The Ten Per Cent Gang

by I. J. Parnham

  ‘I did do that, at least twice.’ Nat glanced away then, with a short-armed jab, slugged Fairborn’s jaw. The blow rocked the deputy’s head back against the rock and he slumped to the ground, his head lolling. ‘And I’ve just done it again.’

  Nat slipped down behind his cover and pulled Fairborn to a sitting position, leaning him against the rock in a position that ensured the people in the smithy wouldn’t be able to see him.

  In the gully, Creed edged up. He placed his hands around his mouth and faced the rock behind which Spenser was hiding.

  ‘Hey, Spenser, you were slow getting here,’ he hollered.

  Spenser glanced up, then ducked. ‘You know me by name. What of it?’

  ‘I’m just showing you that I’m way ahead of everybody here. Now unless you want deputized like your partner, Nat, you’d better leave. You won’t get a recovery fee today.’

  ‘You’re wrong, Sheriff. I’ll get in there and reclaim the money.’

  ‘You won’t. Bell’s killed your contacts in his gang. Your chances died as soon as Bell found out that Trent and Carlos were double-crossing him.’

  Spenser glared back, his brow furrowed, then ran for the smithy. At the window, Fletcher arced a rifle barrel towards Spenser.

  Creed considered for a moment, then blasted at the smithy window, forcing Fletcher to fall back inside.

  Spenser reached the smithy wall and pressed his back to it. He regained his breath, then edged along the wall towards the door.

  He flexed his shoulders, then spun round to face the door. With a solid blow, he kicked the door open, then leapt to the side as gunfire ripped out from inside.

  Spenser waited. Then, when the first volley of gunfire ended, he leapt inside through the open door, keeping low and skidding on his stomach across the timbers.

  Inside, only six men were still alive. The bodies of the other men were draped over chairs or hunched in corners.

  Dave was struggling with Bell, and Spenser’s other contact, Slim, had turned on Fletcher.

  The other two men swiveled at the hip, swinging their guns towards Spenser, but from the floor, Spenser blasted up, ripping an arc of lead through the two men’s stomachs.

  As the two men fell away, clutching their chests, Spenser rolled to the side and leapt to his feet. He trained his gun on Slim’s fight with Fletcher.

  He watched Fletcher punch Slim to the jaw, sending him reeling. Spenser blasted lead at Fletcher, but Fletcher leapt behind a table, Spenser’s last slug ripping past Fletcher’s head and into the wall.

  Bell and Dave still rocked back and forth as they struggled, but with a combination of shoulders and arms, Bell bundled Dave away from him. Then he ripped his gun from its holster and blasted him in the chest at short range.

  Dave folded and collapsed to the knees only to receive a second blast to the forehead that spun him on to his front.

  Spenser had just enough time to order Slim to take Fletcher. Then he charged Bell and pushed him back against the wall, levering his gun arm up as he slammed him back a second time.

  Both men struggled over Bell’s gun. Behind Spenser, Creed and Drago charged into the smithy.

  Gunfire rattled as Creed blasted lead three times into Slim’s chest, wheeling him over a bench.

  Fletcher stayed down for a moment. Then, with a great roar, he leapt to his feet.

  He only had time to spray one wild shot over Creed’s head before Drago hammered lead into his shoulder, spinning him round. A second slug into his back flattened him.

  Then Drago and Creed stood two paces in from the doorway, roving their guns back and forth as they dared more opposition to appear.

  With his hands held high and a branding-iron held aloft in his right hand, Turner stood from behind the bench with the strongbox. Creed glared at him, but when Turner thrust his hands even higher, he nodded.

  Ten seconds later, Nat charged into the smithy to find that aside from Bell’s and Spenser’s fight, the battle was over.

  Spenser gritted his teeth and ignored the silence that had descended behind him. He repeatedly slammed Bell’s gun hand against the wall until the gun squirmed from Bell’s hand.

  Spenser ripped himself from Bell’s clutches and lunged for the tumbling gun, but, finding himself momentarily free, Bell slugged Spenser’s jaw, knocking him back and to the floor.

  Bell fell to his knees and groped for his gun, but Turner dashed three long paces and crashed his branding-iron down squarely on Bell’s head. Without making a sound, Bell crumpled and lay still.

  ‘It seems you’ve decided where your loyalties lie, Turner,’ Creed said.

  Turner patted the branding-iron.

  ‘Yeah, with the winning side,’ he said.

  ‘Drago, it’s time for you to decide as well,’ Creed said.

  ‘I’ve done that already,’ Drago said.

  ‘In that case, guard Bell.’ Creed pointed at the sprawling Spenser. ‘And that failed outlaw.’

  Drago strode two paces to stand over Spenser and dragged Spenser’s gun from its holster. He hurled it away, then stood with his legs planted wide apart.

  ‘What about Nat?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not opposing you,’ Nat said, raising his hands to chest level.

  Creed glanced through the open door, then narrowed his eyes.

  ‘Where’s Fairborn?’

  ‘He’s outside. A bullet winged him, but he’ll be fine.’

  Creed nodded and faced Turner. ‘I thought you’d have unlocked that strongbox by now.’

  ‘I built this to last.’ Turner dropped the branding-iron and moved to his bench to pat the strongbox. ‘I figured that getting into this box was all that was keeping me alive.’

  With a short twist of the wrist, Turner clinked the lock for the lid to fly open, then twisted a projection on the side. The false bottom crunched as it turned.

  ‘Are the bags still there?’ Creed asked.

  Turner peered inside, then nodded and stood to the side. With his grin now threatening to split his face in two, Creed strode to the box and glanced inside.

  A muffled cry and a scuffle sounded behind him. Creed swirled round.

  Spenser had leapt to his feet and was struggling with Drago, each man locking his hands on the other’s arms. Creed ignored their fight and turned his gun on Nat, forcing Nat to raise his hands high above his head and back a pace.

  Drago wrestled Spenser to the side and, as Spenser tottered free, he punched Spenser deep in the guts.

  Spenser sprawled back against the wall, clutching his stomach, then rebounded and staggered forward, his arms out, his gait uncoordinated. Drago grabbed his right arm, pulled him around to face him, then rolled his shoulders and slugged his jaw with a long round-armed uppercut.

  Spenser’s feet left the floor before he slammed down on his back and slid ten feet, only halting when he plowed into Slim’s body. Spenser lay for a moment, then pushed up, his arms shaking.

  ‘You can stay down, or you can get up,’ Drago said. He cracked his knuckles. ‘If I were you, I’d stay down.’

  Spenser sighed. Then he feinted to rise, but instead scrambled across Slim’s body and levered a gun from his holster.

  Drago reached for his gun but in the fighting, it’d fallen from him. He raised his hands.

  ‘No more orders, Drago,’ Spenser said. He turned the gun with a quick snap of the wrist on Creed. ‘The same goes for you, Sheriff.’

  ‘You just made your final mistake, Spenser,’ Creed said.

  ‘I’m not aiming to shoot you,’ Spenser said. ‘I just want the cash.’

  Creed glanced at Nat. ‘You got anything to add, Deputy Nat McBain?’

  Nat shook his head. ‘I haven’t been a deputy for nigh on six months.’

  With a quick lunge, Nat lowered his hands and slipped his gun from its holster. He aimed the gun at Creed.

  ‘That’s two people who’ve made a final mistake,’ Creed said.

  Nat gestured with his gun and Creed bac
ked to the wall to join Turner. Spenser directed Drago to join them.

  With his gun held out, Nat stalked to the box. He removed the four strung-together bags, looped them over his shoulder, and backed to the door.

  ‘Don’t try anything heroic, Sheriff,’ Nat said. ‘We’ve got what we came for.’

  ‘You can’t steal money at gunpoint from a lawman and claim it’s a recovery fee,’ Creed said. ‘For a crime like that, you know what you’re facing.’

  ‘You created this situation. I’ve got enough on your actions for you to know what you’re facing.’

  ‘I’m a lawman. I have nothing to fear, but you have everything to worry about. So now you have a decision to make.’ Creed narrowed his eyes. ‘Make the right one.’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  ‘Throw your gunbelt down, Sheriff, and kick it to me,’ Nat said. ‘The same goes for you, Drago.’

  Creed snorted, but he unhooked his gunbelt and kicked it across the floor. Drago unhooked his belt and hurled it to Nat’s feet.

  Nat picked them up, then underhanded them through the open door.

  ‘There are plenty of other guns around. If you come out with one of them, you’ll force me to do something I don’t want to do.’

  With Spenser beside him, Nat edged backwards through the door and outside. Drago lowered his hands and strode across the smithy to stand over Bell’s prone form.

  ‘I can deal with this one,’ he said, tapping his foot against Bell’s shoulder. ‘If you want to take off after them.’

  Creed narrowed his eyes. ‘Can I trust you?’

  ‘You can. We haven’t got a problem any longer.’ Drago held his hands wide. ‘I like being deputized more than I like helping Bell.’

  ‘Then I’m obliged.’ Creed edged to the door and peered outside.

  Spenser and Nat were still backing to their horses, so with his hands held chest high, Creed slipped through the door and pressed his back to the smithy wall.

  Fairborn wasn’t visible behind his previous cover, but Creed saw a shadow move behind a rock to his right. He circled away from it while facing Nat.

  ‘Nat, this doesn’t have to end this way for you,’ he said.

  ‘Get back in the smithy,’ Nat said, gesturing at Creed with his gun.

  Creed paced to the side, crossing his legs over each other as he moved sideways.

  ‘I did what you asked. I’m not packing a gun. You’ve got no reason to threaten me.’

  The movement came again as the shadow flickered behind the rock. Then Fairborn leapt out from the rock. He rolled over a shoulder and came up on one knee, but it was to find that Nat had already aimed his gun at him.

  With an angry snort Fairborn threw his gun to the ground.

  Then Creed backed away to stand alongside Fairborn, while Nat and Spenser edged backwards to their horses.

  Nat blasted a single shot into the smithy beside the door, sending Drago to scurry back inside, then swung the bags from his shoulder. He unknotted the rope holding them, then dropped three bags and hoisted the smallest bag over his horse.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Spenser said.

  ‘I’m making it easier,’ Nat said. ‘The smaller bag has five thousand dollars in it.’

  Spenser glanced at the bags. ‘We’re not doing that.’

  Nat narrowed his eyes. ‘We don’t need to leave the money somewhere for them to find later. We’ll just leave it here.’

  Spenser snorted. ‘I didn’t mean that. I mean they’ll chase us down now that we’ve defeated a lawman. Things will be the same for us whether we’ve stolen five thousand or fifty thousand.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me. It was always coming to this, but now is the time to face it. We’re disbanding the Ten Per Cent gang one way or the other after this job. I just reckon we disband it the proper way.’

  Nat turned to face Spenser. ‘We’re not doing that. We leave the bulk and take our recovery fee. We’re not outlaws.’

  As both men glowered, twenty yards away, Creed and Fairborn both shrugged.

  Creed coughed. ‘See the kind of man you have as a partner, Nat? You’re not like him.’

  ‘Be quiet,’ Spenser said. ‘This is between me and Nat.’

  ‘There’s nothing between us,’ Nat said. ‘We have an agreement. We take ten per cent, nothing more.’

  ‘I’m not risking my life again for a measly ten per cent. I say it’s time for a new agreement.’ Spenser squared off to Nat and slipped his gun into its holster. He dangled his fingers beside the holster. ‘From now on, we take it all.’

  ‘We’re not gunslingers. We can’t sort this argument out that way.’

  ‘This is the only way we can sort this out.’

  Both men considered each other, then Nat dropped his gun in its holster and snorted.

  ‘I suppose it was coming to this.’

  Nat pulled down his hat to shield his eyes from the sun and as one, both men hunched down and edged their feet apart.

  ‘Don’t,’ Fairborn said, but Creed slapped a hand over his mouth, silencing him.

  Spenser flexed his hand and settled his stance with his fingers inches from his holster, his only movement the darting of his eyes as he appraised Nat’s posture.

  Nat was impassive as he glared into Spenser’s eyes.

  With matching gestures, both men pulled their hats a mite lower, then flexed their fingers. For long moments, the only sound was the wind rustling through the corral fence, and the only movements were their jackets fluttering in the wind.

  Then arms whirled as Spenser, then Nat, threw their hands to their holsters. In a smooth action Spenser’s weapon cleared leather, but Nat’s caught on the brim of his holster and using that fractional advantage Spenser fired first.

  Nat folded and spun away, clutching his chest. He crashed to the ground and lay. His legs drew up. He writhed, then was still.

  Spenser had already turned his gun on the two watching lawmen.

  Fairborn snorted. ‘The wrong man won.’

  With the back of his hand, Spenser rubbed his brow.

  ‘I reckon you’re right, but stay back, lawmen.’

  ‘We’re not coming any closer.’ Creed snorted. ‘The man you killed was one of my deputies – even if temptation made him forget his duties for a while. I’ll track you down and you’ll swing for that.’

  Spenser shrugged. He dragged Nat’s limp body to the horses, then pulled it on to the back of Nat’s mount. While watching the lawmen, he swung the remaining three bags on to the back of his own horse and tethered the two horses together.

  Then, with a last holler, he galloped from the smithy, pausing only to release and spook the lawmen’s horses.

  Creed watched the trail dust swirl as Spenser galloped into the plains and away from Lincoln, then patted Fairborn’s shoulder. He couldn’t stop his huge grin breaking out.

  Drago and Turner slipped outside to join them. Drago had slung the unconscious Bell over a broad shoulder.

  With no pause to his grinning, Creed directed Turner to round up the horses.

  ‘You’re not looking pleased, Fairborn,’ Creed said.

  ‘Spenser killed Nat. Despite his mistakes, Nat was a good man.’

  ‘He was an outlaw.’

  ‘He pushed the boundaries, but he was no outlaw, and you deputized him.’ Fairborn sighed as he tipped back his hat. ‘And he saved my life.’

  ‘He made his choices.’

  Fairborn swirled round to face Creed, his eyes blazing.

  ‘He died fighting over nothing.’

  ‘Just like his kind always does.’

  Drago joined them and hoisted Bell to the ground.

  ‘Nat died fighting over fifty thousand dollars,’ he said. ‘That’s not nothing.’

  Creed chuckled. ‘Nothing is all that was at stake.’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Turner rounded up four horses and Drago tied and bundled the now conscious Bell on to one horse.

 
; Then, with Bell tethered to Drago’s horse, the group rode from the smithy, heading back to Lincoln, leaving a whistling Turner to return to his duties.

  ‘You did a fine job as a deputy, Drago,’ Creed said. ‘Despite our disagreements before, you acted when you had to. You take to honesty better than you take to making underhand deals with the likes of Clayton Bell.’

  ‘I reckon as you’re right,’ Drago said, nodding.

  ‘If you ever want to work for me, I might be interested in your services. You could be an asset to Lincoln.’

  Drago smiled. ‘Is the pay better than being a wagon rider?’

  ‘Nope,’ Fairborn said. ‘It’s worse.’

  ‘I’m obliged for the offer,’ Drago said. He sighed. ‘If you want help tracking down Spenser, I’m willing to join you.’

  Creed laughed. ‘I’m not bothering. He can get himself killed when he starts spending his money.’

  ‘You have to get him.’ Drago turned in the saddle. ‘He’s the biggest robber around these parts in years.’

  ‘He isn’t.’ Creed tipped back his hat. ‘He only stole the contents of my strongbox.’

  ‘Yeah, the fifty thousand dollars you switched.’

  ‘The false bottom does switch whatever was on the top to the bottom and whatever was on the bottom to the top.’ Creed threw back his head and laughed long and hard. ‘But that only happens if you trip the false bottom.’

  ‘If you trip the false bottom,’ Drago mused. He winced. ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘Nope. The counterfeit bills never left the false bottom of the strongbox and the real bills were always in your freight car, until you abandoned them to chase after Bell’s gang with me.’

  Drago glanced over his shoulder back down the trail.

  ‘My men abandoned the car, too. That means the cash is undefended.’

  ‘It isn’t. Fairborn saw to that.’

  Fairborn sighed. ‘Yeah, mine was just another sneaky act on a day of sneaky acts. The cash is safe. I buried it in a secure location.’

  Drago blew out his cheeks, then yanked on Bell’s rope.

  ‘You hear that, Bell?’

  Bell glared back at Creed, shaking his head.