“I am, sir.”
“And I bet Dave Rudabaugh barely knows you’re dropping his name as much as you are. If he did, whether you’re working with him or not, my guess is he’d gun you down on the spot. Sure makes it tough to hide when someone like you keeps bringing him into conversations. But that makes it easier for you to get about, doesn’t it? Folks hear you mention Rudabaugh’s name and they just start quaking in their boots?”
Samuel’s face had become a blank slate. The annoyance was coming back, but even that was buried well below the surface.
Kahn didn’t need to see much of anything to know he’d hit a nerve. While he may not have been good enough to travel the circuit, he could read a man well enough to know he was fishing in the right pond.
“Are you going to accept the proposition or not?” Samuel asked.
“I’ll take it. Hell, I might’ve pulled my trigger for free if I saw that skinny piece of shit again.”
“No triggers. He’s to be taken alive. Walk around that corner and wait,” Samuel said as he pointed a bit farther up the street. “You’ll see Holliday soon. He’s staying at another saloon not far from the Reading.”
“I want half my money now,” Kahn grunted as he loaded his pistol. “I also got a debt at the Reading. You go pay it up while I take care of this business and we’ll be square.”
Kahn didn’t wait for an answer from Samuel. He knew he’d get an earful if the well-dressed fellow had a problem with the arrangement and he didn’t hear so much as a peep in protest.
After holstering his gun, Kahn kept his hand on the grip and his eyes open. Before too much of a walk, he was in sight of the hotel where Doc was staying. Kahn picked up his pace and tried not to think about what everyone was saying about him when they looked his way and snickered under their breath.
Kahn’s face was still swollen. It hurt to breathe and it took everything he had to keep from making his limp too pronounced. One of his ribs may have been broken, but he would rather suffer through the agony than see the doctor in Breckenridge just so the old man could spread even more rumors about how much damage had been done by Doc’s cane.
Pulling open the hotel’s front door, Kahn immediately saw the very man he’d been after.
Doc was standing at the front desk with his bags at his feet. He peeled off some money from the bundle he carried in his pocket and placed it upon the desk. The second he heard the brush of iron against leather, Doc spun around and reached for the .38 under his left arm.
No matter how many times Doc might have practiced the move, Kahn already had the drop on him. A shot roared through the air and raked along the side of Doc’s chest. By this time, Doc had his gun drawn and his target picked out. At that moment, Doc caught sight of the man standing behind Kahn just outside of the hotel.
“You?” Doc wheezed as he saw Samuel watching from afar.
Samuel didn’t reply. Even if he had, his words would have been lost amid the bark of Kahn’s gun as he pulled his trigger again and put another bullet into Doc.
Kahn stayed put just long enough to watch Doc drop. Grinning victoriously, he turned and bolted from the hotel. If he saw Samuel outside, Kahn didn’t give any indication. Instead, he ran to where he kept his horse tethered and got the hell out of town.
At the moment, folks were bustling on the street in response to the shots that had been fired. Samuel stepped into the hotel and pushed away the clerk who’d crouched down next to Doc.
“That man’s been shot,” the clerk said.
Ignoring the clerk, Samuel grabbed the front of Doc’s bloody shirt and pulled the wheezing man an inch or so off the floor. “Where’s the gold?” he snarled.
Doc hacked and wheezed as he forced his eyes to focus. Once he got a good look at who was talking, he started to laugh.
“You think this is funny, Holliday?” Samuel asked. “Where’s that gold?”
“Y . . . you’re a real smart fellow,” Doc said. “Knowing . . . Henry would be . . . such a lousy marksman.”
“I’ll see to it you get to a doctor if you tell me.”
“And I’ll see to it that you get . . . get . . .”
The rest of Doc’s words were lost in a prolonged sigh as he slumped back and became deadweight in Samuel’s grasp.
More people crowded around the front door and all of them were taking turns gaping inside. Samuel looked back at them, but didn’t see anyone willing to step into the room where the shots had originated.
“Doc,” Samuel hissed. “I know where Caleb’s hiding. Do you hear me? I’ll find him unless you tell me where that gold is. Dave will find him and Dave will kill him. You hear me?”
Doc’s eyes were partially open, but they might as well have been made of glass. He let his head drop and passed out.
Samuel let the rest of him fall.
20
It was the end of that summer when Caleb heard Doc had been killed.
The bundle was the biggest piece of mail he’d gotten since he’d arrived in Louisiana. It may have been the biggest piece of mail he’d ever gotten in his life. Like a kid who’d somehow earned an early Christmas present, Caleb ripped open the bundle within seconds after it had been handed to him. Inside, there was a newspaper and a piece of unmarked stationery; both were folded neatly down the middle.
Like any kid with two gifts to choose from, Caleb went to the biggest one first. It was an edition of the Dallas Weekly Herald from the seventh of that month. For a moment, Caleb didn’t know what he was supposed to see. But then his eye caught a single paragraph circled in the section reserved for reports of crimes in the area.
Apparently, John H. Holliday had been shot dead in a saloon fight in Breckenridge.
No matter how much he’d expected to hear something like that at some time or another, Caleb felt his heart twitch within a cold, iron grip.
When he unfolded the piece of paper, Caleb only found a few words printed in a blocky, unfamiliar script. Those words were: Services to be held in Fort Griffin at Beehive Saloon.
It had been a while since he’d been to Fort Griffin, but not so long that he could forget the Beehive Saloon. In fact, he could remember both places well enough for him to get more than a little suspicious about responding to the note. Caleb found himself reading through the simple notice in the newspaper several times just to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.
Having spent several years living in Dallas, he recognized the script and layout of the Dallas Weekly Herald. The addresses were genuine, as were many of the names mentioned throughout the edition. That only left the letter, itself, to be studied. Since there was nothing more than those words written in black ink, Caleb didn’t have much to work with.
After both pieces of mail stood up to what few paces Caleb could put them through, there was only one thing left for Caleb to do.
Caleb packed up some things and loaded them onto Penny’s back along with his saddle. The old girl seemed anxious to get going and even started to chomp on her bit as Caleb made the last preparations to leave his new patch of land.
There wasn’t much else to be done. Even if everything he’d left behind was rooted through or stolen, Caleb would lose less than ten dollars in replacing it. The shack had been cobbled together by his own two hands and the money he’d stashed here and there was coming along with him for safekeeping. If there was one thing he’d learned from Doc, it was to always keep your money within arm’s reach.
Before he left, Caleb took one last look at the shack he’d bought. It wasn’t until that very moment he realized it would be a last look. The longer he looked, the more he wanted to put the place behind him and be done with it.
The air was too thick and too hot. Even in what should have been the cooler months, it stuck to Caleb’s face like a wet blanket. For the locals, it was business as usual. Some folks even liked the heat. For Caleb, on the other hand, usual business didn’t involve living in the bottom of a stew-pot.
He had found himself favoring
a few of the local women, but they’d started tanning his hide as soon as one woman crossed paths with another one as they came and went from Caleb’s house.
A few of the saloons served some good beer, but a couple of local cardplayers had already learned to steer clear of Caleb when it came time to play.
It was time to go.
In fact, it seemed Caleb had decided that a while ago and just hadn’t had the gumption to act on it.
He rode to the home of Gus Wilhemette, who was the man who’d sold Caleb his patch of land in the first place. Gus answered the door on the first knock and showed Caleb a crooked yet friendly smile.
“How do, Caleb,” Gus said in his thick blend of French and Southern accents. “What can I do for ya on this fine morn’?”
“I need to sell my land back to ya, Gus.”
“Oh, movin’ up in the world?”
“Actually, more like movin’ out,” Caleb replied.
That was enough to snap Gus’s head back and bring a flush of red to his round face. “Not too far away, I hope!”
“There’s some business in Texas that I need to attend to and I won’t be coming back for a while.”
“Oh, now that is a shame, but maybe a blessin’ since Patricia Hume down the street there has been lookin’ for ya,” Gus added in a whisper. “She got a fire in her belly about somethin’ or other, so maybe it’s good you make yourself scarce.”
Caleb winced as he thought about Patricia. She was a pretty gal with dark skin and curves that flowed like honey. The last time he’d seen her, Caleb was trying to distract Patricia’s attention so Marissa Hume could get away without catching one of the punches that her sister was throwing. The escape would have gone a lot smoother if Marissa or Caleb had been dressed at the time.
“Yeah.” Caleb sighed. “Now seems like a good time to go. You know anyone who’s interested in my place?”
“Not so much.”
“You wanna buy it back from me?”
“Sure!” Wincing a bit, Gus added, “But I’d have to pay ya a bit less.”
Caleb knew he was going to be gouged for trying to unload his property in this manner. He also knew he might be able to haggle with Gus to get a better deal. Unfortunately, Caleb could think of more than one occasion where he’d been on the other end of someone getting cheated out of their money. Despite the fact that he wasn’t exactly the philosophical sort, Caleb had always believed in the Golden Rule. Every now and then, when that rule was broken, someone had to feel the bite.
In the end, Caleb wound up taking a thirty percent hit on his investment. He actually wound up walking away from Gus’s house with a bit more money than he’d been expecting. Both men were on Gus’s porch when the deal was concluded and Gus was about to shut the door.
“Looks like today’s gonna be a good one,” Gus said. “There’s another customer on his way.”
Caleb counted up his money and stashed it in a few different pockets. “Give my best to the missus, Gus. It’s been good doing business with you.”
But Gus didn’t respond. Instead, his eyes were focused on something over Caleb’s shoulder. “Now he ain’t walking this way. Looks like he’s just sitting out there. What the hell’s he doing in them weeds?”
Glancing over his shoulder, Caleb followed Gus’s line of sight to find a dark shape among the weeds about sixty yards away. If Gus hadn’t been so intent on staring at the shape, Caleb might not have even noticed it. He surely wouldn’t have looked that way long enough to catch the glimmer of a rifle barrel in the relentless sun.
Caleb dove forward with both arms outstretched. His shoulder caught Gus in the stomach just as the other man had started to say something. Gus let out a loud grunt as he was taken to the floor. Before Gus’s back hit the boards just inside his doorway, the crack of a rifle shot drifted through the air.
Holding Gus down with one arm, Caleb looked up to see one of Gus’s windows being shattered.
“What in the hell you think you’re doin’?” Gus asked in an accent that got even thicker as he became more upset.
“Get away from the door, Gus,” Caleb snapped.
“Is that man shootin’ at me?”
“Just move!”
Gus crawled away from the open door and didn’t stop until he was under the desk where he conducted all of his business.
By the time Caleb was upright and away from the door, his gun was in his hand. He’d cleared leather in a swift motion that barely even made a sound. The weight of the gun in his hand told him that it was fully loaded and ready to go. Neither of the twin .44s had been fired at anything more than a few tin cans lately, but they’d been modified in several different ways during the few times Caleb had been alone in his shack.
“Who d’hell is dat?” Gus asked.
“Just keep your head down and your mouth shut,” Caleb replied as he inched his way to the window closest to the door. As soon as he’d stuck his head up far enough to get a look outside, another bullet shattered the glass an inch over the top of his head.
Cursing under his breath, Caleb drew his second .44 from its holster and stood up between the window and the door. He pulled in a deep breath, let it out, and then bolted from the house with his head down and both guns barking at once.
Caleb didn’t need to get his sights set upon a specific target, since he was moving too quickly to hit much of anything. But Caleb wasn’t out to do anything more than get away from Gus’s house and to a spot where he might be able to see who’d fired at him.
The rifle fired back at him once or twice, but Caleb made it behind one of the old trees on the edge of Gus’s property before he was hit. Once he had something solid between him and the rifleman, Caleb refilled his pistols with fresh rounds from his gun belt.
Leaning around the left side of the tree, Caleb shouted, “Come on out where I can see you!” As those words were still drifting through the air, Caleb ducked and ran to the right. A shot was fired at him, but it was a fraction of a second too late to hit him before he got behind another tree.
This time, Caleb was close enough to the shooter to hear the clack of another round being levered into place. Hoping he was fitting into the bit of time it took to bring a rifle back up and look down its sights, Caleb ran from his cover to circle around and get a little closer to whoever was pulling that rifle’s trigger.
Caleb was feeling lucky, so he leaned around the tree to take a shot before he’d even gotten settled behind his new-found cover. Not only was the rifleman ready to take his shot, but he’d also correctly guessed which side of the tree Caleb would choose. Just as Caleb moved his gun arm, the rifleman sent a bullet through the tree close enough to kick some moss into Caleb’s eye.
Rather than make a run for it while squinting, Caleb rubbed his eye with the back of his free hand and shouted, “Whoever you are, you’re a lousy goddamned shot!”
Sure enough, that sent another round into the tree and gave Caleb a second or so to find another spot to hide. He worked his way a bit closer to the rifleman while continuing to circle around the man’s flank. Of course, there was more than enough undergrowth to make plenty of noise to announce every one of Caleb’s steps. But that tangle of weeds sprouting from the damp ground worked to Caleb’s favor as well.
The sound wasn’t nearly as loud as the stomping of Caleb’s boots, but it was strong enough to reach Caleb’s ears. As soon as he heard that slight crunch, Caleb knew the rifleman was getting to a better spot as well. Hopefully, Caleb could reach the rifleman before he got there.
Caleb once again took a .44 in each fist and started running. Unlike the first time he’d made a similar charge, he didn’t just fire to fill the air full of lead. Most of the shots this time around came from the gun in his left hand. That way, the .44 in his right hand was mostly full when it came time to take the shots that mattered.
The first rifle shot that sped Caleb’s way came closest to hitting him. It whipped through the air less than a foot or so from drawing blood.
After that, the rifleman was too flustered to do more than squeeze off a couple rushed shots. By the time he got a good look at his target again, Caleb was running straight toward him.
After firing the last round from the .44 in his left hand, Caleb pitched the gun at the rifleman. The pistol bounced off the other man’s raised arms, granting Caleb a couple more valuable seconds for him to aim rather than fire another wild shot in the rifleman’s general direction.
Caleb’s bullet drilled through the rifleman’s shoulder, spinning the man around while also sending him a few steps back. Before the rifleman could get his bearings, Caleb was close enough to knock the rifle aside and drive his knee up into the man’s gut.
The rifleman wore a long coat and had a dark hat pulled down low enough to cover most of his face. After he doubled over from that first kick, the rifleman was knocked upright again as Caleb’s knee caught him in the mouth.
Staggering back, the rifleman swung his weapon like a club. After Caleb hopped back to let the rifle pass by, the man let the rifle go so he could pull a pistol from his holster. Before he could clear leather, the rifleman heard one word that stopped him dead.
“Mayes?” Caleb asked. “Is that you?”
The rifleman kept his hand on his gun, but didn’t draw. Seeing that Caleb already had him at gunpoint, he looked up and returned Caleb’s stare.
“It is you!” Caleb said. “Looks like that arm is still bothering you.”
The arm Caleb referred to was slung under Mayes’s coat so that it remained tight against his chest. It could still be used to some degree, but every twitch brought a pained grimace to his face. Mayes still wore a scowl that was similar to the one he’d had when Doc stabbed him in the arm and twisted the blade back at Creek’s claim.
“Still trying to shoot me from a distance, I see,” Caleb mused. “Maybe this time, you’ll get more than a knife in the arm. How’d you find me?”
Mayes shook his head and gritted his teeth. “That don’t matter, asshole. You should be more worried that we know who you are and where to find you.”
The Accomplice: The Silent Partner Page 19
