The batwing doors flew open, squeaking loudly on a rusty hinge, and the ex-con jumped.
"Easy now, Doig, easy," Teeth said, slapping a reassuring hand on Doig's shoulder. "Just a cowpuncher."
Doig followed the newcomer who crossed the wooden floor where he joined the Long Branch Saloon's curvaceous, red-headed owner. Dammit, he was dead beat and could use some sleep. One more round. He dealt lazily from the bottom of the deck and knew right away he'd fucked up.
Stranger's eyes widened. "You God-damned cheat!" He kicked his chair back, standing.
Sparks tipped sideways out of his seat and scrambled across the floorboards looking for cover.
Teeth stood straddle-legged, facing Stranger. Both men bolted for their pistols. The Stranger's Remington spoke first, pushing lead into Doig's shoulder and shoving him back against the wall, his outstretched hand punching a gas lamp into darkness. Stranger's iron flashed sideways to Teeth but the wide grinning player dropped low and to the right, pumping out two slugs from his Colt that burrowed into Stranger's upper chest. The man clutched his torso with his left hand and stumbled backward onto another card table, expelling his last breath as he scattered cards, glasses, and money.
A towering barkeep pulled a Winchester from behind the counter and trained it on the two-bit players. Doig looked in shock at the slumped figure of the stranger, and then winced. "I've been shot."
The barkeep yelled at Teeth to lower his weapon and commanded a bystander to step back out of the line of fire. In an instant, Teeth darted for the saloon's entrance and out onto Front Street. The barkeep trained a bead on him but with so many innocent onlookers in the line of fire, the man didn't dare fire and cursed as the fleeing figure escaped.
***
The celebrated town marshal showed up with his deputy limping in behind him. They stoically rounded up the two remaining gamblers and hauled them away.
Doig sat in a hard wooden chair with his left wrist handcuffed to the desk and his right hand clutching a bottle of whiskey from which he occasionally downed a swig while the sawbones dug lead out of his shoulder. He heard the marshal in the other room asking several witnesses about the incident, and for the first time, he felt the law was on his side as the saloon patrons verified he had been drawn on. In the midst of all the questions, a ranch hand had tipped off the marshal that the stranger was actually a wanted hard case named Boze Allen. Doig felt a bit foolish that he had suspected the man was Cash Laramie, and he wished he had his friend, Teeth, to tell but the guy who saved his life was nowhere to be found according to the talk. Maybe Teeth ran because he was a wanted man, and Doig knew that feeling all too well.
The doc finished bandaging Doig's shoulder and called the marshal in.
"Okay, Doig, you're free to go but I don't want to see your face in Dodge again. You hear?" The marshal unlocked the cuffs and gave Doig his few possessions, but not the winnings from the poker game.
Doig wandered down the street and rounded up his horse that he had left tied outside the Long Branch.
***
Doig sat in front of the crackling fire he had built not too far from a narrow stream, a perfect spot to camp for the night. He adjusted his arm in the sling as he stirred the logs with his good one. The sharp snap of a twig made him spin about drawing his iron. A familiar face emerged from the shadows.
"Dammit, Teeth. I almost shot you." He reholstered his weapon. "Why'd you run?"
"Didn't want to run into Matt. 'Fraid I'd have a lot of explaining to do. It was fool enough just entering Dodge."
"I guess I never did know you're wanted."
Teeth stepped closer to the campfire light. He looked different, not hunched over. And not just the height but he now wore a Mackinaw jacket and a black Stetson. He had a Colt strapped to his side with his hand readied over the butt. An unlit cheroot hung from the corner of his mouth. No big smile, just cold steel blue eyes.
"Wait a damn minute. You called the Dodge marshal, Matt!"
"U.S. Marshals are usually on a first name basis." Teeth slid the rawhide thong off the hammer of his gun.
Doig lunged for his six-shooter but the first shot from Teeth's iron ripped into his injured shoulder. Second and third slugs tunneled into both kneecaps rendering them mush. Doig dropped his pistol screaming out and flopping on the ground.
"I wasn't expecting to take care of Boze Allen in the same week. Lucky for me, huh?" Teeth pinned another bullet to Doig's left shoulder. The ex-con screams turned to low, stammering moans of anguish.
"Finish me you fucking bastard," Doig yelled.
A broad smirk stretched across Marshal Cash Laramie's face and in that moment the grinning card player was visible again. "Is that any way to talk to your good friend, Teeth?" A lazy white stream drifted away from the barrel of Cash's Colt. The outlaw marshal strolled around Doig whose blood flowed toward the fire like a tributary clawing for a river.
"Let me tell you about the young man you murdered, Doig. His name was Keith. He was a good kid who could tell the funniest damn jokes. His mother used to invite my partner, Miles, and me over for supper and Keith would have us rolling. His daddy was a Buffalo Soldier who died during the war and, well, his mother just doted on him. Now she's heartbroken. She's a good Christian woman who wouldn't understand this." Cash squeezed off a round to the wounded man's pelvis. Doig lurched up in a guttural screech, then collapsed in a fetal position, jerking like a fish caught on a hook.
"But maybe I can tell her news is you died and that will bring some sort of comfort."
Cash lit his cigar and crouched before the writhing figure. "But that's not good enough for me, Lyncher. No, I think I'll watch you bleed and shit yourself. Yes that will make me happy." He pulled a Bowie knife from his belt. "Then I'm going to scalp you since that's what you expect from a half-breed like me. Am I right?"
The only response Cash got was a damning stare of tear-rimmed red eyes.
†
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Edward A. Grainger, aka David Cranmer, is a member of the Western Fictioneers and is editor/publisher of the BEAT to a PULP webzine. His work has been published in Needle: A Magazine of Noir, Out of the Gutter, and Crimefactory to name a few. He lives in Maine with his wife and daughter.
Table of Contents
Credits
Foreword
Acknowledgements
About the Author
The Wind Scorpion
Kid Eddie
Miles to Go
The Bone Orchard Mystery
Melanie
Under the Sun
The Outlaw Marshal
Adventures of Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles Page 8