.

  They walked down the boardwalk toward the doctor’s office. Even though it was late, there were more people out than there had been during the middle of the day. Bird figured word was slowly getting out about what had happened at Killer’s Draw.

  The doctor was still awake. He answered the door and let them in.

  “How is she, doc?” Tower asked softly.

  Bird brought the bottle of whiskey to the doctor’s side table and filled the three glasses that were still sitting out.

  Each of them took a glass and drank.

  “I just checked on her. The bleeding has stopped and her heartbeat seems stronger. She was just awake a minute ago.”

/>   “Can we talk to her?” Tower asked.

  “If she’s awake, but only very briefly. That girl needs to rest.”

  Bird followed Tower into the room.

  There was a candle to the side of the bed, and the room smelled like tallow and soap.

  They tried to walk softly but the floorboards creaked slightly and the girl opened her eyes.

  “How are you feeling?” Tower asked.

  “I survived, that’s the important thing,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. But she smiled, and Bird thought the girl was beautiful.

  “You can rest now, it’s finally done,” Bird said. “You made them pay for what they did. Now, you can get on with your own life,” Bird said. The words sounded so strange coming from her mouth. It sounded like advice that was usually directed at her.

  “Bird Hitchcock,” the girl said, her face creased with a smile.

  “She needs to rest now,” the doctor said from behind them.

  “We’re going to leave in a few days, but we’ll stop by again,” Tower said.

  They turned to go, but the girl grabbed Bird’s arm.

  “The doctor said I lost a lot of blood,” she said, looking at Bird, with a slight smile on her face.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Shhh, you’ve got to rest now,” Tower said, motioning to Bird with his head that they needed to leave.

  The girl ignored Tower and kept looking at Bird.

  “Have you ever heard that expression? That blood is thicker than water?” she said.

  “I have,” Bird said.

  “When I first saw you, I was worried you might recognize me.”

  Bird felt something tumble inside her. No, it couldn’t be.

  “What are you saying?” Bird managed to say. Her tongue suddenly felt too thick for her mouth and her brain was muddled.

  The girl smiled.

  “Bird, I’m your sister.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to thank the entire Thomas & Mercer team for their passion and dedication to Killer’s Draw. In particular, Jacque Ben-Zekry for her tireless efforts on my behalf. And working with the brilliant Courtney Miller has been a dream come true. In addition to being an absolute pleasure to work with, her editorial insight and prose instincts are second to none. Finally, a big thank you to Susan, Annabel, and Benna for their patience, understanding and support during the writing of this book.