Blood and Bullets

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Kate’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  Firestick grinned slyly. “Let’s just say he seems to know his way up and down the back stairs of the Lone Star Palace real good. Now, since the bank holds a note on the Palace, maybe he’s just doing a thorough job of keepin’ an eye on his business interests.”

  “That’s scandalous,” Kate said with mock severity. “It’s almost as bad as a certain hotel proprietress I’ve heard tell of who carries on illicitly with a scalawag of a law officer.”

  “Tsk, tsk. What’s the world comin’ to?”

  Kate glanced around as if suddenly aware of their surroundings. “I don’t know, but us standing here in public talking about such things is probably worthy of a scandal all on its own. Will you be coming by the hotel for lunch in a little while?”

  “Is that an invite?”

  “I believe Marilu has roast pork on the menu.”

  “Now that’s an invite if I ever heard one. I’ll be there.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Beartooth and Victoria rode into town together. In her time at the Double M, Victoria had become quite an accomplished horsewoman, finding free time to take long rides several afternoons a week. To facilitate this, she had fashioned a number of split-skirt riding outfits for herself. Additionally, the men of the ranch had presented her with a horse of her own, a steel-dust gelding who was spirited yet wholly responsive and devoted to Victoria. And on her last birthday, the men had arranged through Hans Greeble at his store in town to order her a pair of fine, tooled leather riding boots all the way from Dallas.

  Today she was decked out in those boots, her finest riding outfit, and a cream-colored Stetson perched atop her thick mane of chestnut hair. Before they’d left the ranch, she had said to Beartooth, “When Rupert sees me riding up astride a horse dressed in this outfit, I may not have to break it to him that I definitely won’t be returning to England with him. He may be so shocked by this display he no longer will want anything to do with me.”

  Beartooth frowned. “What’s so shockin’ about it? The way you’re dressed looks mighty fine to me.”

  “That’s just it. To you here in America or at least out here in the West, I may appear perfectly presentable. But in the society Rupert comes from, a woman in a split skirt and boots riding astride a horse would be unthinkable.”

  “How the heck else is there to ride a horse?”

  “Why, sidesaddle, of course, for a woman of proper breeding. Even Lady Godiva, when she took her notorious ride wearing nothing but her long tresses, had the decency to sit her horse sidesaddle.”

  Beartooth’s eyebrows lifted. “And that would be considered less shocking than a proper ridin’ skirt?”

  “Well, perhaps not less shocking.” Victoria laughed. “Let’s just call it shocking in a different way.”

  Beartooth grunted. “Wouldn’t shock me to find out that fancy-pants Rupert does his ridin’ sidesaddle.”

  When they reached the edge of town, Victoria reined up, saying, “You’ve probably got things you need to do, so we may as well separate here. I’ll go ahead and meet with Rupert for tea and the further discussion I agreed to. Later, I’ll be helping with festival preparations on the church lawn. Will you come around?”

  “Try to keep me away.”

  “And then at some point we need to go down to where they’ll be holding the rodeo. Jesus and Miguel will be there, and they’ll be expecting us to stop by.”

  “We won’t let ’em down,” Beartooth said. Then, after a long pause during which he regarded Victoria closely, he added, “You sure you don’t want me around when you talk to Rupert?”

  Victoria shook her head. “It isn’t necessary. Really. It’s not like he’s going to harm me or anything. We’ll talk . . . everything will be fine.”

  “Will you tell him about us? I mean, as far as explainin’ your reasons for choosin’ to stay here?”

  Victoria considered for a moment. “I may, I may not. I’ll see how the conversation goes. If I don’t mention us, please believe it would have nothing to do with any reluctance on my part to announce far and wide the feelings we’ve discovered for each other. But, at the same time, I expect I will have some reluctance for wounding Rupert any deeper than necessary. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” said Beartooth. “It’s your decision. You handle it however you think best.”

  * * *

  When Beartooth got to the jail, he found Firestick and Moosejaw already present in the office. It was rare when all three were in town and at the jail at the same time. More often than not, one of them was back at the ranch or involved in something that kept them scattered except for the breakfast and supper get-togethers at the Double M.

  As soon as Beartooth walked through the front door, his longtime pals pinned him with questioning looks. And before any words were spoken, the wide grin that spread across his face gave them their answer.

  “It’s all settled, fellas,” he said, busting with the need to crow about it. “Victoria’s gonna stay right here and not go back to England. What’s more, me and her talked it over and . . . well, it turns out she’s got the same feelin’s for me as I do her!”

  Grins almost as wide as Beartooth’s spread across the faces of Firestick and Moosejaw.

  “I knew it. I knew it all the time,” said Moosejaw.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” said Firestick. “The first step was gettin’ around to lettin’ her know how you felt.”

  Beartooth held up his hands, palms out. “Much as I hate to admit when you’re right, you sure had it pegged. And I’m doggone happy I listened to you for once.”

  “Just don’t go makin’ a habit of it. I wouldn’t know how to act.”

  “You might have to get used to it,” Moosejaw said. “Now that he’s got a steady gal in his life, his days of bein’ stubborn and not listenin’ to anybody are all but over anyway.”

  “We’ll have to see about that,” Beartooth countered. “But then, if anybody’d know about gettin’ his marchin’ orders from the gal in his life, I reckon it would be you.”

  They all had a good-natured laugh over that.

  “Here now,” Firestick said abruptly. “I think this is an occasion that calls for a little more than well wishes and friendly warnin’s about bein’ steered by the women we know damn well we’re lucky to have latched on to.” From a bottom drawer in the desk, he produced a long-necked bottle of red-eye. Holding it up, he announced, “I think a drink or three might be in order.”

  “Seein’ how you’re the marshal and we’re just lowly deputies, I don’t hardly see how we can argue the point,” said Beartooth.

  Moosejaw fetched three tin cups from behind the stove and Firestick splashed a generous amount into each. When the former mountain men all had a cup in hand, Firestick raised his in a toast. “All kiddin’ aside, old friend,” he said to Beartooth, “I hope you and Victoria make each other as happy as you deserve.”

  “I second that,” added Moosejaw.

  The three cups were tipped up and hearty gulps drained.

  Hiking a leg and taking a seat on the end of his desk, Firestick said, “Kinda hard to believe, ain’t it? Only a handful of years back, we drifted down out of the mountains, leavin’ pretty much the only way of life we’d ever known, and came here lookin’ for a place to settle, wonderin’ if we’d ever really fit in anywhere. Now look at us. Our ranch is doin’ decent, the town has not only accepted us but looks to us for its protection, and we’ve each found gals that it appears we’re ready to settle down with. I’d say we fared pretty well, wouldn’t you?”

  “Hard to argue, considerin’ how survivin’ the winter and havin’ some pelts to sell come spring was about the best we had to look forward to before,” agreed Beartooth.

  “That, and hangin’ on to our scalps,” said Moosejaw.

  Firestick smiled ruefully. “Yeah. The owlhoots we have to deal with from time to time since we pinned on these badges might be lookin’ to kill us, bu
t at least they ain’t out to take our top knots.”

  They had another good laugh over that.

  The echoes of that laughter were still hanging in the air when the front door suddenly flew open and Arthur, the bouncer/bartender from the Lone Star Palace Saloon, burst in. He was out of breath and sweating and his words came in rapid gasps. “Marshal . . . you gotta come quick . . . It’s the boss . . . he’s been drinking all night and all morning . . . He’s gone wild drunk . . . I can’t stop him . . . he’s out to kill Irish Dan Coswick!”

  Firestick sprang to his feet. Beartooth and Moosejaw quickly set aside their cups.

  “Where is he?” Firestick wanted to know.

  “He’s out in the street in front of the Silver Spur. He’s callin’ Coswick out, threatening to shoot him on sight!”

  “Shit!” Firestick spat. He motioned toward the gun rack on the back wall and said to Moosejaw, “Grab one of those street sweepers and bring it along—Arthur, you stay here out of the way!”

  CHAPTER 24

  The three lawmen boiled out of the jail building and headed down the street at a trot. Instinctively, they fanned out. Beartooth and Moosejaw went to either side, moving close along the front edge of the boardwalks. Firestick proceeded down the middle.

  They hadn’t gone far before a shot rang out from up ahead. Then another.

  Unlike last night, the street wasn’t empty. Far from it. Mid-day on a Saturday before the spring festival had people flocked in from far and wide. The boardwalks were crowded with shoppers going from business to business. The street itself was congested with wagons and horsemen on the move.

  When the shots sounded, however, the scene changed quickly. At first there was a slight pause, as folks were confused by exactly what to think. Then somebody shouted “Gunfight!” and it was instantly repeated by a dozen lips. Men cussed, women gave frightened squeals and shooed their children ahead of them toward safety. Those on the boardwalks clamored frantically to get inside the various shops. The teamsters and riders out in the street scattered almost as frantically, either turning their rigs or horses around and putting distance between themselves and the gunfire or, in a couple cases, abandoning their wagons where they stood and also ducking into the closest doorway.

  By the time Firestick and his deputies neared the Silver Spur, almost the exact same area out front where last night’s shooting had taken place, the street and boardwalks had cleared. But windows and doorways were crowded with gawking faces.

  Earl Sterling stood in the middle of the street, facing the already bullet-riddled Silver Spur with its front window still boarded over from last night’s damage. He held a long-barreled pistol in each hand and was weaving unsteadily on his feet. The man known for his nearly impeccable grooming was nowhere to be seen. Sterling’s hair was an unruly mess, he was unshaven . . . he was minus his ever-present tie and suit coat. His vest was only partially buttoned—crookedly at that—and part of his shirttail was hanging out.

  As the lawmen got closer, they slowed their approach.

  If Sterling noticed them, he paid no attention. Suddenly rearing back his head, and staggering a half step backward as a result, he shouted loudly, “Coswick, you back-stabbing, woman-stealing, gutless yellow dog bastard! Step out here and face me like a man! Don’t make me come in there and drag you out!”

  As if to put an exclamation point on his challenge, Sterling raised the gun in his right hand and fired a round at the boarded-over window. The bullet slammed into the wood with a loud smack.

  Firestick came to a halt about fifteen yards short of Sterling. He extended his arms to either side, signaling Moosejaw and Beartooth to also stop.

  Sterling shouted again, “Damn you, Coswick! I know you can hear me in there!”

  “Of course he can hear you,” Firestick said in a voice strong enough to be heard but not so loud as to give Sterling too much of a start. He went on, adding, “The whole town can hear you, and you’re makin’ a jackass of yourself.”

  Sterling turned jerkily, unsteadily. He glared at Firestick through bleary eyes. “You don’t need to concern yourself with this, McQueen. You only care about my whores not causing trouble, remember? This is going to be a fair fight between Coswick and me . . . if the yellow bastard has got the stones to step out and face me.”

  Firestick shook his head. “I can’t let that stand, Sterling, and you know it. You’re disruptin’ the whole town on the busiest day of the year and endangerin’ innocent folks all up and down the street. Now put those guns down and back away before somebody gets hurt.”

  “The only one who’s going to get hurt is that gutless, woman-stealing Irishman!”

  “He didn’t steal your woman,” Firestick grated. “You chased her away and all he did was give her someplace to go.”

  “How the hell do you know what happened between Frenchy and me?”

  “The whole town knows. Like I said, you just keep makin’ a bigger jackass out of yourself. You got nobody to blame for your troubles but yourself.”

  “Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Sterling hurled the words so violently that he lurched off balance and staggered, barely able to keep himself from falling.

  “What I do know,” said Firestick, bringing his hand to rest on the grips of the Colt holstered on his hip, “is that if you keep wavin’ those guns around and actin’ wild, you’ll force me to end your troubles permanent-like.”

  From where they stood off to either side and slightly back from Firestick, Beartooth and Moosejaw were poised and ready, too. Moosejaw held the shotgun at his waist, its barrel at a forty-five-degree angle, ready to snap level. Beartooth’s fingertips danced lightly on the grips of his own holstered Colt.

  “You know me, you know my meaning,” Firestick said, his voice sandpapery. “Don’t force it, Sterling.”

  Sterling stood with his feet planted, body weaving. His bleary eyes moved jerkily from one deputy to the other and then back to Firestick again.

  “No! Stop it! Stop this, Earl, before it’s too late!”

  The wailing voice, female, cut across the tension-filled street like a knife.

  For only a fraction of a second, Firestick took his eyes off Sterling and cast a quick glance over toward the Mallory House where Frenchy Fontaine emerged from the front door. She took several quick steps out into the street and then slowed uncertainly as she drew nearer to Sterling. The latter turned his head and body—lurching, unsteady still—to face her.

  “Dammit, Frenchy, stay clear of him,” Firestick growled.

  But instead of causing her to back away, his warning only propelled her the rest of the way forward. She ran to Sterling’s side and threw her arms around him, either purposely or inadvertently pinning his own arms to his sides. The sudden move nearly toppled Sterling in his drunken state, and it was only thanks to Frenchy that the two of them remained upright.

  “For God’s sake, Earl, quit this insanity before you get killed,” she urged him. “Please! Drop the guns and end this.”

  Gazing down at her face only inches from his, Sterling’s expression crumpled and he looked ready to weep. “I only did it for you, Frenchy,” he said, his voice thick. “I don’t want to lose you. I had to stop Coswick from taking you away from me.”

  And then, in a delayed reaction to her request, both of his hands opened and the pistols he’d been holding thumped to the ground.

  Firestick rushed forward. Beartooth and Moosejaw converged from either side. When he got close enough, Moosejaw kicked away one of Sterling’s dropped guns. Firestick leaned over and scooped up the other one.

  Still gazing down at Frenchy’s face, Sterling seemed oblivious to any of this. “Please say you ain’t gonna leave me,” he half-sobbed. “Please give me another chance.”

  Before Frenchy could answer, Beartooth placed one hand on her shoulder and one on her forearm. He gently but firmly pulled her away from Sterling, saying, “Let us handle this now.”

  When Frenchy started
to back away, Sterling suddenly lunged at Beartooth, striking down his arm. Then, shouting “Leave us alone!” he swung his fist in an awkward, looping right cross aimed at Beartooth’s face.

  The deputy easily leaned away so that the intended blow missed.

  Thrown off balance by the wild swing, Sterling staggered and might have fallen if Moosejaw, letting go of his shotgun, hadn’t stepped up behind him and grabbed him before he could do so. Seizing Sterling’s arms in two powerful grips just above the elbows, Moosejaw jerked him upright, pulling his elbows close together behind his back and lifting him up on his toes. “Take it easy, buster. Time for you to calm down.”

  “Don’t hurt him!” Frenchy pleaded.

  “That’s kinda up to him, ma’am,” Moosejaw told her in a surprisingly calm voice.

  “Stop fighting him, Earl! It’s no use.”

  Firestick stepped forward, shoving the confiscated pistol into his belt, and pressed between Sterling and Frenchy. “You’ve helped enough. It’s time for you to stand out of the way now,” he said to the distraught woman. Then, turning to Sterling, he said, “And it’s time for you to listen to her. You’re damned lucky this didn’t turn out worse for you or somebody else.”

  Sterling, still half-suspended and helpless in Moosejaw’s grip, abruptly dropped his chin onto his chest and began to sob openly. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing Frenchy.”

  Firestick caught Moosejaw’s eye and gave a jerk of his chin. “Get him out of the street. Take him to the jail where he can sleep it off.”

  “What are you going to do to him?” Frenchy wanted to know.

  Firestick sighed somewhat irritably. “You heard what I said. Nothing more than that for right now. I’ll decide more after he sobers up and we’ve had a chance to talk to him.”

  Sensing the marshal’s annoyance, Kate came out of the hotel and put an arm around Frenchy, saying, “Come inside, honey. You’ve done enough. Come in and try to relax.”

  All up and down the street, others were emerging from the shops and doorways where they’d ducked for cover. At first they were subdued and quiet but then, gradually, they became more animated and the buzz of conversation grew in volume among them.