King watched as the gunfighter disappeared over the river’s embankment. Despite his own dire predicament, a sense of relief flooded through him at the thought that Brolin was getting away.
The gunfire died away but the sound of approaching footfalls changed King’s relief to fear. He renewed his struggle to free his trapped leg. It was a vain attempt; it was pinned fast beneath the dead horse.
‘Murphy, check the river,’ King heard Stall order.
Murphy loped across to the riverbank, leaving Stall and Kansas to tend to the trapped store owner.
‘I know him,’ Kansas said, recognizing King’s features. ‘He was on the train too. How in hell did you fellers get out of the church?’
King stayed silent.
Stall stared hard at the store owner, trying to place him. Then he nodded.
‘Sure, you’re the feller with the woman and the two brats.’
King bridled.
‘One,’ he grated through clenched teeth. ‘One child. You animals murdered my boy.’
Stall shrugged nonchalantly.
‘Too bad.’
Something akin to a primeval growl escaped King’s lips and he renewed his struggles to be free. Never had he wanted to kill someone as much as he did right at this moment.
As he fought to escape he prayed earnestly for God’s help to finish this one last thing.
Murphy came running back.
‘No sign,’ he panted. ‘He’s either dead or the river took him. Either way I’d say he’s dead.’
‘In case you hadn’t noticed,’ Stall reminded him caustically, ‘Brolin has a habit of comin’ back from the dead.’
Murphy shrugged. ‘I say he’s dead.’
‘And I say don’t be so sure.’
‘This feller won’t be comin’ back,’ Kansas said. He cocked his six-gun and pointed it at King’s head.
The store owner froze as he stared down the gaping barrel of the outlaw’s nickel-plated Colt. A new surge of fear coursed through him as he waited for death to come.
Stall threw a hand out to stay Kansas’s trigger finger.
‘No, wait!’ he snapped. ‘Keep him alive for now. If Brolin is still alive he’ll be back for him.’
Kansas stared hard at the outlaw boss.
‘You mean we’re stayin’?’ His tone was one of disbelief. ‘You can’t be serious, Mike. We need to get gone from here. The law could show up here at any time.’
‘We’re stayin’,’ Stall insisted.
‘Hell, Mike!’ Murphy put in. ‘After what happened with the train and what we did to the posse that was tailin’ us, we can forget lawmen. These mountains are goin’ to be crawlin’ with soldiers. And in case you ain’t noticed, there’s only the three of us now. We need to leave. I for one ain’t hangin’ around here waitin’ for a cavalry troop to come ridin’ in.’
With a fluid movement Stall drew his right-side Colt and aimed it at the of Murphy’s face.
‘I said we stay.’ His growl was low, menacing. ‘If Brolin’s alive he’ll be back. I’m not leavin’ here to have him on our back trail. And that’s what will happen if he’s alive. No, it ends here.’
Murphy stared nervously at the six-gun and swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. Then he nodded his acceptance.
Stall holstered his gun and stabbed a finger at King.
‘Now get him out from under that horse and into the saloon. I want to ask him some questions.’
Kansas and Murphy took King’s arms and roughly wrenched him from beneath the dead horse.
‘Take it easy,’ the store owner protested.
‘Get up,’ Kansas ordered.
King staggered to his feet and straightened up. He winced as a bolt of pain shot through his injured leg. Still, he was able to put weight on it.
‘Move.’ Murphy’s voice was harsh and a vicious shove accompanied it as King limped towards the Lumberjack saloon.
~*~
The roar of rushing water filled Brolin’s ears as he ascended from the cold depths of darkness. His head wound throbbed from its forceful impact with that damned rock. He rolled on to his back and lay there trying to gather himself.
His shoulder wound burned when he moved his arm and the bright sunlight almost blinded him when he tried to open his eyes, forcing him to shut them again..
Brolin sat up drunkenly. His head swam.
He blinked his eyes again to clear his vision. Clarity returned slowly and Brolin was eventually able to take in his surroundings.
He was lying on a flat, sand-covered bench area on the southern bank, where the river curved. He had no idea how he’d managed to drag himself from the fast-flowing torrent.
Above the bench the bank was little more than a gentle slope, covered in a blanket of lush green grass. On the opposite bank large pines over a hundred feet tall reached up to the sky.
Brolin climbed to his feet, wobbled unsteadily, then checked for the Remington. It lay in the holster. At least he had one weapon, after losing the Winchester in the river, and the Sharps was still on the horse.
He made his way slowly up the bank. Once at the top he stopped to take a break. The pain in his head had increased with the climb and his vision became blurred once more. Brolin slumped to his knees.
He put his arms out to regain his balance but to no avail. Slowly, like a giant redwood, Brolin teetered forward beyond the point of no return as the soft green carpet of grass came up to meet him. Once again, everything went black.
When Brolin came to for the second time it was dark and he was cold. He was bone-chillingly cold wrapped in his damp clothing. Somewhere on the mountain slopes a wolf howled, its mournful sound carried eerily on the clear night air.
Brolin shivered uncontrollably; he knew he needed to get warm or the cold would kill him. A sudden gust of wind rippled through the trees with a low whistle.
Brolin got to his feet and turned right. He staggered into the darkness and followed the river back to town. He had no idea of the distance he’d been swept, but the need to get warm overrode all else and Miller’s Crossing was the only place he’d find a means to do it.
~*~
Candy dabbed at the cuts and bruises on Letty’s face with a wet rag, trying to clean up the dried blood as best she could.
No matter how gentle she attempted to be, every now and then the semi-conscious whore would moan in protest at the pain. Each time she did, Candy winced and apologized softly, but continued her tender ministrations.
The room they were in was on the Silk Purse’s second floor, right at the front of the building.
A small kerosene lamp cast a dull orange glow throughout the meagerly furnished space. It contained a bed, an aged dresser and a small bedside table made of hardwood. A pitcher of water stood beside a shallow floral dish meant for washing in, which Candy had half-filled so that she could wet the rag she was using on Letty.
A long strand of red hair fell across her pale face as she leaned forward to clean a smear of blood from the corner of Letty’s bruised mouth.
From the corners of her powder-blue eyes slid tears; they rolled down her cheek and splashed on to her unconscious friend. Stall had beaten Letty mercilessly after the plump whore had given him lip. What concerned Candy most was that she might not pull through.
The rattle of a key in the door lock drew Candy’s attention. The door burst open and a man was shoved roughly inside. He fell to the floor and lay there.
‘Got some company for you,’ Murphy sneered.
The door slammed shut. King dragged himself to a sitting position and rubbed at his leg. One of his eyes was nearly closed and blood trickled from his nose and split lip.
‘Are you OK, mister?’ Candy asked in a husky voice, showing concern.
King looked across at the redhead, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and noticed that it came away red with blood. He fingered his split lip and winced.
‘I’ll be fine,’ he told Candy. He nodded at Letty. ‘How about your friend?’
Candy’s face took on a somber expression and she shook her head.
‘I don’t know. She needs a doctor.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘That son of a bitch Stall beat her,’ Candy said harshly.
King remained silent.
‘I’m Candy,’ she said introducing herself. ‘My friend in the bed is Letty.’
King told her his name. ‘How many others are there?’ he asked
‘There’s six more working girls,’ she told him. ‘All locked up in other rooms.’
Candy paused for a moment, then her eyes grew wide and she leaped to her feet.
‘Your friend. Did he get away?’
The store owner shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He went into the river.’
Candy was wearing an emerald-green dress the hem of which, King noticed now that she was standing, fell almost to the floor. The bodice stopped at her ample breasts, barely covering them. Her shoulders were pale, almost luminescent in the lamplight.
‘Will he help?’ she asked. ‘If he’s still alive, will he come back to help?’
King didn’t hesitate in his answer.
‘If he’s alive he’ll be back. You can count on it.’