The Accomplice: The Silent Partner

by Marcus Galloway

  Caleb wanted to tell Doc that it was a hell of a plan, that it was a plan worth the price of a ticket to St. Louis. Seeing the self-satisfied look on Doc’s face, Caleb thought about plenty of things he wanted to say to him. There was only one thing preventing Caleb from saying them: He knew Doc was right.

  Letting out a sigh, Caleb stared down at his boots.

  “Here,” Doc said as he reached over to hand his flask to Caleb. “This’ll help.”

  The whiskey was a cheap variety that had been purchased in Deadwood when quantity was more of a concern than quality. It burned Caleb’s throat and ran down his gullet like a flame following a trail of kerosene.

  Once again, Doc was right.

  The whiskey did help.

  11

  Even as Doc swung down from his saddle after his long ride, he still didn’t know the name of the town where he’d wound up. One thing he knew for certain was that there was no train coming through that place, since there were no tracks in sight. There was, however, a platform used for loading stagecoaches next to a wooden board advertising rides to a station where trains could be boarded. Pulling in a shallow breath, Doc straightened his coat and set his priorities in order.

  “I believe that’s a saloon over there,” he said. “I wonder if they’re still serving lunch.”

  Caleb dismounted as well, tied his horse to a hitching post, and rubbed his backside until he regained some feeling back there. “Go from one seat to another? No thanks.”

  “Whether we catch a train, a stagecoach, or ride our horses even farther into the ground, this may be our last chance to eat something that’s less than a week old.”

  “I’d rather stretch my legs,” Caleb replied. Without another word, he hobbled to the small building that sold tickets for the stagecoach.

  It was still cold, but not nearly as bad as it had been the previous few days. Then again, just having some buildings around them to shield them from the wind could have made most of the difference. Keeping his coat over his shoulders, Doc took hold of his walking stick and made his way across the platform. He kept his back straight and his chin held high. He also kept his arm stiff and the muscles in his shoulder tensed to disguise the fact that he was supporting most of his weight upon the cane.

  As Doc stepped over to the board where the stagecoach’s schedule was displayed, he nodded to everyone who met his gaze. The folks who took in the sight of his lean, pale face with a hint of pity were disregarded as if they’d suddenly blinked from existence. Doc found what he wanted on the schedule fairly quickly. What he saw left him in a good enough mood to whistle a lively tune as he crossed the street and headed for the saloon he’d spotted before. Like most saloons catering to travelers, this one was small and sure to be overpriced. From Doc’s experience, it would also be fairly well packed with gamblers who were more concerned with killing time than protecting their money.

  “ ’Scuse me,” someone asked from behind Doc and to his right. “You know where I can find a man named Holliday?”

  As he turned around, Doc was prepared for plenty of things. His hand tightened around the top of his walking stick and he shifted his arms to double-check that both of his guns were where they should be. Even as he prepared himself for the worst, Doc wore a friendly, relaxed smile.

  “That’s my name,” Doc said. “Who’s asking?”

  The man who approached Doc was in his early thirties with tussled red hair that made him look more like a big kid. His eyes were somewhat close set but warm. “I’ve heard plenty about you, Holliday. Or should I call you Doc?”

  “If you call me doctor, I can check your teeth for free.”

  Just then, a set of heavy steps moved in toward Doc from behind. They swooped toward him and stopped just short of running him over. When they came to a stop, the sound of those steps gave way to a low, scratchy voice. “I ain’t callin’ you a doctor, but I will call you a gravedigger. You’re sure as hell gonna need one.”

  Doc felt a rough hand shove him between the shoulder blades toward a narrow building next to the ticket office. Rather than allow himself to be shoved any further, Doc turned so he could get a look at the man behind him. Although the man’s face was easy enough to see, it was the gun in his hand that caught Doc’s attention.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Doc asked.

  “Oh, you didn’t like my joke?” the gunman asked. “After the shit you pulled in Deadwood, I would’a thought you’d like a good joke.”

  The gunman had a lean, muscular build and a slightly stooped posture that was common among cowboys. His hair was the color of sun-bleached dirt and several scars of varying freshness crossed his cheeks and neck. Cold, twitchy eyes glared defiantly at Doc. They were killer’s eyes and they practically begged Doc to make a move. When that move didn’t come, the gunman nodded toward the redhead and motioned for Doc to follow him into the narrow building.

  Before the door was open all the way, the smell that drifted from the building let Doc know it was an outhouse built to accommodate several people at once. One man wearing spectacles was on his way out and was hurried along as the redhead practically tossed him into the street. The gunman who’d stepped up behind Doc spun the Georgian around like a rag doll and shoved him into the outhouse. While Doc couldn’t help but wince at the overpowering stench inside the well-used building, the gunman barely seemed to notice.

  “You know who I am?” the gunman asked.

  “No, but I suppose you’re about to tell me.”

  “I’m Arkansas Dave Rudabaugh. When you thought you were cheating Sammy in Deadwood, you were cheating me. What’ve you got to say about that?”

  Doc was well versed in how to read a man across a poker table, but a blind man wouldn’t have had trouble deciphering the murderous glint in Rudabaugh’s eyes. For that reason, Doc made a choice he seldom favored and kept his mouth shut.

  Rudabaugh nodded slowly. “That’s what I thought. I ought to kill you right now for cheating me outta what’s rightfully mine.”

  “And what might that be?” Doc asked.

  “My gold!” Rudabaugh snapped as he grabbed Doc by the lapel. Even as he slammed Doc against a wall, Rudabaugh kept his gun wedged up under Doc’s ribs. “Sammy checked out that claim hisself before he got his hands on the deed. He knew there was gold there. When he got a look after that trial, all he found was a pile of rocks.”

  Gritting his teeth and choking back the anger welling up in the back of his throat, Doc hissed, “That’s ridiculous. He should have also found the bodies of two men buried there. I believe you may have known them.”

  Rudabaugh wouldn’t have looked more stunned if Doc had grown a tail and wagged it. That quickly gave way to a more intense version of the sneer that had been on his face before. “You want me to shoot you?” he asked. “Because I will.”

  Staring Rudabaugh dead in the eyes, Doc replied, “Then go ahead and do it. You came all the way up here to shoot someone, then either get it over with or stop wasting my time. The only thing that smells worse than the inside of this shithouse is the air coming out of your mouth.”

  In the space of a second, Rudabaugh went from shocked to enraged. He took a step back so he could raise his pistol to face level, giving Doc a fraction of a second in which to act.

  Doc only needed half that time.

  Slapping Rudabaugh’s hand away, Doc didn’t even flinch when the gun went off inside the confines of that outhouse. Even though the redhead was in there to back Rudabaugh’s play, he didn’t have enough room to maneuver well enough to be of any real help. Doc was able to toss his cane to his left hand while pulling one of his guns from under his coat before Rudabaugh knew what was happening.

  Despite being surprised by the changing situation, Rudabaugh only needed to bring his arm back and pull his trigger. His shot was quick and didn’t draw any blood, but it did come close enough to throw off Doc’s aim. Both men’s shots punched holes through the outhouse and put a gritty haze into the foul air.
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  Doc snapped his left arm forward to bury the cane’s handle into Rudabaugh’s stomach. The sharp impact knocked Rudabaugh back a few steps while driving a good portion of the wind from his lungs. Still pulling in a haggard breath, Rudabaugh lowered his shoulder and charged Doc like a bull.

  Holding out his arm so he could sight properly along the top of his pistol, the redhead aimed over Rudabaugh’s lowered head and picked his target. He was so focused on taking his shot that he missed the sound of the door opening behind him.

  A hand slapped down upon the redhead’s shoulder and clamped shut in a powerful grip. Before the redhead could get a look behind him, he was being hauled from the outhouse like a cat being picked up by the scruff of its neck.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Caleb snarled as he spun the redhead around and shoved him up against the side of the outhouse.

  Gritting his teeth, the redhead twitched his head back and forth to get a look at what he was facing. There were a few people nearby, but they stayed close to the stagecoach platform and watched from a fairly safe distance. None of them were interested in joining the fray.

  Keeping his grip on the redhead’s shoulder, Caleb pointed his gun at the man’s face and thumbed the trigger back. “Nobody there’s gonna help you,” he growled. “Who the hell are you?”

  Since all he got in response to that question was a silent glare, Caleb asked, “Where’s Doc?”

  The redhead didn’t need to say a thing. Instead, Caleb got the answer to one of his questions when the back end of the outhouse cracked open like a rotten egg. Caleb may not have been able to see the wall break, but he could hear the splintering wood and scuffling boots just fine.

  Suddenly, Doc staggered into Caleb’s sight. His boots skidded against the frozen dirt, tripping Doc up as he stumbled far enough to knock the backs of his legs against the side of the stagecoach platform. But even as he was falling backward, Doc took a swipe at Rudabaugh with his cane.

  Rudabaugh lunged forward to fire a point-blank shot at Doc when he caught the end of the cane on his forearm. The impact made a loud crack and put a pained wince upon Rudabaugh’s face. “You skinny son of a bitch,” he snapped as he drove a boot into Doc’s ribs.

  Although most of the wind was knocked out of him from that kick, Doc still managed to roll to one side as Rudabaugh followed up with a powerful stomp. Rudabaugh’s heel pounded against the edge of the platform, bringing a few loud obscenities to his lips.

  Like most of the other folks nearby, Caleb had been unable to look away from the brutal spectacle. He knew he’d taken his eyes away from the redhead for a bit too long when he felt the other man wriggle out of his grasp. Thinking he might already be too late to correct his mistake, Caleb turned to face the redhead and was just in time to see the gunman point his pistol directly at his head.

  Caleb let his reflexes take over and dropped to one knee. The redhead pulled his trigger and sent a round hissing through the spot where Caleb’s head had been. When Caleb pulled his own trigger, it was quick but somewhat accurate.

  The redhead let out a pained shriek as hot lead ripped through his hip and glanced off bone. It wasn’t a fatal shot, but had enough kick behind it to spin the redhead like a top before he fell over.

  “Hand over that gold and this can end right now,” Rudabaugh said.

  Caleb glanced quickly over to Doc and Rudabaugh, but was more concerned with the redhead on the ground in front of him. Keeping his gun aimed at the redhead, Caleb stepped forward so he could disarm the other man. Before he could get close enough to take the redhead’s gun, Caleb saw the man roll onto his back and raise his pistol.

  Caleb aimed and prepared to fire, but stopped short when he realized any muscle twitch would probably cause the redhead’s gun to go off. Since the redhead seemed to have come to the same conclusion regarding Caleb, both men found themselves in a standoff.

  For the moment, Doc and Rudabaugh were in a similar situation.

  The silence that followed Rudabaugh’s ultimatum was soon broken by dry, hacking laughter.

  “You must need spectacles, Dave,” Doc said through his laughter. “This doesn’t exactly strike me as a moment where you have the upper hand.”

  “It don’t, huh?” Leaning forward a bit so he loomed over the fallen dentist, Rudabaugh practically touched the end of his gun’s barrel against Doc’s forehead. “What about now?”

  “Right about now,” Doc replied, “you should be praying that I don’t get a twitch in my finger.”

  Rudabaugh’s eyes snapped downward just long enough to see the gun in Doc’s hand. Not only was the pearl-handled .38 aimed at Rudabaugh’s chest, but the trigger was already halfway pulled.

  Slowly, a filthy grin crept onto Rudabaugh’s face. “You don’t wanna shoot me.”

  “Oh, I’m inclined to disagree,” Doc said.

  “You shoot me, and you might as well be shooting that pretty little Alice, too.”

  Doc furrowed his brow and looked over at Caleb as if he hoped to find something a bit more encouraging. Finding nothing of the sort, Doc shifted his eyes back to Rudabaugh and asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “That pretty lady you played cards with in Deadwood,” Rudabaugh said. “The one who chews on a cigar while tossing one crooked deal after another. I believe her name’s Poker Alice.”

  Seeing that he now had Doc’s undivided attention, Rudabaugh started to relax. He shifted back upon one foot before he saw Doc’s gun arm tense. Remaining fixed in his spot, Rudabaugh ran his tongue along his teeth and spoke in a quick, rasping voice. “I heard you got a sweet spot for that Alice. You and her played in the Bella Union just like two peas in a pod.”

  “So?” Doc asked.

  “So, if I don’t get outta this place alive, the man I got holding on to Alice for safekeeping will put a bullet through her pretty face.”

  The lines etched into Doc’s face deepened into a disgusted scowl. “Using a woman to cover your own hide? That’s pathetic.”

  “Call it what you will, but at least I ain’t a liar and a card cheat.”

  “Fine, then,” Doc said. “Run away from here with your tail between your legs.”

  “To hell with that!” Caleb shouted. “He’s bluffing about Alice!”

  When Doc smiled, it was a humorless expression that seemed more chilling than anything else. “That makes him even more pathetic. Either way, he’s not worth wasting another bullet.”

  Despite the posturing from Doc and Caleb, Rudabaugh didn’t lose his grin. Even hearing the pained whimpers coming from the wounded redhead wasn’t enough to put the slightest bit of concern upon Rudabaugh’s face.

  “You think I’m bluffing?” Rudabaugh asked. “Then you must not give a shit about Alice, after all. That may not be so bad. She’s pretty enough to earn her keep one way or another. Since your friend seems to have put a hurting on Brad over there, I’ll be able to ride that bitch myself all night long.”

  “Caleb’s right,” Doc said evenly. “You’re bluffing.”

  Rudabaugh rolled his eyes up slightly and pulled in a deep breath as if he was fondly remembering a summer day from his youth. “My partner told me she was sitting at one of the back tables in the Bella Union. It was hard to get her out of her chair because she had her hooks deep into some skinny fella with a strange accent. I believe his name was Vastly or somethin’ like that.”

  Doc’s eyes narrowed and the muscles in his jaw tensed.

  “There was another fella there, too,” Rudabaugh continued. “Some asshole who ran an opera house. Alice was cleaning both of them out when my boys snatched her up and dragged her behind the Union. They meant to fuck her right then and there, but I told ’em to hold off until I got here. Now that you sidetracked me for this long, I can’t wait to get back to her. I hear she’s got a fine, tight little—”

  “I can kill you and be back in Deadwood before any of your boys know you’re gone,” Doc snapped.

  Shrugging, Rudab
augh said, “Maybe . . . maybe not. There’s an easier way to get her cut loose, though.”

  Doc shifted his weight, but was unwilling to lower his gun or drop his cane.

  Since the man in front of him was wounded and on the ground, Caleb was better able to do what Doc couldn’t. Reaching into his pocket, Caleb found the pouch of gold Doc had given him. “Here,” he said while tossing the pouch to Rudabaugh. “Take your damn gold.”

  Although he twitched at the sudden movement of the pouch flying toward him, Rudabaugh was still able to reach out with his free hand and snatch the pouch from the air. He weighed the pouch in his hand and then fumbled with it until he was able to take a quick look inside.

  “This can’t be all there is,” Rudabaugh said as he clamped his hand around the pouch and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. “Sammy told me there was a hell of a lot more than could be stuffed into a pouch this size. Even ten pouches this size wouldn’t cover it.”

  “The man who owned that claim didn’t even know for certain what was there,” Caleb said. “Nobody could know until they blasted those rocks away.”

  But Rudabaugh was shaking his head defiantly. “I ain’t stupid and I ain’t about to listen to your lies. You best collect that gold and bring it to that claim by sundown tomorrow or pretty little Alice will be cut up and left for the coyotes.”

  As he slowly lowered his gun arm, Rudabaugh eased away from Doc like a snake slithering back into its hole. The more time that passed without Doc making a move, the more Rudabaugh grinned. “You know I ain’t bluffing,” he said. “Bring me my goddamn gold or that bitch’s blood will be on your hands.”

  Rudabaugh chuckled once under his breath as he turned away from Doc and walked around the outhouse. When he got within arm’s reach of Caleb, he stared Caleb straight in the eyes and asked, “What’re you gonna do, Injun? You wanna scalp my friend like the savage you are?”

  As much as Caleb wanted to jam his gun barrel into a very unpleasant place on Rudabaugh’s person, he kept himself from doing so.