The Lost Outlaw

by Paul Fraser Collard

  He looked around, searching the horizon for something to distract him. He heard the murmur of quiet conversation between Brannigan and Vaughan, the words spoken too softly for him to be able to make them out. He saw Brannigan reach out, his right hand clapping Vaughan on the shoulder. Then it slipped to the holster on his right hip, the movement casual and ordinary.

  Jack stared as the revolver was drawn. He was still staring when Brannigan raised it and aimed the barrel at Vaughan’s temple.

  The sudden gunshot shattered the peace.

  The barrel of Brannigan’s revolver was no more than six inches from Vaughan’s head. At such close range, he could not miss, and the bullet shattered the agent’s skull. For a single, grotesque moment, his body lingered in the saddle. Then it toppled silently to the right.

  Murder had been committed.

  Vaughan was dead.

  And everything had changed.

  Brannigan twisted his mare around in a tight circle, his right hand outstretched, the smoking revolver held ready to fire, shifting his aim from man to man as if expecting one of them to start shooting. The only pause came when his eyes reached Jack.

  ‘Put it down, Brannigan.’ Jack moved his own revolver a fraction of an inch. It would be an easy shot, one that he would not miss. He held Brannigan’s life in his hands.

  ‘Are you going to shoot me, Jack?’ Brannigan stared at the revolver in Jack’s hand. His own weapon was held stock still, but it was not aimed directly at Jack.

  Jack hefted the gun, mind racing. He had drawn it without thought, his body reacting to the murder he had witnessed before any notion of a plan had time to form in his mind. He was the only man to have pulled out a weapon.

  And he hesitated to do anything with it.

  ‘You want to kill me, then pull that damned trigger.’ Brannigan spat out the words. He seemed more annoyed than fearful.

  Still Jack did not shoot. His finger took up the tension in the trigger. An ounce more pressure and the gun would fire.

  ‘You not got the balls?’ Brannigan did not move as he spoke. ‘You not got what it takes to kill a man in cold blood?’

  Jack was silent. He cared nothing for Brannigan’s words. He had taken so many lives, some in the raging madness of battle, some in the cold light of day. He did not doubt that Brannigan deserved to die. It was the fate of murderers the world over. Yet still he did not pull the trigger. He did not fully understand why.

  ‘Put the gun away, Jack.’

  Jack recognised Kat’s voice. He did not turn his head, but he could sense that a gun was aimed at him. The situation had changed. Now, if he fired, he would join Brannigan on the long, slow, painful march into hell.

  One half of Brannigan’s mouth twisted upwards in what might have been an attempt at a smile. ‘If you’d wanted me dead, you’d have fired already.’ He gave a slow shake of his head, as if disappointed. Then he turned away, dismissing Jack’s threat.

  Men from further along the column were riding back, their passage noisy as horses blew and tackle jangled. Each man carried a drawn weapon.

  Jack paid no attention to their arrival. Instead he twisted in the saddle and looked back at Kat, his eyes searching for hers. He ignored the pistol aimed at his spine.

  Kat raised an eyebrow. ‘Your gun’s still drawn, Jack.’

  He held her gaze. There was so much new information filling his head. He had no doubt that Kat had been in on the plan to kill Vaughan. He remembered Brannigan’s nod towards her moments before he had drawn his revolver, and the way she had ridden forward. He had already known she was no ordinary member of the gang, but he did not know what else that made her.

  ‘Put it away, Jack.’ Some extra force entered Kat’s tone.

  Jack looked down at the revolver in his hand, then did as he was told. He said nothing as he turned his attention to the men who had arrived to find Vaughan a headless corpse lying in the dirt.

  ‘Put your guns away, fellas. You don’t need them.’ Brannigan gave his men no time to dwell. ‘Adam!’ He called for the younger man, who had arrived with the others.

  ‘Yes, Brannigan.’ If the sight of Vaughan’s corpse shocked Adam, he hid it well.

  ‘Stop the wagons, then gather the boys.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Adam snapped the reply as he turned his horse’s head around, eager to obey.

  ‘You men hold here and dismount.’ Brannigan gestured to the rear guard with his revolver.

  Not one man replied as they did as they were told, Jack amongst them. As he found his feet, he looked across at Vaughan’s body and wondered why he felt so little. A man had died; a man he had spoken to a dozen times. Yet that death meant nothing to him. It was why he had not fired at Brannigan. He wondered at the change inside him. He did not know when he had become so callous that a man’s death did not move him.

  He moved with the other men, leading his horse to one side as he waited for the wagons to circle. There would be time to think on what had happened. For the moment, he would go along with whatever he was ordered to do. Everything else would have to wait.

  ‘There’s been a change of plan.’ Brannigan addressed the gathered men in a loud voice. ‘I’m saving us all a whole load of bother.’ He spoke slowly and clearly so there could be no misunderstanding.

  Every man was there. The wagons had been circled, the horses tethered and the men gathered in the centre of the open ground between them. Every one of Brannigan’s gunslingers was present, as were the teamsters. Only Kat and the four Tejanos were missing. The group had been stationed outside the circle to warn of any other trains approaching.

  ‘We’re not going back to Brownsville.’ Brannigan paused, letting the words sink in. ‘We’re heading south.’

  Jack noted that the men greeted the announcement without a sound. There was no sudden intake of breath or instant conversation. There was just silent obedience.

  ‘We’ve got a journey of about a week ahead of us, but no more than that.’ Brannigan paused again to assess the reaction to his words before carrying on. ‘So no more sands. No more weeks in the saddle. Just a short ride south, and then we’re done.’ He looked around the gathering, studying faces. Few met his eye. Most looked at the ground or at the sky, anywhere but at the wagon master. No one spoke.

  ‘Why did you kill Vaughan?’ Jack broke the silence. He felt the gaze of every man shift on to him, yet he did not take his eyes off Brannigan.

  ‘He had his own plans.’ Brannigan did not shy away from the question.

  Jack thought back to the warning Kat had given him. Now Brannigan was echoing the same sentiment. ‘What were they?’

  ‘He was going to double-cross us. Him and that son of a bitch Dawson. As soon as we got ourselves back to Brownsville, they were going to take the guns for themselves.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Some of Dawson’s men told me when we passed through Brownsville whilst you were off jawing with their leader.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘Same as anyone. I pay them.’

  ‘And you believe them?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Why? Seems to me there’s so many lies down here that you lot wouldn’t spot the truth if it jumped up and bit you on the arse.’ Jack was scathing.

  ‘Cos they’ll want paying again the next time.’ Brannigan’s eyes narrowed. ‘And a man only gets to cross me once. You might want to think on that, Jack.’

  ‘What about the guns?’ one of Brannigan’s men called out.

  ‘They’re coming with us.’

  ‘Where are they going?’ The man fired off a second question.

  Jack looked for the other brave soul prepared to stand out. It was one of the men dressed in Confederate grey. Jack did not know him beyond the fact that his name was Taylor. His uniform, what was left of it, bore the faded red stripes and red facings of an artillery sergeant. Jack had never said more than a single word to him, but he could only admire his courage in questioning the kil
ler who stood in front of them.

  ‘I’ve got us another buyer. One who’ll pay more than any goddam soldier.’

  ‘The Mexicans?’ Taylor made the connection for anyone struggling to understand.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Brannigan did not move, but he turned the full force of his personality on the man questioning him.

  ‘It matters to me.’ Taylor took a half-step backwards as he replied, as if eager to get away from Brannigan. Then his chin lifted. ‘These guns, they’re for our boys fighting them Yankees.’

  ‘Do you really care about that, Taylor? Are you forgetting that you ran?’ Brannigan did not sneer or snarl. He spoke in the same soft tone as before, nothing about him altered by either the killing or the confrontation.

  ‘I know what I am, Brannigan. But I ain’t forgotten where I’m from. Seems to me like some folk have.’

  Brannigan contemplated Taylor in silence. Then he walked forward.

  ‘It’s all right, Taylor. I understand what you’re telling me. I know where you’re coming from with this. I respect you for it, too.’

  Taylor held himself tight as Brannigan approached. There was no hiding the fear on his face.

  ‘This ain’t for everyone, I know that.’ Brannigan continued to speak as he walked. Every man was following his progress, every set of eyes riveted on the tall wagon master. ‘Taking these guns, well, that makes us all outlaws, I guess. But there’s money in it. I’ll pay every man double for his trouble. That’s five hundred dollars for just one more week’s work.’ He did the sum for anyone too slow to do it himself. ‘But sometimes it ain’t about specie. Ain’t that the truth, Taylor?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Taylor gasped the words. Brannigan was close now. ‘I don’t mean no disrespect, Brannigan. You know me. We’ve been together a long whiles. Done this journey before together too. I ain’t never let you down. Not once.’

  Brannigan nodded. ‘It’s all right. I understand.’ He took another step, then reached out with his left arm to clap Taylor on the shoulder. ‘You don’t have to come with us.’

  Taylor relaxed, his relief palpable. ‘That’s good of you, Brannigan. You’ll pay me my two fifty and let me be on my way?’

  ‘It ain’t no problem.’ Brannigan gave a friendly smile and pulled the other man forward, as if about to embrace him. ‘If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to.’ His smile widened as he slipped his revolver out of its holster. He fired the moment the weapon’s barrel touched Taylor’s belly.

  Every man flinched as the bullet ripped through Taylor’s gut and exploded out of his back. Not one made a sound.

  Taylor glanced down at the blood that gushed out of his stomach, then looked at Brannigan, his mouth opening in a silent scream.

  ‘Like I said, it ain’t no problem.’ Brannigan held his victim upright. ‘I said you don’t have to come with us, and you don’t.’ He cocked his head, contemplating Taylor for one last moment, then pushed him hard.

  Taylor staggered back. Both hands reached for his stomach, his fingers clasping at the ruined flesh.

  Brannigan lifted his revolver. He took but a second to aim, then fired again. The bullet hit Taylor smack between the eyes and he dropped like a stone.

  Silence followed.

  ‘Anyone else feel like this journey ain’t for them?’ Brannigan asked the question in the same mild tone. He lowered the arm that held the revolver, holding the weapon at his side as he turned to look at the men gathered around him. ‘You all know me. You’ve seen what I can do. I don’t want none of you to be as stupid as Taylor here. I’ve said I’ll pay you good money to get these guns where I want to take ’em, and I will. There’ll be five hundred dollars waiting for each of you when we’re done. Five hundred dollars.’ He repeated the words slowly, making sure his men understood the choice they were making. It was a good amount. Not a fortune by any means, but it would allow a man to live in comfort for a while. And the alternative was death.

  Jack looked around him, studying the men. There were more than enough of them present to take Brannigan down. If they joined together, the wagon master would be dead in a heartbeat. Yet not one man moved, or even spoke a single word. They made their choice with heads bowed and with fear and greed in their hearts.

  Brannigan directed his gaze at Jack. ‘You coming along for the ride, Jack?’

  Jack felt no fear as the man who had proven himself to be a merciless and ruthless killer stared at him. He did not fully understand what he was thinking, let alone what he was feeling. Yet the answer sprang to his lips.

  ‘Yes, I’m coming with you.’

  Brannigan greeted the confirmation with a smile. Then he turned away. He did not look at Jack again.

  For his part, Jack felt the decision settle. It had been an easy one to make. He needed the employment, he knew that for certain, and he sensed there was unfinished business with Kat that he wanted to resolve. Yet neither of those was enough to make him stay. There was one other reason, one truth that he could not escape. It reverberated inside his mind like the slow, pulsating drumbeat that accompanied a flogging. Without Brannigan, he would have nothing. Without the wagon train, he would have nowhere to go and would face a return to a life of aimless wandering. Being with Brannigan gave him purpose and allowed him to be the man he was meant to be. He might be serving a cold-blooded killer, but that killer gave him what he needed.

  And so he would stay.

  The wagon train ground its way forward. They had turned their backs on the Rio Grande and struck out into the flat, featureless country that stretched away to the south of the river. It was hard going, the mules worked to exhaustion as they hauled the heavily laden wagons along the rutted, broken trail they now followed. They had passed a couple of small Mexican villages, but had not stopped for anything other than to refill the water casks. They had all they needed, the supplies Brannigan had laid in more than enough for the shorter journey south.

  After two hard days of travel, they reached a small town that one of Brannigan’s men named as Valle Hermoso. The place was not much to look at. The trail led to a central plaza surrounded by a handful of stone buildings with white-limed walls and tiled roofs. The wagon train had arrived on a day of fandango, the townsfolk preparing to celebrate the birth or death of some saint or other; none of Brannigan’s men knew the details. But they did know that the fandango would offer them the chance to drink, whore and gamble. To a man they looked to Brannigan and prayed he would slip the leash for that one night and let his wild dogs go free.

  He did not disappoint. The wagons were circled outside the town, and the men made their plans for the evening ahead, the promise of a night’s worth of depravity enough to lift their spirits so that the camp echoed to the sound of laughter. The wagons would be guarded by Brannigan himself and his four Tejanos, the five enough to keep the precious cargo safe.

  Every man was given money. They were paid in silver coins, not Confederate dollars, and Brannigan was generous, handing out enough silver for them to live like kings for the night. For the first time since the wagon train had turned south, the men were loud and raucous, spirits that had been crushed by Taylor and Vaughan’s brutal killings at least partially restored by the prospect of a night of debauchery.

  ‘You want to stay here with me tonight, Jack?’ Brannigan was working his way around the men, pouring coins into willing hands.

  ‘Do you need my help?’ Jack found it hard to know how to deal with the gang leader. He had not liked Vaughan and had not known Taylor, but their killings lingered in his mind. Yet he had made his decision, just like every man present. There had been a thousand opportunities for him to simply ride away. It would be a hard journey back to Texas and beyond, but not an impossible one. He had no ties to Brannigan, or to the men who served him. There was no sense of loyalty to any of them, or even a notion of duty. There was not even the feeling that he was doing something worthwhile.

  And yet he stayed.

  ‘Nope.’ Brannigan held out the b
ag of silver, ready to pour coins into Jack’s hand if it were offered. ‘You can do whatever the hell you want.’

  ‘How much are you going to give me?’ Jack tried to read Brannigan’s expression, but failed. There was nothing in the man’s eyes, not even a flicker of emotion. ‘Thirty pieces?’

  ‘Enough for you to do whatever you want tonight.’ Brannigan missed the reference.

  ‘You’re a generous man, Brannigan.’

  ‘Just paying you what you’re due.’

  ‘Or buying our loyalty?’

  ‘Have you got a problem, Jack?’ Brannigan still held out the bag. ‘If you want to go someplace else, then be my goddam guest.’

  ‘And have you shoot me?’

  ‘I wouldn’t shoot you. I owe you, remember. You want to ride away, then I won’t stop you. But have you got yourself someplace to go? Are there some folk out there that want you? Or have you got nothing? I seem to remember you coming to me begging for employment. Or am I mistaken?’

  Jack heard the harsh truth in Brannigan’s voice. He held out his hand. Silver was poured, the coins warm on his palm.

  ‘You have yourself a good time now.’ Brannigan gave him a leer that might have been meant as a smile. ‘Find a whore and stop being an uptight English son of a bitch for the night. We could all use a break, especially you.’

  Jack said nothing as he pocketed the silver. But Brannigan’s words lingered.

  Darkness had fallen by the time the men left the wagons and ventured into town. The place was lit by hundreds of paper lanterns of various colours and decorated with bright garlands of paper flowers that had been strung across the streets and which fluttered in the breeze to create a gentle melody. Not that Jack could hear much of it. The men he accompanied were loud. They were brash, these hard men of the trails, uncouth and vulgar, and they strode along like they owned the place. Not one of them glanced at the faces that turned their way, the people who called this out-of-the-way place home showing an obvious and distasteful reaction to the brazen Americans now in their midst.