The Accomplice: The Silent Partner

by Marcus Galloway

  “Oh, you and Rudabaugh, you mean? Where is Dave? I would have thought he’d show himself by now.”

  “He’s comin’.”

  “Will he get here after dodging all those Texas lawmen who’ve made it their mission in life to hunt him down? Or will he get here after somehow shaking off the bounty hunters that are sniffing after that money being offered by Wells Fargo for his scalp?”

  Mayes didn’t have much to say to that. Instead, his eyes kept darting toward his rifle and his fingers kept tapping lightly against the grip of his holstered gun.

  “You’re not the gunman you used to be,” Caleb warned. “Doc saw to that in Deadwood. You want things to get worse for you, then go ahead and make a move for one of those guns.”

  “I ain’t the only one comin’ for you. Even if Dave gets caught somewhere along the line, the rest of us still want that gold.”

  “You mean Creek’s gold?”

  “It’s our gold!” Mayes snapped. “That judge in Deadwood said so.”

  “First of all, that wasn’t no judge. Second, there’s no more gold.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Caleb smirked and shrugged his shoulders. “Believe me or not, that doesn’t change anything. You think I’d be living in a shack next to a swamp if I was swimming in gold?”

  After scowling for a few seconds, Mayes brightened up and said, “Then Holliday’s got it! He’s got the gold!”

  “Doc’s dead.”

  It was the first time Caleb had spoken those words out loud. Although he didn’t show much of a reaction to them, they hit him like a fist in the chest.

  Mayes, on the other hand, wasn’t so composed. “That’s not true. Samuel found him in Breckenridge.”

  “Samuel? You mean that little pecker who testified against me in Deadwood?”

  “He found Holliday and I found you,” Mayes said triumphantly. “You’re full of shit. Probably just to cover up where you’re hiding all that gold.”

  Despite the situation, Caleb had to laugh.

  “What’s so goddamn funny?” Mayes asked.

  “The gold,” Caleb replied when he could catch his breath. “All that gold you’re after. Doc used most of it to bribe that judge you’re so fond of in Deadwood.”

  “What?”

  Caleb nodded and laughed even harder.

  “You couldn’t have handed it all over,” Mayes said. “Nobody would’ve handed that much gold over.”

  “Maybe not all of it, but it wasn’t cheap to pay for that sorry excuse of a trial as well as the chance for me to escape before Bullock could send me to Yankton.”

  Mayes started shaking his head and shook it even harder when he said, “Bullock ain’t for sale.”

  “He didn’t need to be,” Caleb said simply. “Everything around him was crooked enough. Creek took his share, we were given ours, then Rudabaugh came along and swiped most of that. How can you not see the humor in that?”

  As Mayes kept looking for proof of a lie written on Caleb’s face, he became more and more flustered. Caleb just stared back at him as if the lead hadn’t been flying a few minutes ago.

  “Go home,” Caleb told him.

  “What?”

  “Are you going deaf?” Caleb asked as he lowered his gun into its holster. “I told you to go home. I’d prefer not to shoot a cripple.”

  Mayes must have reflexively tried to swing his bad arm because it strained against the strap holding it against his side and scowled with the pain. Before Caleb could laugh again, Mayes reached for the gun at his hip.

  Caleb drew his .44 and fired a shot into the other man’s chest.

  Mayes’s good arm swung out to the side as the impact from Caleb’s bullet slammed him onto his back. Most the wind from his lungs was knocked out on impact and the rest of it sounded as if it seeped out from the fresh wound in his chest. Opening his mouth wide, Mayes looked as if he was about to howl. Instead, he could only cough up some blood and spit it onto his own face.

  Caleb took a few steps forward so he could look down at the other man. Dismissing Mayes as he would dismiss any other dead animal, Caleb reached down to pick up the rifle.

  “Dave’s . . . comin’ for you,” Mayes grunted. “He’s comin’ for you . . . both.”

  “Yeah,” Caleb said quietly. “I suppose he is.”

  “And when he gets you . . . I hope he rips your damn . . .”

  Mayes was cut short by another shot from Caleb’s pistol. The bullet punched a messy hole through Mayes’s skull that continued into the ground beneath him.

  Caleb was done being threatened by Mayes, Rudabaugh, or any of the outlaw’s partners. He was also done hiding in the swamp and hoping folks would forget he was alive.

  He had a funeral to attend.

  21

  Fort Griffin, TexasSeptember 29, 1877

  It had been a few years since Caleb had last been to Fort Griffin, but enough had happened to give the place a permanent spot in the back of his mind. He wondered how many familiar faces he might see or familiar haunts he might revisit. At the very least, he knew the Beehive was still alive and kicking.

  Although plenty of sights were familiar, Caleb picked up a different scent in the air. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it right away, but had somewhat figured it out by the time he spotted the Beehive.

  The streets were quiet.

  Caleb remembered Fort Griffin as plenty of things, but quiet sure wasn’t one of them. What grated against him the most was the feeling that the town’s wildness was still intact. It was just being held in check like an animal that had suddenly found itself inside a cage.

  He tipped his hat to a few folks alongside the street, but didn’t get much in return. When he met the glares coming from a pair of men leaning against a hitching post, Caleb thought he might be in for a fight. Both of the men straightened up and hooked their thumbs behind their gun belts to make it perfectly clear they weren’t afraid to draw the guns and put them to use.

  Rather than put those men to the test, Caleb shifted his eyes from them and kept riding. The two men settled back into their spots against the post.

  The Beehive was just as he remembered it. Caleb smiled when he heard the voices coming from inside the saloon and couldn’t wait to get something to drink. Rather than get Penny into a stable right away, he tied the old girl up to the closest post and stepped inside.

  Although the inside of the place was more or less as Caleb remembered it, all the people at the card tables and behind the bar were strangers. All of them, that is, except for one.

  “Why, what have we here?” asked a pretty woman with striking red hair flowing over pale, smooth shoulders. “Has Caleb Wayfinder found his way back to me?”

  “Lottie!”

  Within seconds after speaking her name, Caleb had his arms around Lottie Deno. The red-haired beauty hugged him warmly, making Caleb the envy of nearly every other man in the room.

  Lottie wore a dark green velvet dress with a matching choker placed around her neck. Her hands were strong, yet very feminine, complete with long nails and a thin diamond ring. Once she was done hugging him, Lottie placed her hands upon Caleb’s shoulders and rubbed his arms. “What brings you back to Fort Griffin?”

  Caleb’s smile froze into place, but he wasn’t able to hold it there for long. “I heard about Doc. Didn’t you?”

  “What’s he done now?”

  “He . . . uh . . . died.”

  For a second, her eyes widened and she placed a hand over her mouth. Then she moved her hand away to reveal a guilty smirk. “You saw the newspaper, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. It was in the Dallas Weekly Herald.”

  “I don’t know who wrote that story, but it’s not true. Doc’s staying over at the Planter’s Hotel. It’s right over on the corner of Fourth and Parson.”

  Caleb could feel the dumbfounded look upon his face, but there wasn’t anything he could do to remove it. In fact, the longer he thought things over, the more exaggerated the look b
ecame. “But I also got a letter,” he said while digging the folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Look.”

  Still smirking, Lottie took the note from him and read it over. She handed it back to him with an apologetic, yet still very pretty, smile. “I can read the letter, Caleb, but that doesn’t change things. When did you get this?”

  “Over a week ago. Maybe two.”

  “Well, I saw Doc this morning.”

  “Where?”

  “Planter’s Hotel,” Lottie replied with a sly grin. “On the corner of Fourth and Parson. Why don’t you just go over there yourself?” Suddenly, Lottie frowned and asked, “Where have you been, anyway? Did you and Doc have a falling-out?”

  “No. Not yet, anyway. I guess I’ll head over to that hotel and see if I can change that.”

  As Caleb started to walk away, he felt Lottie’s warm hand wrap around his forearm. When he turned to look at her again, he couldn’t help but be reminded of why she was always such a popular addition to any saloon where she decided to ply her trade.

  “It’s been a long time, Caleb,” she said. “I’m glad to see you again.”

  “Me, too, Lottie.”

  “When you and Doc have a chance to catch up, be sure to come back here and see me. If I’m not at a poker table, I’ll be dealing faro.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Even after Lottie had let go of his arm, it was difficult for Caleb to leave. Turning his back on Lottie was akin to a starving man turning away from a thick steak. After the first couple of steps toward the door, however, the effort became a little easier. Just to be safe, Caleb didn’t look back.

  On his way to the Planter’s Hotel, Caleb felt like he was closer to the Fort Griffin that he’d left behind when he’d ridden out of town the last time. Music played from several different sources. Voices were raised in anything from laughter to profane accusations. The wild animal was out of its cage and roaming free, which was just the way it was supposed to be.

  Although Caleb couldn’t recall what had been on the corner of Fourth and Parson the last time he’d been in town, he sure knew it wasn’t a hotel. In fact, the Planter’s looked a little too nice to be in Fort Griffin at all. It was a good size with a small bar in the back of its first floor. A few card tables were clustered in the same room, all of which were occupied by what looked to be fairly decent games.

  Doc wasn’t at any of those tables, which immediately struck Caleb as odd. Considering what had brought him to Fort Griffin in the first place, he felt more than a little strange when he went to the front desk and asked, “Is there a Mr. Holliday staying here?”

  The man behind the front desk was tall and slender. His build seemed even narrower since he wore a starched white shirt that looked to be at least three sizes too big. His angular face was friendly enough, however, as he met Caleb’s eyes and replied, “And who might you be, sir?”

  “Caleb Wayfinder. I’m a friend of his.”

  “Yes, yes,” the clerk said quickly as he extended his hand over the desk. “Pardon the formality, but we do try to look out for our guests.”

  “Guests?”

  “Yes, sir. John Henry’s expecting you.”

  For a moment, Caleb thought the clerk was referring to someone else. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever addressed Doc by his Christian name. If he had, the practice had long since been abandoned.

  “Room number twelve,” the clerk said cheerily. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  Caleb was most definitely glad that Doc seemed to be alive and well. The surprise he’d felt upon hearing that news was quickly being tempered by another suspicion that nagged at him like a burr under his saddle. When he reached the door to room number twelve, Caleb knocked. A few seconds later, he received yet another surprise.

  The door swung open to reveal a dark-haired woman with smooth skin and soft features. Her hair was a mess, but looked undeniably provocative flowing over one shoulder to cover her better than the slip that she wore. Her eyes were wide as she looked into the hall at Caleb with her mouth gaping open in surprise.

  Caleb had no trouble looking even more surprised.

  “Are you Caleb?” she asked with the subtle hint of a European accent.

  “Uh . . . yeah . . . I . . .”

  Before Caleb could get another word out, the dark-haired woman leaned forward and grabbed hold of the front of his shirt. She pulled him into the room with relative ease and then shut the door. Caleb was barely able to stop himself before tripping over a chair. Once he regained his balance, he whipped back around to get a better look at where he’d wound up.

  The room looked like it belonged in a well-kept house rather than a hotel. The sheets and blankets on the bed were rumpled and Caleb could smell what had to have been a delicious dinner that had been delivered upon the dishes stacked near the door. Getting up from a chair placed next to the window, Doc grinned widely and held open his arms. He was dressed in dark trousers with suspenders dangling around his waist and a plain white undershirt.

  “Caleb! How wonderful to see you!”

  “I ought to punch you square in the mouth,” Caleb snarled.

  Raising his eyebrows and extending one arm a bit farther than the other, Doc said, “I’d prefer a handshake.”

  Caleb let out a frustrated sigh and shook Doc’s hand. No matter how much he wanted to hold on to the anger that had boiled up inside of him upon seeing Doc, he simply couldn’t. “Please tell me you didn’t write that letter.”

  “What letter?” Doc asked.

  “The one telling me to come here for funeral services,” Caleb said with the hope that Doc hadn’t been the one to put him through all of this after all.

  “You mean the letter with the newspaper?” Doc asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  The dark-haired woman giggled as she crossed the room to a small table holding several liquor bottles in various states of emptiness. “That was my idea,” she said.

  “Isn’t she a hoot?” Doc asked. “She does have a flair for the dramatic. By the way, Caleb Wayfinder, this is Kate Elder.”

  She smiled and gave as much of a curtsy as she could manage considering her state of dress. “Pleased to meet you. Any friend of Doc’s is—”

  “Is a fool for riding all the way across Texas to attend his funeral,” Caleb snapped. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to leave.”

  “Oh, come now,” Doc slurred as he strode across the room to keep Caleb from opening the door. “Don’t be such a wet blanket.”

  Glancing back and forth between Doc and the dark-haired woman, Caleb snapped, “I thought you were dead! The newspaper said you were dead!”

  “Wishful thinking on someone’s part, I’m sure,” Doc said. “But completely false. If the world wants me dead, it’s going to have to throw someone better than Henry Kahn at me.”

  “Stand aside, Doc,” Caleb warned. “I mean it.”

  “Did anyone see you come up here?” Doc asked.

  “Why? Are you going to shoot me rather than let me leave?”

  Kate giggled some more and covered her mouth. She didn’t cover it well enough to keep the men from hearing her when she said, “And I’m supposed to be the dramatic one?”

  Wheeling around to point a finger at her, Caleb snarled, “You can keep your mouth shut.”

  “I won’t have you talk to her that way.”

  “That goes for you, too,” Caleb said as he shifted his finger to aim at Doc.

  Even though Doc had taken a stern tone before, he cracked into a smile now. Waving off Caleb’s warning, Doc walked over to where Kate was sitting and poured himself a drink. “Care for anything?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Caleb replied with exasperation filling his voice. “And lots of it.”

  Doc filled a glass and handed it over.

  Caleb took a sip and gave himself a moment to let the whiskey make its way thr
ough his system.

  “So,” Doc said, “did anyone see you come up here?”

  “The fellow at the front desk,” Caleb replied.

  “What about any of those armed men with the sour faces outside?” Kate asked.

  Standing up, Caleb walked over to the window. “Who are those men?” he asked while reaching out to pull aside the curtains.

  “They’re not welcome to look in here,” Doc said quickly. “So I’d appreciate it if you leave those curtains alone.”

  Caleb stopped with his fingers still wrapped around some of the curtain. He considered pulling the curtains wide open just to ruffle Doc’s feathers, but decided against it when he thought back to the shadow those gunmen had cast over an entire section of town.

  “Those men are vigilantes,” Doc explained. “They were already here when I arrived not too long ago and they seem to be more in charge of these streets than any law.”

  Kate snorted a laugh into the glass she held up to her mouth. “They call themselves the Tin Hat Brigade.”

  “Tin Hat Brigade?” Caleb repeated. “What’s that even mean?”

  “It means they’re a bunch of loudmouthed assholes who like to push around women,” Kate grunted.

  Doc shrugged and added, “I couldn’t tell you about their moniker, but I do know they made a sweep of some local cathouses and weren’t too kind about it.”

  Hearing that caused Caleb to take another look at Kate. She must have either been expecting the look or could read Caleb’s face because she stared right back at him as if to encourage him to say what he wanted to say. Rather than take that particular piece of bait, Caleb took another drink.

  “I hear they cleaned out some local outlaws,” Doc said. “But they’ve resorted to posting their signs on walls and making themselves known around here as some sort of well-meaning gang.”

  “Great,” Caleb said. “And thanks for bringing me out here.”

  Doc chuckled and nodded slowly. “I thought you’d enjoy the challenge. Besides, I heard that someone might be coming to look for you.”

  “Yeah,” Caleb said. He looked at Kate and then stared intently at Doc. “Someone we met in the Dakotas.”

  “It’s all right,” Doc said dismissively. “You can say what you want in front of her. Did Dave Rudabaugh come after you himself?”