The Lost Outlaw

by Paul Fraser Collard

  Sinclair reined in his horse, bringing it to a noisy halt. There was a moment’s pause. Gunshots echoed through the gloom. The rain came down in torrents, its roar constant and unceasing.

  ‘And so it ends.’ Sinclair could not resist the final jibe. Brannigan was at his mercy.

  Then Jack struck.

  It was a poor strike. It was a long time since Jack had fought from the saddle, and the suddenness of the impact took him by surprise. Yet his rusty skills were good enough for him to still hit Sinclair hard, the slashing blow cutting deep into the arm holding the revolver.

  Sinclair shrieked and whirled around in the saddle, his revolver falling from his grasp.

  Jack reined in, turning his mare hard and fast. He rode at Sinclair as soon as the animal was ready. There was time for him to see the surprise on Sinclair’s rain-streaked face before he was close enough to lash out with the sword for a second time. This time his horse was moving more slowly and he was better prepared. He half stood in the saddle, then cut hard as soon as Sinclair was in striking distance. Every ounce of his strength went behind the slashing blow that he aimed at the junction of neck and shoulder. The blade hit, the shock of the impact jarring back along his arm. The sword’s leading edge cleaved through flesh and gristle so that blood flew as he ripped the blade from the wound.

  Sinclair’s mouth opened in a silent scream. Jack’s hammer blow had rocked him back in the saddle, yet he held on, keeping his seat even as the blood began to pump out of the gruesome crevice hacked into his flesh.

  Jack stared at him, holding his gaze for the span of a single heartbeat before he drove his sword forward, ramming the point deep into Sinclair’s chest. He felt the steel punch through ribs and into the softer innards beyond. He twisted the blade, fighting the suction of flesh, then tore it free and readied a third blow.

  It would not be needed. Sinclair swayed in the saddle, his eyes locked on to Jack’s own. Then blood gushed from his mouth and he fell to one side, tumbling to the ground without a sound.

  Jack found himself staring directly at Brannigan. Neither man spoke.

  ‘They’re running!’ A man away to Brannigan’s left shouted the news.

  Jack turned. Sinclair’s ambushers had lost the will to fight now that their leader was down. Their shadowy forms were quickly lost in the rain as they rode hell for leather for safety. For their part, Brannigan’s men were in no fit state to give chase. The bitter gunfight could not have lasted more than a dozen minutes, yet every man was spent.

  Jack dismounted. His mare stood exhausted, with head lowered. He let the reins drop, knowing she would stay where she was, then walked towards Sinclair’s body.

  The man he had hacked out of the saddle lay where he had fallen, staring at the blackened sky. Rain ran across his face to dilute the blood that had vomited from his mouth. Somehow he was still alive, and he gazed at Jack, eyes wild with agony, his mouth moving slowly, as if he were whispering. Yet no sound came out.

  Jack looked at the great cleft he had slashed into Sinclair’s neck. It had been a while since he had seen a wound created by a sword, but he regarded the gaping, twisted mess of flesh, sinew and bone without horror. He had seen worse.

  ‘What the hell did you do that for?’

  It was Brannigan who shouted the question. He had ridden over and now loomed over Jack from the saddle, his face twisted with anger.

  Jack looked up at the man he had saved. For a moment, he thought Brannigan would raise his empty revolver and use it to bludgeon him where he stood, such was the fury in his expression.

  ‘He was going to kill you.’ Jack was confused. ‘Are you not grateful?’

  ‘Grateful?’ Brannigan spat out the word. ‘Goddammit, why the hell would I be grateful?’

  Jack felt the rain begin to slow, an insipid pale-grey light returning to the world as the storm finally cleared away. He did not understand Brannigan’s reaction. ‘You wanted me to let him shoot you?’

  ‘I had him where I wanted him.’ Brannigan’s mouth twisted as if he was chewing on a fat turd.

  Jack felt the touch of his own anger. He did not expect to be lauded as a hero for saving Brannigan’s neck, but he did expect some common gratitude.

  ‘I had him,’ Brannigan sneered. ‘Now I’m in your goddam debt.’

  So this was the real reason behind his anger. ‘Don’t worry about it, chum.’ Jack swiped a hand across his face, clearing away the rainwater and the sweat.

  ‘That’s not how it works.’ Brannigan slid from the saddle, his boots digging great holes in the rain-soaked ground. ‘Not for me.’

  He looked down at Sinclair, contemplating his fate. Sinclair stared back, his pain-crazed eyes flickering between the two men. His mouth moved continuously, emitting a strange mewing sound.

  ‘Did you have to do it with that goddam sabre of yours?’

  Jack heard a slight change of tone. Brannigan’s anger was fading as quickly as the storm.

  ‘I told you it would be useful.’ He pulled his eyes from Sinclair to look at the man he had agreed to follow.

  Brannigan shook his head ruefully. ‘What the hell is a man like you doing in a place like this?’ His expression changed as he made the remark. Any anger he had felt had been replaced with something else. Jack did not know quite what it was.

  ‘Maybe it’s just Fate.’

  ‘Fate?’ Brannigan grimaced as he repeated the single word. ‘Do you believe in that horseshit?’

  ‘I do,’ Jack answered earnestly. ‘We can’t fight it. We can try, but nothing we do makes one scrap of bloody difference.’

  ‘No. I will never accept that.’ Brannigan denounced the notion forcefully. ‘I make my own fate.’

  Jack watched Brannigan carefully in the silence that followed the remark. He was beginning to think that the two of them were very much alike. They had both been fighting Fate all their lives. He knew he was losing that particular battle, but it appeared Brannigan had yet to feel the same.

  ‘What do you think I should do with him?’ Brannigan pointed a finger at Sinclair.

  ‘If it were me, I’d put the poor bastard out of his misery.’ Jack gave the honest answer. There was no surviving the wound he had inflicted on Sinclair.

  ‘That’s because you’re soft.’ Brannigan’s voice hardened.

  ‘That’s not being soft. He’s as good as dead. Why delay?’

  Sinclair whimpered as the two men discussed his fate. A single hand reached out, but he did not have the strength to hold it in the air, so it ended up doing little more than claw at the dirt by Brannigan’s feet.

  Brannigan sighed, then gently moved Sinclair’s hand back to his side with the toe of his boot. ‘I have a reputation to protect. One that warns sons of bitches like this not to try to stop me going about my business.’ He took one last look at Sinclair, then reached out to clap a hand on Jack’s shoulder. ‘I’ll repay my debt to you, Jack. One day I’ll save your lousy English neck, then we’ll be even.’

  He walked away, leaving Jack alone with Sinclair.

  Jack did not move even as he heard Brannigan bawling orders at his men. He was still standing there when he returned with Adam and two others.

  ‘Pick him up, fellas.’ Brannigan stood back and pointed at Sinclair.

  ‘Are you not going to kill him?’ Jack felt an odd sense of ownership towards Sinclair, as if he were some sort of ghastly trophy.

  ‘Not yet.’ Brannigan did not so much as look at Jack as the three men lifted Sinclair up.

  ‘What are you going to do with him?’ Jack asked, taking a few steps back so that he was out of the men’s way.

  ‘You’ll see.’ Brannigan’s voice was as hard as iron.

  Jack stayed where he was as the men half carried, half dragged Sinclair away. Already the first wagon was crossing the bridge.

  He was not shocked at Brannigan’s treatment of Sinclair. He had known plenty of men who were ruthless in the pursuit of their goals and would let nothing get in their wa
y. It was worth remembering. Brannigan might talk of being in Jack’s debt, but Jack had no doubt that that fact would quickly be forgotten if he ever got in the other man’s way.

  Jack finished tending to his mare and walked towards the campfire, where Brannigan’s cook would be doing his best to conjure something palatable from the bacon, dried beef, desiccated vegetables and hardtack that made up the bulk of their meagre rations on the trail south. He was not alone in doing so. The remains of Brannigan’s gang, less those standing guard, were gathering around the fire. Four men had been killed outright that day, with another two lying on bedrolls with wounds that would likely finish them off before the night was out. Half a dozen men would have died to protect the great bales of cotton, and he wondered if there would be more deaths before the cargo reached its final destination.

  He walked closer to the flames, the heat drawing him in. The cold had wormed its way deep into his bones. He had changed out of his sodden clothing, but even that had done little to warm him. It was as if a chill had settled in his soul.

  ‘That was a close-run thing.’

  Jack kept his face towards the flames. He recognised Vaughan’s voice well enough and felt a moment’s animosity. He had not seen Vaughan in the fighting. The plantation’s agent had not shared that bitter experience, which in Jack’s mind made him an outsider.

  ‘The boys are talking about you.’ If Vaughan sensed Jack’s mood, he paid it no heed as he came to stand at his side. ‘They say you fought as well as any of them.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ Jack disagreed without hesitation. ‘Otherwise I’d have stood there blasting away like a fool, just as they did.’

  Vaughan laughed. ‘I sense my words are angering you. I assure you that was not my intention. I merely wanted to offer my thanks. For keeping our cargo safe.’

  ‘It’s what you pay me for.’

  ‘That is true. Yet from what I hear, you made the difference today. It proves you to be no ordinary man.’

  ‘Oh, I’m no ordinary man.’ Jack snorted as he revealed a trace of arrogance.

  ‘I know, Jack, I know. You might be an outlaw, but you are one with a good heart.’

  ‘No. I am me. Nothing more and nothing less.’ He turned to look at Vaughan for the first time in the short conversation. The plantation’s agent was warming his hands by the flames. ‘You didn’t fight.’ He did not bother to hide his disdain.

  ‘No.’ Vaughan’s expression was unchanged as he reacted to Jack’s accusation.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That is not my place here.’

  ‘You are too valuable to risk? Is that it?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Vaughan looked back at Jack, a smile creeping across his face. ‘We have men much better suited to the fight than I.’

  ‘Men like me.’

  ‘Yes, Jack, men like you. You are a fighter, a warrior if you prefer. I believe this is what you were born to do. I was not. I have found I am better suited to other things.’

  Jack did not reply at once. The words resonated. Vaughan barely knew him, but it seemed that he could see into the depths of his soul. ‘And men like me are expendable.’ His animosity was slipping away.

  ‘Yes, Jack, you are.’

  ‘At least you are honest.’

  ‘I hope you will find me always to be so.’ Vaughan smiled.

  Jack held back a reply. He doubted he would ever trust the agent. He was too confident, too secure. A man who showed no trace of doubt was a man who was hiding something.

  ‘Ah, here comes our esteemed leader.’

  Jack followed Vaughan’s gaze to see Brannigan arriving with a posse of men trailing behind him. Not one of them was speaking. They made their way to the fire, coming close to where Jack and Vaughan were warming themselves.

  ‘You owe me a hundred dollars.’ Jack addressed Brannigan. He noticed Vaughan sidling away, so as not to be part of the conversation yet to still be within comfortable earshot.

  Brannigan faced the flames. He did not acknowledge Jack’s presence.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ Jack lifted his hands to the flames, feeling the heat on his palms. His eyes closed as he relished the wash of warmth on his skin.

  ‘I heard you all right.’ Brannigan’s answer was clipped. ‘You’ll get the money.’

  ‘At least you can afford it now. How much did you save yourself today? A thousand dollars? Add another five hundred if those poor bastards over there don’t make it.’

  Brannigan did not so much as twitch.

  ‘All in all, a good day’s business.’ Jack did not bother to hide the bitterness in his words. He wanted to nettle this man. Brannigan was warmed by fire and lit by flames, yet he himself felt as dark and cold as a midwinter’s night.

  ‘You talk too much,’ Brannigan muttered.

  ‘Maybe.’ Jack looked deep into the dancing flames. ‘So am I in?’

  ‘In what?’

  ‘Your gang. Did saving your life prove I’m up to this job of yours?’

  ‘You want to stay?’

  ‘You need me.’

  Brannigan laughed then. ‘You’re an arrogant son of a bitch.’

  ‘And you’re a hard-nosed, miserable bastard who owes me a hundred dollars.’

  ‘You’ll get your money.’ For the first time, Brannigan looked at Jack. ‘And you’re wrong, I don’t need you. But I’ll pay you back. For saving my hide.’

  ‘No need. I was just doing my job.’

  ‘No.’ Brannigan’s reply was as hard as granite. ‘That’s not how it works, least not round here. Like I said, I’ll pay you back.’

  Jack was saved finding a suitable reply by the arrival of Adam and Kat. Neither appeared to have been hurt in the ambush.

  ‘You wanted us?’ Kat spoke first. She stood half a pace in front of Adam, as if shielding him from the confrontation that was about to erupt.

  Brannigan said nothing for a long time. He just stared into the flames, ignoring them both.

  ‘Brannigan!’ Kat showed no fear. She would not be left to stand there, but demanded attention, her tone as hot as the flames that warmed them all.

  ‘You screwed up.’ At last Brannigan broke his silence.

  ‘We told you what we learned.’

  ‘Sinclair fed you a pack of lies, yet you believed him.’ His tone was mild.

  ‘We didn’t know that. And maybe he just changed his plans. It happens.’ Kat was defiant.

  Brannigan grunted, then looked at Adam. ‘You got a tongue in your head, boy?’

  Adam visibly quailed as the full force of the gang leader’s attention was directed at him. ‘Yes, sir.’ He took a step forward. In the light of the flames, he looked like the boy he still was.

  ‘Tell me.’

  Adam swallowed hard. ‘We thought we’d got what we needed.’

  ‘Then you clearly don’t know shit.’ Brannigan’s tone did not change. ‘I told you to find out where Sinclair would be waiting for us.’

  ‘We thought we had.’

  ‘It’s not his fault.’ Kat had stayed out of the conversation long enough. ‘I was the one he told. I was the one who told you. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.’ She fired off the words, anger colouring her cheeks more than the heat from the flames.

  Jack watched the altercation closely. It revealed much about the people he had allowed to enter his life. He saw that Kat had no fear of Brannigan, but she did fear for Adam, and was quick to come to his defence.

  ‘I know whose fault it is.’ Brannigan still spoke quietly. ‘It’s mine. I sent children to do my work for me.’

  Kat and Adam both recoiled from the damning judgement. Jack had known this confrontation was coming since the moment Sinclair’s men had sprung their ambush. He had believed the pair had played Sinclair well, drawing the information from him that Brannigan had needed. He had been wrong, and he was not the only one. Four men at least had paid the price for such assumptions.

  ‘I thought he told me the truth.’ Kat looked around her. Bran
nigan’s men were watching, but none would meet her gaze. Not one came to her defence.

  ‘Why? Because you had that needle dick of his in your hand? Or did he tell you only when he clambered on top of you?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’ Kat’s eyes dropped.

  ‘Then what was it like?’ Brannigan loomed over her.

  ‘I didn’t . . .’ Kat struggled to find the words. ‘He didn’t do that.’

  ‘Then maybe he should have. Maybe then four of my men wouldn’t have died.’ For the first time, Brannigan’s tone had changed. Anger coloured his voice, as bright and red as the flames of the campfire. ‘I told you to find out what he had planned.’

  ‘I tried.’

  ‘And you failed.’

  ‘It’s not just Kat’s fault.’ Adam’s voice wavered. ‘I was there too.’

  ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten you, boy.’ Brannigan whirled to face him, but the anger had left his tone.

  Adam lifted his chin as Brannigan focused on him. ‘Don’t just blame me.’ He pointed an accusatory finger at Jack. ‘He told you to take the bridge too.’

  ‘Don’t go trying to shift the blame now, boy.’

  ‘Why not? Why do you listen to him? He ain’t done nothing for you. Not like I have.’

  ‘What have you done, boy?’ Brannigan’s tone was scathing.

  ‘I’ve done everything you ever asked of me.’ Adam’s voice wavered, as if he was close to tears. ‘You know me, Brannigan. I’m loyal. I’ll do whatever you want; you just have to ask.’

  ‘I told you to scout the river.’

  ‘I did! And I fought. I didn’t run. I killed two of them sons of bitches. I shot nice and slow and I didn’t rush. I did it just like you showed me.’ The words poured out of him now, the flood released.

  Brannigan took a pace towards him. ‘I told you to scout the river, boy,’ he repeated. ‘Did you do that with your goddam eyes closed?’

  ‘I didn’t see them.’

  ‘Just like you didn’t see that Sinclair played you both for fools. Did you ever think that maybe he would have been more vocal if it had been you who had gotten into bed with him? I’m told he’s keen on boys like you. Boys that do as he wants.’