“You men are dead,” Albert said in a voice that was as calm as it was calculating. “Both of you.”
Caleb grinned and said, “If you’re putting all your hopes on that rifleman you got stashed in those trees, then you’ve got some disappointment headed your way.”
For a second, Albert didn’t seem too concerned. But, as one second led into another without more than Brass’s pained grunts to break the silence, Albert’s cool facade started to crack.
“What the hell went wrong with you?” Creek asked. “I thought we was friends.”
“We were partners,” Albert snapped. “At least we were until you decided to hold out on us.”
“I didn’t hold out on anything!”
“You wouldn’t go along with what we voted and then you wouldn’t let us buy you out. What the hell would you call that?”
“It’s called keeping away from filth like Dave Rudabaugh and that one there,” Creek replied as he waved toward the slender man who’d been content to wait through the previous gunfight at a relatively safe distance.
The moment Caleb saw Creek move his gun hand toward the third rider, his gut clenched. That reflexive twitch proved to be well-founded, since both Albert and Brass took advantage of the opening by trying to bring the argument to a definitive end.
Albert raised his shotgun to aim it at Creek.
Brass propped himself up to sight along the top of his pistol.
When Caleb pulled his triggers, the blood was raging through his head too quickly for him to hear the guns in his hands go off. He could feel them bucking against his palms and could feel the sting of freshly burnt powder in the back of his nose, but the only thing on his mind was surviving the next couple of seconds.
Creek was firing beside him as well and had already dropped to one knee, since Albert was about to unleash the second barrel of his shotgun. Fortunately for Creek, Albert had been hit at least twice already, forcing his aim up just far enough to send his buckshot just over Creek’s head and into the trees behind him.
Caleb was still firing the gun in his right hand when he shifted his eyes to the left. He was just in time to see fire erupt from Brass’s pistols and feel the sting of hot lead through his hip. As the world tilted and Caleb felt his breath catch in the back of his throat, he swung his arms around so both of them were pointing at Brass. With both of his guns blazing, Caleb cut the larger man down like wheat.
Feeling his backside slam against the ground was enough to jar the fog from Caleb’s head. All of his senses came back and he took in the world around him with stark clarity.
Smoke hung heavily in the air and the roar of gunfire rolled away into the distance.
Brass muttered half a curse before spitting out his last breath and giving up the ghost.
Albert was still on his feet, but slumped over and using his shotgun more as a crutch than a weapon.
“Goddamn you, Al!” Creek snarled. “We were partners! Now you force me into a mess like this one?”
“You . . . you’re the one who hired a gunman to fight for you,” Albert spat.
“If it wasn’t for him, I’d be dead.”
“We could’ve all been rich,” Albert said. “If you would’ve just . . .”
“What?” Creek asked. “Signed on with murderers?”
But Albert wasn’t able to get another word out. Every ounce of his strength was sapped by simply keeping himself upright. Finally, he let go of his shotgun and propped his hands upon his knees as if the only thing he needed to do was catch his breath.
“Come on, Albert,” Creek said with a sigh. “It’s too late for Brass, but we can get you to a doctor.”
“You mean . . . you and your . . . hired killer? Go to hell.”
Creek shook his head and gnawed on his bottom lip as he tried to think of what he should do next. Before he could arrive at a conclusion, Albert made the decision for him.
Having forsaken the shotgun, Albert reached to his boot for a small holdout pistol holstered near his ankle.
Creek did see the holdout pistol, but waited until there was no doubt in his mind concerning Albert’s plans for that pistol. Waiting until the holdout gun was almost aimed at him, Creek barked, “Dammit!” and pulled his own trigger.
Albert’s entire upper body twisted around as the bullet tore through him. He hit the ground in an awkward heap, squirmed for a bit, and then slumped to a rest.
Pulling in a few deep breaths, Caleb said, “You could have told me those two were that anxious to kill you.”
“Aww, hell.” Creek sighed. “I would’a told you if I would’a known for certain. I guess I still had some hope. Where the hell’s that other fella?”
Caleb holstered one pistol and reloaded the other as his eyes darted back and forth to search for any trace of the third rider. “Did you see him leave?”
“No, but I was a bit distracted. Maybe we should find whoever was firing that rifle before he decides to finish us off.”
After swapping his guns, Caleb reloaded his second pistol as he ran for the trees. Creek was right behind him.
6
Doc’s face was even paler than normal as he gritted his teeth and leaned against the knife with every bit of strength he could muster. Although he wasn’t a picture of good health, it wasn’t the exertion that was causing the color to drain from his face. That was being caused by the hand that was currently gripping his throat.
The rifleman had fought to sit upright and was even struggling to his feet after Doc’s blade had jabbed into the meat of his upper right arm. As he’d tried to get away from the pallid gambler, he’d only made it easier for Doc to drive his knife all the way down to bone.
“I’ll wring your neck, you skinny bastard,” the rifleman wheezed.
Despite the fact that his neck was being clamped shut and the air was being squeezed out of him, Doc managed to grin and push out a hacking laugh. “Better than you have . . . tried,” he taunted.
For a second, the rifleman couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. Then, he found another reserve of strength that was put to use in choking Doc even harder.
Doc began to slump and his arm drooped enough to pull the knife a bit out of where it had been lodged. But before the rifleman could feel too much relief, the fire in Doc’s eyes was rekindled and he twisted the blade while scraping it against the bone in the rifleman’s arm.
The rifleman let out a pained howl. He couldn’t let go of Doc’s neck fast enough, just because it was the quickest way to put some distance between himself and the other man. Doc kept his grip on the knife’s handle and stepped back while pulling the blade free.
Standing in a defensive crouch with his wounded arm farthest from Doc, the rifleman made a quick grab for the gun at his hip.
Doc threw the knife with just enough accuracy to cause the rifleman to pull his head up before getting close to his holster. Before the blade clattered against the frozen dirt, Doc had drawn his second .38 and taken aim.
“You all right, Mayes?” the slender fellow asked from the back of his horse. He already had his own gun in hand and was pointing it at Doc.
Although Doc found himself staring down the barrel of the rider’s gun, he seemed to take more of an interest in the fellow’s face. “I thought you ran away when the shooting started,” Doc said.
The rider was tussled and anxious, but was doing a lot better than Brass and Albert whom he’d left in the clearing by those rocks. Straightening his arm and leaning forward as if to make certain Doc had seen the gun he was holding, the rider immediately began to show signs of panic.
“Go on and shoot this prick,” the rifleman said.
“I asked you a question, Mayes,” the rider snapped. “Are you all right?”
Mayes nodded. “My arm hurts like a bastard, but I’ll live. Now do what I told you and shoot!”
“Pull that trigger and it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.”
Although he didn’t glance toward the person who’d just
spoken, Doc grinned at the sound of that voice. “Punctual as always, Caleb,” Doc said. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves into a bit of a pickle.”
“I told you to fire, Samuel, and that’s just what you’ll do,” Mayes snarled. “I want to see that skinny bastard dead!”
A few beads of sweat emerged from Samuel’s forehead and rolled down his cheek. Compared to the picture of calm he’d been when he was flanked by Brass and Albert, Samuel now looked as though he was about to crack. “One wrong move and we’ll all die,” he muttered.
Caleb planted his feet and squared his shoulders to Samuel. “That’s the first sensible thing that’s been said in a while.”
“So what do we do now?” Doc asked. “Stand around and wait for old age to claim us?”
“You won’t be growin’ old,” Mayes swore.
Doc smirked and replied, “I could have told you that myself. Seems to me like I’ve got nothing left to lose by speeding up the process.”
As if he could feel impending doom rushing in upon him, Samuel quickly said, “We can all walk away from this if we agree to do so like gentlemen.”
“Gentlemen?” Creek scoffed from his spot behind Samuel.
“That ain’t hardly the word I’d use to describe any of you assholes.”
“We made our play and it didn’t work out,” Samuel continued. “Whatever your partners wanted from you, Mr. Johnson, they won’t be getting. Whatever payment your partners already made to me and my friend here won’t be handed over, either. That means we can just keep what we’ve got and part ways.”
“Just turn around and mosey off?” Doc grumbled. “I’d wager you’d both like that very much.”
Mayes bared his teeth as if he was about to bite Doc’s arm. “Lower that gun and see what happens, you gutless little—”
“Mayes!” Samuel shouted. “Shut up!”
The sharp tone coming from the smaller man caught everyone off guard. Even Doc took his eyes off Mayes for a fraction of a second to get another look at the slender rider.
Samuel waited until all eyes were on him before he slowly tilted his gun so it was pointing toward the branches over his head. “There. See? We can walk away or we can start shooting. One way we all come out ahead and the other way will end up bad all around.”
“Bad for who?” Doc asked.
“He’s right, Doc,” Caleb said. “That is, if we can hold him to his word.”
Doc took those words exactly as they’d been intended and shifted his hawk-like gaze between Samuel and Mayes. Rather than just keep an eye on them or watch for sudden movements, Doc studied those two as he would study an opponent at a high-stakes poker game.
A few seconds later, Doc said, “That little fellow means what he says, but his friend may be a problem.”
Even though Samuel obviously didn’t like being called the “little fellow,” he wasn’t quick to dispute Doc’s claim. “I’ll see to it that he doesn’t step out of line,” he said.
Slowly, Mayes turned to level a murderous glare at his smaller partner. “What did you just say?” he snarled.
“We can both get out of here alive or we can try to dodge bullets,” Samuel said. “It’s as simple as that.”
“And what’ll you tell Dave when he asks?”
“I’ll think of something.”
After a few seconds, Mayes finally came to the realization that he wasn’t one of the ones holding a gun so that meant he didn’t really have much say. “All right. I’ll call it a draw.”
“My, my,” Doc said. “How generous of you. Sort of like a dog giving permission to be whipped.”
“You said it yourself, Doc,” Caleb warned. “He meant what he said and that other one isn’t in any position to do anything more than grouse about it.”
Doc’s eyes shifted over to Johnson. “This is your claim. What would you like to do about it?”
Creek let out a slow sigh. “Those two back there may have turned out to be assholes, but I used to think they were my friends. Now I gotta bury them, so I’d prefer to make that the end of it.”
For a moment, Caleb thought that Doc was going to make a play of his own. Then, like a shadow that had been dispelled by a sudden spark, the intensity in Doc’s eyes was gone.
“All right,” Doc said cheerily. “If we start back now, we should be able to get some proper breakfast.” With that, the Georgian holstered his pistol and walked away from the others as if he was simply leaving a church social.
The hairs on the back of Caleb’s neck stood up as he waited for Samuel or Mayes to make their move. But neither of those men had much fight left in them. With each second that passed, Mayes grabbed onto the wound in his arm as more blood seeped into his shirt.
Samuel lowered his pistol and backed away. “This has been unfortunate,” he said. “We won’t be crossing paths this way again.”
“We’d better not,” Caleb warned. “Because I wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep after gunning you down on sight.”
Nodding curtly, Samuel backed away and led Mayes to the nearby horses.
Even as he watched the other two ride away, Caleb couldn’t quite allow himself to relax. When he slipped his pistol back into its holster, he had a cold feeling in the bottom of his stomach that he was about to get shot.
“Jesus,” Creek muttered.
Caleb turned and reached for his gun, confident that his fears had quickly been realized. “What is it?”
“I can’t believe they’re dead. Both of them.”
“Don’t forget that it was nearly us taking their places. If it was up to them . . .”
“Yeah, yeah,” Creek said warily. “I know.” Shifting his eyes toward Doc, he watched as the Georgian bowed his head to cough into a handkerchief before climbing onto the back of a horse tied up nearby. “That a friend of yours?”
Caleb nodded. “Yep.”
“Well, after what happened here today, I’d like to call him a friend of mine.” Creek started to walk over to Doc’s horse, but was stopped when Caleb grabbed his elbow.
“Let him go,” Caleb said. “He’s not too social when he’s like this.”
“Like what?”
“He’s sick and the sooner he gets to where he needs to be, the better he’ll feel.”
“Goin’ to the doctor, then?”
Shaking his head, Caleb replied, “The Bella Union, more likely. A bottle or two of liquor does as much good for him as any doctor. He just usually winds up talking circles around any physician who tries to do him any good.”
Creek watched Doc climb into his saddle, but Doc didn’t even look back at him. “I’ll have to catch up to him later, then. Right now, there’s plenty of work to be done. I need to get these bodies back to town so they can get a proper burial.”
Blinking a few times, Caleb glanced back at the clearing as if he expected to find another set of corpses lying there. “If you’re talking about those two bastards who tried to stab you in the back and then shoot us both in the front, my vote is to leave them where they are so they can feed some wolves. If you’re feeling generous, we can kick some dirt onto them.”
“Believe me, friend, generosity ain’t got a damn thing to do with it. Albert’s second cousin is a good man and he wouldn’t like one of his kin to be left out here for the wolves. Considering what I hope to find under them rocks, the least I can do is see to it that those two get buried right.”
“You’re a good man, Creek. A better man than I am, that’s for certain.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. You strike me as a decent sort,” Creek said with a grin. “At least decent enough to help me haul those two back into town.”
Caleb rolled his eyes and let out a haggard sigh, but followed Creek back to the clearing.
Since the horses were slowed down by the deadweight they were carrying, Caleb and Creek had plenty of time to swap stories as they made their way back to camp. As Caleb rode closer to the middle of the settlement, Deadwood felt more like a proper town rather than
just another mining camp. It was always teeming with folks, but what they found waiting for them upon their return gave that phrase a new meaning.
Instead of just teeming with folks, Main Street was positively choked by them. All those eyes shifted toward them and all those lips started flapping. Eventually, most of the crowd moved toward Caleb and Creek as if it meant to stampede directly over them.
“I thought we might attract some attention,” Creek whispered, “but this is downright scary.”
Since Albert’s horse had bolted sometime after the shooting had started, the only other spare animal was the one that had belonged to Brass. Fortunately, that horse had built up one hell of a strong back after hauling the fat man around and didn’t seem to mind when Albert’s weight was added.
A man walked right up to within a few feet of Brass’s horse and reached out to touch one of the bodies slung across the animal’s back. Caleb twisted around in his saddle to swat that prying hand away. The morbidly curious local pulled his hand back and looked at the folks gathered behind him.
“It’s true!” the man said. “These two are dead!”
Creek glanced back and forth at the faces in the crowd until he spotted one he recognized. “This ain’t your affair, Johnny,” Creek scolded.
“Murderer!” someone else shouted. Soon, that cry was joined by several others from several other sources.
“Killer!”
“Murderer!”
“Lock him up!”
“Lock, hell! String ’em up!”
Although he chewed on several things he wanted to say, Creek kept his words to himself. Judging by the wild shouting, nothing he said would have done any good.
“There they are!” yet another man shouted. “That’s them!”
As he saw more of the crowd close in on him from the front to cut his horse off from Main Street, Caleb reflexively reached for his pistol. Before he could get to it, someone grabbed his arm and pulled him with almost enough force to take him down from his saddle.
“They’re probably the same ones that killed Blue!” another man hollered.
It was only through sheer muscle and force of will that Caleb was able to pull himself free of the other man’s grasp. Once he’d pulled his arm back, he balled up his fist and back-handed the man who’d nearly sent him to the ground. Caleb’s knuckles struck cleanly and sent the other man stumbling backward.
The Accomplice: The Silent Partner Page 6
