Chapter 18
Bass Reeves sat at the table where he waited patiently for the returned vigilantes to show themselves. The empty saloon was deathly quiet, so quiet in fact that the sound of boots on the boardwalk outside seemed uncommonly loud.
Both vigilantes pushed in through the doors and glanced around the empty room. Then one of them spotted Reeves at the far corner table and nudged the other. There was an almost inaudible murmur and the pair started across the room towards him, weaving between the tables and chairs.
They stopped short in front of Reeves and the marshal looked the black-coated, full-bearded men over.
‘I take it that you’re Bass Reeves?’ Luther said as he pointed at the exposed marshal’s badge.
Reeves gave them both a disarming smile, but the cold calculating look in his eyes should have been warning enough for the two men.
‘Who might you two peckerwoods be?’ Reeves asked casually.
‘We’re the fellers who’re goin’ to kill you,’ Purdy boasted.
‘You sound almighty sure of yourself, friend,’ Reeves said evenly. ‘Now if I was you I wouldn’t go countin’ all my chickens before they hatched.’
‘What he says is true, old man,’ Luther snapped.
The smile left Reeves’ face and it became like stone. The next words from his mouth dripped with menace.
‘Don’t let these grey hairs fool you, sonny,’ he growled in a low voice. ‘I’ve chewed up and spat out more men who got their ambitions mixed up with their capabilities than I care to remember. Now, if you’ve a mind to, pull them guns of yours or get the hell to steppin’ and don’t come back.’
‘Heh heh, I told you he was a salty one, didn’t I, Luther?’ Purdy cackled.
A silence descended upon the room. An unnerving quiet while the tension between the three men built as they waited to see what each other would do. The catalyst came in the form of the slamming of a door somewhere along the street.
‘Let’s see how salty,’ Luther snarled.
The vigilante’s shoulder dipped as he clawed at the butt of his holstered six-gun. The hammer came back as Luther started to lift the gun level and bring it into line with the seated man before him.
Suddenly the scarred tabletop exploded as the Loomis roared from beneath it, sending a deadly hail of small lead balls and razor sharp splinters scything through the air. The effect was devastating, knocking Luther backward, his chest a mass of rags, splinters, and pulped flesh. He crashed against a table and it flipped under his weight, catapulting him to the side where he scattered a chair before he ended up dead on the wooden floor.
Purdy cried out as he caught pellets and splinters in his arm and side. He reeled back as pain shot through his body and he stumbled over the body of Luther. He fell heavily beside the dead vigilante and tried to ignore the burning sensation in his arm and side as he desperately clawed at his six-gun.
Reeves came erect pushing the remains of the partially destroyed table out of the way. He dropped the empty coach gun and palmed up his Colt. The hammer was fully cocked as the six-gun aligned on Purdy.
‘Don’t do it,’ Reeves snapped. ‘Not if you want to live.’
Purdy hesitated briefly, but was beyond reasoning and continued his draw. The hammer of Reeves’ Colt fell and the gun belched smoke and flame. The slug hit where the gun was aimed and it buried itself into Purdy’s gun-arm.
The screech of pain filled the saloon as numbed fingers let go of the six-gun and it fell to the floor.
Reeves moved in and kicked it away from the writhing form.
‘Listen up,’ he said as he stood over Purdy. ‘Where’s Ford?’
‘Damn it, I’m shot. God it hurts,’ Purdy whined.
‘I asked you where Ford is?’
‘I’m bleedin’, Marshal. You . . . aagh.’
Pain shot through Purdy as Reeves toed him in his wounded side.
‘Where, damn it?’
When Purdy said nothing Reeves moved to repeat his previous action.
‘Wait, I’ll tell you,’ the wounded man bleated. ‘He’s on the trail comin’ back here. We took a shortcut to get back here ahead of him.’
‘How many are doggin’ his trail?’ Reeves asked.
‘Three.’
‘What happened to the rest?’
‘All dead. That feller is somethin’ else when it comes to fightin’.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Reeves said absent-mindedly.
‘What?’
‘Get up? We’re goin’ across to the jail,’ Reeves snapped.
‘I can’t, I’m wounded,’ Purdy complained miserably.
‘Either you get up or I’ll shoot you there.’
‘I told you . . .’
His words were cut short as Reeves grabbed him by the collar and began to drag him towards the doors leaving a trail of blood across the floorboards and the room filled with painful cries.
The dry triple-click of the gun hammer going back brought Ford instantly awake and his eyes snapped open. His eyes focused and he found himself staring down the barrel of a cocked six-gun in the early light of dawn. Behind it, the smiling bearded face of Mordecai Wakefield swam into view.
‘When you snore, lawman, you sure do make a lot of noise.’
‘Damn it,’ Ford cursed himself for being a fool.
Wakefield motioned with the six-gun he held in his fist. ‘Get up.’
Ford climbed to his feet and stood still as Jesse came up behind him and took the Colt from his holster and relieved him of his knife.
‘Well Marshal, it looks like you’ll hang after all,’ Wakefield observed. Suddenly, though, his smile vanished and his voice grew harsh. ‘Where’s our damned money?’
‘I don’t have it.’
There was pressure from a gun barrel being forced into his back that was accompanied by an impatient question from Jesse. ‘Where is it?’
‘Safe.’
‘I don’t do safe,’ Wakefield snapped. ‘I do where.’
‘If I tell you that, then you’ll just kill me here and now,’ reasoned Ford.
‘How about I plug you now anyway?’ Jesse snarled.
‘What good would that do?’ Ford remarked. ‘If I’m dead, then you’ll never find it.’
‘All right, knock it off,’ Wakefield barked. ‘Nobody is shootin’ anyone.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Ford observed.
‘Besides, if we shoot you now, we can’t make a spectacle of the hangin’ later.’
‘You seem to forget that he wired the marshals before he lit out, Mordecai,’ Jesse pointed out.
Wakefield glared at him but let it go. ‘We’ll stick to the original plan about him murderin’ Gil.’
Ford snorted. ‘Old Bass may be an ornery cuss with a rawhide streak in him as tough as they come, but one thing he ain’t is stupid. He’ll ride into Stay and stomp on anyone that gets in his way. Includin’ you. You know him, Mordecai. After all, he was the one who arrested you all them years ago. And it seems to me that you fellers are a little light on help these days.’
If Ford was after a reaction he got one, for Wakefield lashed out and backhanded him hard. There was a loud, wet smack and instantly the coppery taste of blood filled Ford’s mouth.
He spat on the ground and smiled, his teeth stained pink.
‘If you want the money, Mordecai, you’ll have to take me back to Stay to get it,’ Ford advised him. ‘If you don’t you’ll never find it before the marshals ride in.’
‘He’s right,’ Jesse put in. ‘We can still kill him after we get the money.’
‘Now what sort of arrangement would that be?’ Ford asked.
‘It’s the only one you’ll get,’ Wakefield answered crossly. ‘You make the choice. A bullet in your guts now or one later after we get our money?’
Again Ford smiled, although this one was full of mirth. ‘I’ll take my chances on after.’
Wakefield nodded. ‘I thought you would. Get on your horse.’
Ford walked over to the roan and said softly, ‘A little warnin’ would have been nice.’
The animal pulled back its lips revealing yellowed teeth.
‘It ain’t nothin’ to smile about,’ Ford whispered harshly. ‘When this is all done, you and I are goin’ to have a serious talk.’
Jesse gave Ford a hard shove, causing him to stagger. Ford turned around and looked at the vigilante and said in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘And you I’m goin’ to kill.’