Man From Boot Hill (15 page)

George stumbled through the general store, knocking blankets off their tables and tipping over barrels of flour along the way. He had a gun in his hand, but had forgotten all about it as he strove to distance himself from the door.

“What’s going on out there?” the silver-haired store owner swhouted. “I thought you men were leaving!”

“Shut up,” George snapped. “Just shut up!”

A moment later, the door swung open again and Joseph stomped inside. He, too, seemed to have forgotten about his gun. In his case, however, it wasn’t because of panic.

“Who’re you?” the old man asked. “Jesus, how many more are there?”

Joseph ignored the store’s owner completely as he lunged straight for his former ranch hand.

George’s efforts to move away were blocked by a table stacked high with brushes and blocks of soap. His back knocked against the edge of the table,
and he pushed himself on top of it so he could scuttle backwards over it.

“Trying to run off again, Georgie?” Joseph said, knowing how much the younger man hated to be called that. “Or are you just trying to set up another party in my honor?”

George swung his arm around, preparing to finally fire his gun. In his haste to be rid of Joseph, he pulled his trigger way too early and his wild shot hit one of the store’s glass display cases.

“God dammit!” the owner shouted as he fixed his distraught eyes upon the shattered case.

Joseph remained focused upon George. He lifted his gun and took a shot, which caught the ranch hand in the hip. Joseph kept moving forward until he was close enough to grab hold of George’s shirt. “You son of a bitch! You’re the one that killed my family!”

George’s eyes grew wide and he wildly shook his head. “No! No! I didn’t fire a shot that night!”

“But you got everyone out of there so those bastards could ride right in! You watched as my wife was killed! You watched my little girl die!”

George’s mouth flapped open and shut as he tried desperately to say something in his defense. When he heard the shots being fired outside, George remembered the gun in his own hand. He tried to take aim, but Joseph slammed the handle of his gun into George’s wrist.

The slender bones of his hand snapped on impact and George let out a high, feminine scream.

“You!” Joseph snarled as he pounded his gun down once more in the same spot. “You let them kill my family!” With tears burning his eyes, Joseph brought the gun up, pointed it at George’s eye and stared down its barrel.

Not only was George crying, he was sobbing. It was a pathetic mix of pain, fear and regret as he slowly shook his head while muttering, “I didn’t know it would be like that, I swear. I thought they’d just take your herd.”

“You told them about the money I was saving.”

“I saw you take some money into your study and told them about it. I thought I knew where it was hid, but…I didn’t know they’d treat An—”

“Don’t,” Joseph snapped, “say…her…name.”

George was still shaking his head as the last shot from outside faded away. “I wouldn’t have done any of it if I knew, Mister Van Meter. You gotta believe me. You folks were good folks. Anne was so nice to me. Laurie was the cutest—”

He was interrupted by a single shot from Joseph’s gun.

That shot roared through the store just as Nick pushed the side door open. He stepped into the store with his gun drawn, taking in what was going on. “How many are here?” he asked the old store owner.

“Just them two. Jesus, they destroyed my new cases!”

Seeing Joseph staring down at George, Nick
pointed his gun at the ranch hand and slowly stepped forward. He felt the anger poring from Joseph in waves. Approaching him then was like inching up to a rattler that already had its fangs bared. When he saw the smoke pouring from Joseph’s barrel, Nick knew he was too late.

“Don’t say their names,” Joseph whispered to the dead man beneath him. “I told you not to say their names.”

Holstering his gun, Nick reached out to carefully place a hand on Joseph’s shoulder. Joseph swung his gun around reflexively.

“It’s just me,” Nick said. “It’s over. They’re all gone.”

Joseph looked around in a daze and lowered his gun.

“Get some supplies so we’re set for the next couple of days,” Nick said. “In fact, get as much as we can carry. We’ll need to move fast.”

Seeing the recognition in Joseph’s eyes, Nick knew that the man’s reasoning had come back to him. He then grabbed George by the collar and belt so he could heft the dead weight over his shoulder. For Nick, carrying the body was just another day at work, and he lugged the corpse outside while Joseph started gathering up food.

Outside, the gunman Nick had left flopped onto his belly and began inching toward the gun that he’d tossed. His hands were tied behind him and his ankles were bound, forcing him to move like a caterpillar. He could hear the rusty hinges squeak
ing and the thump of heavy footsteps behind him, but kept inching his way on the ground while straining his wrists against the ropes.

Suddenly, the footsteps came to a stop. Next, the unlucky gunman heard the heavy crash of something being dropped in front of him. He had to pull his head back a bit to get a look at what it was. “Jesus Christ!” the gunman hollered when he saw the gaping hole in George’s head.

Nick squatted down beside the body he’d dropped. “There’s one of your friends,” he said. Grabbing the gunman’s hair and wrenching his head around to face the first corpse, he added, “And there’s the other. If you want to keep from joining them, you’d best tell me how many men you and George hired on.”

“Four,” the outlaw replied. There was no fear in his voice. Instead, there was just resignation. “They already rode ahead to meet up with the rest.”

“Where at?”

“Some ranch named the Busted Wheel. It’s about twenty miles or so from here, due south.”

“You’re a cooperative sort.”

“What the hell I got to lose? If you were gonna gun me down, you wouldn’t have trussed me up like a goddamn steer.”

Nick studied the bigger man’s face and then nodded. “All right.”

When he saw Nick walk over to pick up the gun that had been tossed away, he asked, “Ain’t you gonna untie me?”

“Nope.”

The gunman was still grousing outside when Nick poked his head into the store. “You got a firearm, old man?”

The store owner looked around as if he didn’t know whom Nick was addressing. He then pumped his head up and down. “’Course I do. I ain’t stupid enough to make a move against armed killers, though.”

“How many of them were here?” Nick asked.

Scrunching his eyebrows thoughtfully, the old man replied, “Them three you already met and four more. There were a few others who came by a few days ago, but that was just to conduct some business.”

“What kind of business?” Nick asked carefully.

The store owner nodded toward a narrow hallway behind his counter. Standing there, huddled together, were three women in various stages of undress. They appeared to be a little frightened, but curious nonetheless. “That kind of business,” the old man said.

“You run a whorehouse as well?”

“And sell liquor. This is the only store for miles, so’s I figure on taking advantage. I just hope to hell those bastards don’t kill the girls I sent out to them camps when they hear about what happened back here.”

“When are they due back?” Nick asked.

“Tomorrow. Maybe I should bring them back sooner, though.”

Nick blinked a few times and glanced back to Joseph. When he looked back to the old man, he said, “We might just be able to help you with that.”

“How?”

“We’ll go and make sure they get back here without you or anyone else having to risk yourselves.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because that way you can forget it was us who shot these men and you can let anyone who asks know that we’re just working for you.”

The old man squinted at Nick carefully as his face slowly pinched up. “You ain’t the law. Are you bounty hunters?”

“We want to get close to those killers,” Joseph said. “That’s all you need to know.”

Finally, the old man shrugged and said, “Fine. If you can get my girls back, that’s all I care about. You two sure got a better chance of walking into them camps and getting out alive than me and the kid who normally runs my whores. You make it back and I’ll even forget about the damage you caused to my place. It ain’t gonna cover the cost of all that food and supplies you’re takin’.”

Just then, Joseph walked up to him and handed over a small bundle of money. “That should be enough to cover the supplies.”

The owner counted up the money he’d been given and stuffed it in his pocket.

“You’d better find that shotgun of yours,” Nick
said. “There’s someone out there you might want to keep an eye on. He’s tied up, but you still should be careful around him.”

“What should I do with him?”

“Call the law or feed him to the coyotes, I don’t give a shit which. We just don’t have the time to waste on him.”

As Joseph dragged the bags he’d packed out the door, the shop’s owner looked around as if he’d been thrown into the middle of a whirlwind. Clenching his fist around Joseph’s money, he shrugged and wandered over to collect his broom and shotgun.

The gang was divided into two small camps with just over a mile between them. In the main camp, Dutch talked to the men who’d gathered up the fresh recruits and discussed their next move. He’d looked in on the other camp before returning, like a field commander making the rounds among his troops.

“Lot of new faces,” said one of the veteran gang members.

Dutch nodded and picked up a stick off the ground. With his other hand, he pulled a hunting knife from his belt and started whittling away the tip. “There should have been more, Bertram. You know that.”

Bertram nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“What happened?”

“It’s too soon after the raid at Van Meter’s place. Some law’s been poking their noses into it after all that ruckus and—”

“No law’s been looking into it,” Dutch cut in. “No more than usual, anyhow, and you know it.”

Bertram shrugged and said, “Then I don’t know why. We got more’n enough to pull the next few jobs, though, so what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that you’ve been getting lazy. You’ve also been getting sloppy. You took too much time at the Van Meter ranch.”

The memories brought a smile to Bertram’s face. “That bitch wife of his was mighty fine,” he said in a slow, breathy manner. “I wouldn’t have minded fucking her even after we sliced her up.”

Dutch’s eyes shifted in their sockets and fixed upon Bertram. When that wasn’t enough to dim the smile on Bertram’s face, Dutch barked, “Shut your damn mouth!”

“What’s the matter, Dutch? Jealous because we got to have the fun? That herd must be sold off by now. Maybe you can buy yourself some pussy.” Licking his lips, Bertram added, “That younger girl at that ranch, though…she was the kind of sweet meat that you can’t even buy. At least, not without looking real hard for it.”

Dutch looked down for a second, snapped his eyes back up and then grabbed Bertram underneath his chin. Pinching Bertram’s throat between his fingers, Dutch pulled the other man forward and said, “I put up with a lot of your shit because you get results. You fucked up at that ranch and it may have cost us money.”

“Them bitches didn’t have any money. I searched ’em real good.”

“The rancher did, but he was shot before he
could tell us the rest of what we needed. Seeing as how we haven’t heard from the man I left behind, the rest of that money is probably gone for good.”

“We can always go back.”

Dutch’s grip tightened around Bertram’s throat. His eyes narrowed a bit more and his lips curled back to reveal a set of perfectly straight teeth. “Now you’re just talking like a goddamn fool and I don’t tolerate fools.”

“You’re gonna have to tolerate me a bit longer,” Bertram said. “I’m the most experienced man you got.”

“Keep that fucking tone in your voice and the next thing you’ll experience is the grave.”

The smile on Bertram’s face didn’t fade, but it did lose a good amount of its cockiness. It was a subtle change, which made a world of difference.

When he saw that shift in Bertram’s manner, Dutch loosened his grip and finally opened his fingers wide enough for the other man to slip free. “Maybe I should stay to oversee these new men,” he said.

“My boys are doing fine,” replied Bertram.

“Your boys are like you. They think with their dicks at the wrong times and it may have already gotten some of them killed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You heard from those men who stayed behind at San Trista?” Dutch asked.

“No, but it hasn’t been that long.”

Dutch shrugged. “They should have been back
today and they’re not. They’re probably rolling around with some of those whores you found. Either that, or they’re wasting time shepherding them whores back and forth between here and town instead of doing what they get paid to do. Or there could have been some trouble,” Dutch added. “Trouble like whatever J. D. ran into.”

“They’re a day late,” Bertram reiterated. “I wasn’t even starting to worry about them. Besides, if there’s trouble, they can handle themselves.”

Dutch stared silently into the distance, his face resembling a portrait. While other men were known for how they collected their scars in various fights, Dutch was known for being in twice the number of fights without getting scarred once. His eyes were cold and calculating; they gazed off a little too long before blinking.

“Any word from J. D.?” Dutch asked.

“Not since we heard he was out of jail. Most of us didn’t even know he was in jail.”

“So where is he now?”

“I couldn’t tell ya. Probably trying to catch up to the rest of us.”

Judging by Dutch’s expression, he didn’t care for that explanation one bit. His annoyance only grew when he saw Bertram shifting from one boot to another without a care in the world. “Where’s Bill?”

“What do you need him for? All he ever does is herd cattle.”

Dutch answered that with a burning gaze that shoved Bertram a few steps back.

“Fine, fine,” Bertram said, raising his hands. “I’ll get him. Jesus Christ.”

After Bertram had been gone a few minutes, another man walked up to Dutch. He was lean and had the look of someone who’d been raised on the floor of a desert. His skin was tough and creased. His hair was dark brown and stringy. When he approached Dutch, he did so with a respectful nod and then waited for the other man to talk.

“What’s been going on here, Bill?” Dutch asked.

“Same bullshit you’d expect. Bertram shoots his mouth off day and night when he’s not fucking some whore he brought in from God knows where.”

“Is he getting his job done?”

“I suppose. All he needs to do is say ‘howdy’ to a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears gun hands who aren’t much better than he is, so there isn’t much of a way for him to mess up. At least they all kiss his feet on account of the women he brings in.”

Dutch laughed under his breath and nodded. “You seem bored, so I got a job for you to do.”

“As long as it involves me getting the fuck out of here, I’m plenty willing.”

“I don’t know if you heard, but I got a telegram from J. D.”

“J. D.’s alive?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, and he was in and out of jail. He was headed to meet up with us, but nobody’s heard from him since.”

“How long ago was that?”

“We got the telegram almost a week ago. Anyhow, he should have caught up with us a few days ago. I want you to backtrack and see if you can find J. D. He was taking the Silver Gorge trail, so take that all the way back to Ocean if you have to.”

Bill winced and commented, “That’s an awfully tall order, isn’t it? I mean, there’s a lot of ground to cover and plenty of spaces for one man to get lost. He could have just fallen off his horse and I’d never find him.”

“I know. We also haven’t heard from George. This was the last day for him to wait for any more men looking to sign on, and there’s been no word.”

“I know. Bertram didn’t seem too worried.”

“Bertram’s got shit for brains,” Dutch said. “That’s why I want you to ride through San Trista on your way out. Make that your first stop and send word to me at the normal spot. You know where I mean?”

Bill nodded.

“Don’t wait for a reply. Just head on across to the Silver Gorge and start looking for J. D. Got it?”

“You think something happened to George and J. D.?”

“I don’t know, and that’s the part that gets under my skin. You find out for me and do it quick. If something is going wrong, we need to know about it and take care of it before it gets out of hand.”

“What if the law’s the cause of these problems?”

“Then you kill any law dog that’s sticking his nose in our business. Things are going too good for that kind of bullshit to trip us up.”

Bill kept nodding, but had let his eyes wander away from Dutch.

“You got something else to say?” Dutch asked.

He started to shake his head, paused and reluctantly said, “There’s been talk about some of the men at that Van Meter place getting killed by some gravedigger from town. What if he’s the one that got to J. D.?”

Dutch’s eyes burned holes through Bill’s head. His jaw shifted back and forth, slowly grinding his teeth together. “Did you see this gravedigger?”

“Not up close. I was rounding up that rancher’s herd when the rest of you were shooting up the man that owned that spread. I heard the shots and tried to get there, but was too late to be of much help. Still, someone did shoot the hell out of the men that were going after one of that rancher’s kids.”

“And it wasn’t the rancher, himself?”

Bill shook his head.

“If you hear about someone that killed one of our men,” Dutch said, “gravedigger or not, I want him dead. Kill him in a way that’ll make anyone else think twice about stepping up to anyone who might even be a distant acquaintance of ours. Kill his family, too. There’s no reason that rancher should be the only one to get special treatment.

“Anything less and we look weak. Men in our line of work start looking weak and we might as well invite the law or other cocky little pricks to try their luck with us.”

“And what if someone off that ranch is still alive and trying to hunt us down?”

“Then make him wish he was killed right along with the rest of that family.”