Guns of Perdition

by Jessica Bakkers

  His speech was cut off by a blast from the Winchester. Reed was thrown backward, his chest a ruin of red sinew and blood. He landed at Joseph’s feet and twitched in the dirt. Silence fell heavily over the folk of Barren Banks. Jessie tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from the dead Banksman.

  Grace slowly reloaded the Winchester. As her fingers went to work she spoke, low but clear. “Now hear this. I don’t want your gold. I don’t want your grub. I don’t want your land, your women, your children. I want Aaron Boothe, and I want to get the hell out of this burg. Got it? Next person who says anything contrary gets a lead plumb.”

  Wary crickets started up their song in the following silence. As the silence lengthened, the folk of Barren Banks slipped away. Some gathered up armloads of bread and cheese and scattered, others made for Aaron Boothe’s manor. A few townswomen shepherded Boothe’s stunned wife and children away, aided by a few persuasive pitchforks. Jessie had no idea where they were being led and no real inclination to find out.

  Soon only Aaron Boothe and Joseph and Abigail remained.

  Joseph looked up at Grace, then back down at the dead body at his feet. “Were it necessary to kill him?” he asked quietly.

  Grace shrugged. “Didn’t give me a lot of choice. You might have spoken up and tried to stop things before they got out of hand.”

  Joseph nodded pointedly at Boothe, who was rubbing his red-raw throat. “Seemed too late for that.”

  Grace frowned. “You disapprove? Don’t your Book preach an eye for an eye?”

  Abigail laid a hand on Joseph’s arm. He smiled a thin smile. “It also preaches forgiveness.”

  Grace snorted.

  Jessie licked his lips and asked, “What’ll you do now?”

  Joseph shrugged. “I know nothing but farming. Guess I’ll go back to the land.”

  Jessie’s gaze flicked to Abigail, then back to Joseph. “You’d make for a good preacher-man.”

  Joseph’s smile turned bitter. “Not sure if God would agree with you, son.” He nodded to the riders and turned away. Abigail watched them for a moment, then followed her father. They wandered off into the night without a backward glance.

  Grace shook her head and turned to Aaron Boothe. He swaggered with his customary sneer across his lips. Grace slid from her saddle and approached him.

  Boothe puffed up his chest and bellowed, “If you think to scare me, think again, scrouger. Aaron Boothe will not be cowed by a ringy, cross-grained sage hen—”

  Grace slung her fist into Boothe’s jaw. His head cracked back and he sagged to the side. His eyes were wide and sightless as he slumped into the dirt. Out cold.

  Grace’s lip curled and she spat on the unconscious man. “Turd.”

  Jessie’s lips turned up in an exhausted grin. Kaga leaned against Jessie’s back breathing heavily. Ruby smirked and Tokota’s arms were crossed over his chest, his face set in a grim expression.

  “You want to explain why we need this sica?” he said.

  Grace sighed. “That’s up to Jessie. But first, I need a drink.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Jessie eyed Aaron Boothe as he woke with a jerk. He thrashed about so violently, he rocked the cart on its squat wooden wheels.

  “Easy,” Grace said. She sat in the cart with Boothe and Jessie, perched on a box covered with a coarse blanket. Boothe glared at her through narrowed eyes. He stopped, winced, and gingerly touched his broken nose. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked out of the cart. Tokota and Ruby flanked the cart astride Uzeblikblik and Lumière. Tokota glowered at Boothe as Ruby winked and smiled slyly. Joseph and Abigail stood beside the cart and watched Boothe carefully. Boothe rolled his eyes and turned to peer down the other end of the cart. He jolted as he noticed the scarred black wolf settled by his feet.

  Boothe turned back to Grace. She and Jessie shared the box; Jessie was ready to spring to his feet should Boothe cause any clamor, while Grace sat relaxed, her long legs lazily stuck out and crossed at the ankles. She chewed a long cheroot and gazed at Boothe from beneath the brim of her mangled John B.

  “Morning.”

  Boothe frowned in return. Confusion warred with anger across his face. Jessie wondered if he recognized the cart as the one that had been tethered behind his own manor. He doubted it. Folk like Boothe didn’t usually take note of the utilitarian and practical—it was glamor or nothing for his type. The cart was parked in the middle of downtown Barren Banks, mere feet from the town gallows.

  “What is this?” Boothe said, low and angry.

  “Joseph calls it absolution. I call it a reckoning. You got one chance—and one chance only—to make some amends.”

  “Amends?!” Boothe slapped his chest and dug his fingers into his vest. He withdrew a folded piece of paper. “I have been foully accused of all manner of misdeeds, but the truth is this: you and your band of miscreants have got spit on me! And when I call in the marshall he’ll clap you all in irons! I have here a deed for Barren Mountain, notarized and proper, and what you done last night equates to lawlessness! You’ll twist for this, I’ll see to it—”

  Grace slapped Boothe. He reeled and cursed, then raised a hand to his cheek. Grace reached out and plucked the folded piece of paper clutched in his fingers. He flinched and glowered at her. Grace shook open the paper and scanned it. She frowned as she wordlessly handed the paper to Jessie. He opened it carefully and read its contents.

  Mining Deed. This indenture made this third day of May, between Abner A. Doncaster, of Los Angeles, California, hereafter called the “Grantor”, and; Aaron J. Boothe of Carson City, Nevada, hereafter called the “Grantee”; wittnesseth that the Grantor for good and valuable consideration now paid by the Grantee the sum of two hundred and fifty dollars, $250 (the receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged) doth grant bargain, sell, alien, enfeoff, remise, release, convey and confirm unto the Grantee and his heirs, and grants full right, title, and interest, estate, claim and demand, in equity as well as in possession, expectancy of in or to, that certain portion of claim and mining right, title, or property on Barren Mountain, certain vein or lode of rock, containing precious metals of gold, silver or other metals, and situate in underground mining. District Inyo County, State of California.

  Something about the deed set Jessie’s teeth on edge. His scalp prickled and he shivered as he folded the deed in half and tucked it in his breast pocket beside his journal.

  “You expect me to believe you bought a gold mine for two hundred and fifty dollars?” Grace said around her cheroot.

  Boothe gave her a black look. “I own that mine. I own this town. I am this town!”

  Grace scratched the bandage on her neck. “What about them kobolds in the mine? You own them too?”

  Boothe stilled. His gaze darted from Grace to Jessie.

  Grace took a drag on the cheroot and leaned toward Boothe. “See, I got a notion that mayhap you did buy that mine for two hundred and fifty dollars. But when you bought it, something seemed a bit off. Like it was too good to be true.”

  A flicker crossed Boothe’s face.

  “Reckon I could rightly describe the fella who sold you the deed too. Tall, mean dude. Dressed all in black. Bet you didn’t even get a good look at his face. But you sure would’ve noticed the horse he was riding.” Grace gestured to Ruby.

  Boothe glanced at her and his eyes widened as he gazed at her palfrey. The color drained from his face. His gaze snapped back to Grace.

  She snorted and took another drag on the cheroot. “You been played as much as we have, Boothe. Just another low card in his ace-high game.”

  Boothe bristled. “Listen here, you loller, you and your swad have got no notion who you’re messing with. Aaron Boothe will not take this—”

  Grace slapped Boothe again, hard enough to split his lip. Jessie shifted on the box beside her as Grace drew her feet under her and stood up. She stepped in front of Boothe and squatted down beside him. He glared at he
r and spat bloody phlegm onto the cart beside her feet.

  Grace’s jaw clenched, but this time her hand didn’t fly. “This is how it’s gonna go. Tokota, Ruby, Jessie, and I have been brought together for some sonkey reason we ain’t yet been told. What we do know is that you, Aaron Boothe, got a part to play in all this. Now, we’re gonna leave this here burg sooner rather than later, and you’re gonna come with us. That can be hog-tied in the back of this cart, or it can be on the back of your horse. Don’t matter to me one lick.”

  “I am the mayor! I own the mine!” Boothe said through bloody teeth.

  Grace’s eyebrows dipped and she snatched Boothe’s chin in her hand. She jerked his head around until he faced the mountain. Grace looked over her shoulder and nodded to Tokota. He returned the nod and unslung his polished rifle. He fired a single shot in the air. After the loud crack dissipated, an eerie silence fell. The breeze whispered and ruffled Jessie’s hair. Kaga snorted.

  Then the top of Barren Mountain exploded.

  A flash of light flared a split second before the roaring boom of the explosion shook the ground. Rock, dust, and ash were vomited into the sky as the entire mountain trembled. Boothe’s eyes widened, and he flinched as the top of the mountain collapsed on itself. The deafening roar of the explosion faded to a moaning grumble of displaced rock as a storm of dust and ash rolled down the side of the mountain. Boothe, as pale as chalk, started to turn away. Grace hooked her fingers beneath his chin and dragged his face back to the mountain.

  Boothe’s manor exploded in a shower of flame and debris. Shards of charred wood shrieked through the air. A blackened pot sailed through the sky and came crashing down the side of the mountain, where it bounced and jounced until it landed at the bottom of the shanty town. The skeletal remains of Boothe manor continued burning until the newly carved mountainside slipped, fell, and consumed what was left of the estate in a great dirty avalanche. The flames were quickly swallowed up by tons of falling rock and soil.

  A warm puff of ash-tainted air buffeted the town below. Boothe closed his eyes as dusty wind swept over the cart. When the dust settled, Grace released Boothe’s face. He stared at the remains of his buried, ruined house with watery eyes.

  Jessie frowned. “You know your family weren’t in there, don’t you?”

  Boothe blinked and gaped at Jessie. It was obvious his family was the last thing on his mind. Jessie’s stomach roiled with disgust.

  Grace snorted. “Your gold weren’t either. Townsfolk stripped the place bare before it went up. Well, except for the Nobels.” She kicked the crate Jessie sat on and nudged the blanket aside with the toe of her boot. It was stenciled Nobels Extadynamit.

  “Right handy having all that dynamite crated up. Guessing we blocked up that hell-shaft permanently. With any luck, your miners will have been blasted to blazes too. If not, they won’t last long without food.”

  Boothe frowned.

  A smirk crossed Grace’s lips. “What? You feeling melancholy for them devils? You got more concern for a bunch of flesh-eating vermin than your own family? P’shaw.” She turned her head in disgust.

  Jessie gazed down the length of the cart and nodded at Joseph. Joseph gripped the side of the cart and peered at Boothe—the man responsible for the famine and near-death of his entire town.

  “Missus Boothe and the children will be looked after. Abbi and I already done some asking around the traps to see if they can get homed.” There was no acrimony in his tone, merely weariness.

  “Course they’re gonna have to work for their keeping,” Abigail added. She frowned at Boothe. “No more free riding.”

  Jessie was tickled by her response. While Joseph seemed all too willing to forgive, Abigail’s tart tone revealed some fire in the young woman’s heart. Jessie liked her more and more every time she spoke.

  Boothe’s face was blank. They might’ve been speaking in another language for all the impact their words had on him.

  Jessie shook his head and curled his upper lip. The man truly didn’t care a lick for his kin. He sure was a sour cuss alright. Jessie nudged the little canvas sack of Boothe’s belongings they’d taken from his home before it went up. As well as a few pairs of dungarees and the lovely boxed Colt Dragoon, Jessie had stuffed a framed photograph of Boothe and his family into the sack. He wondered now why he’d bothered.

  “It was mine. By right and deed. Barren Mountain. The manor. All of it was mine,” Boothe muttered.

  Grace sniffed. “Yeah, well, now it ain’t. You were duped into playing his game like the rest of us. That meanery’s on him. The Darksome Gunman. But you caused these folks to starve and die. Work themselves to death to feed them devils in the mine. That whipping’s on you. I reckon you losing your digs is a fraction of what you owe. You can make up the rest by coming along with us willingly.”

  Boothe blinked. “Coming along? Where?”

  “To where the end began,” a deep voice interjected.

  Jessie spun on the box and fumbled for the Colt in his waistband. Lumière and Uzeblikblik whinnied and pawed at the ground, and Crowbait, attached to the cart, snorted and twitched her ears.

  The black horse slowly approaching through the middle of town, greeted his kind with a nicker—and the Darksome Gunman on the stallion’s back greeted the small company with a tilt of his hat.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Jessie aimed the Colt at the Darksome Gunman. Around him, his companions drew their weapons. Tokota unslung his Sharps rifle as Ruby tugged up her skirt and drew the silver Derringer from her thigh holster. Kaga bared his teeth, and Joseph urged Abigail behind him.

  Only Grace remained unarmed. She stared at the Gunman as he lazily approached on the back of a stunning black stallion. She drew neither Justice nor Mercy nor made to fetch her holstered Winchester. She plucked the cheroot from her lips, flicked it over the side of the cart, then rose to her feet and stood with her legs splayed and her arms crossed over her chest.

  Jessie stood up beside her and used his sleeve to mop the sweat from his brow. The Colt was slick and heavy in his hand.

  “Afternoon,” the Gunman called genially.

  Aaron Boothe licked his bloody lips and frowned. “Hey.” He squinted. “Hey!” He squirmed on the cart floor and pointed at the Darksome Gunman. “That’s him! That’s the man who sold me the deed to Barren Mountain!”

  No one paid him any attention.

  Grace raised her chin and peered out beneath her John B. “Why am I not surprised to find you skulking around here?”

  The Gunman came closer. Joseph and Abigail backed up around the other side of the cart. Menace radiated from the Darksome Gunman and his coal-colored mount. He wore a big-fifty strapped to his back and had a gleaming silver equalizer holstered across his pelvis. Shadows coalesced beneath the brim of his black Stetson as he stared at Grace.

  Jessie squinted at the Gunman and cast a long look at his stallion. It was a magnificent animal. Silky, haughty, and well mannered. Jessie had no doubts who this mount had been bred for. His gaze dipped to Aaron Boothe and he shuddered.

  Grace lowered her hands to rest on the handles of Justice and Mercy. “Well, here we all are. Jigged to your tune and all lined up like mauks waiting to get fucked.”

  The Darksome Gunman reined up and shook his head. “Grace. Must you be so vulgar?”

  “Is someone going to explain to me what the hell’s going on here?” Boothe demanded as he tried to clamber to his feet. Kaga lurched forward and pinned Boothe to the floor; the wolf’s wounds hardly impeding his movement. Grace’s gaze dropped for a second, then raised back to the Gunman.

  A dark smile lit his lips. “See you found Mister Boothe.”

  Boothe blanched and paled at the Gunman’s steely tone. If he’d intended to challenge the Gunman over the rightful ownership of Barren Mountain, he seemed to have now lost his nerve. The deed to Barren Mountain flashed through Jessie’s mind and nagged him. Something about it demanded his attention but in the face of the D
arksome Gunman, he couldn’t think what it was.

  Grace’s fingers twitched as she stared at the Gunman. “Funny thing that. We found this miserable cuss right in the very town you directed us to. Like Ruby in Temerity and Tokota in Whitestand Hollow before her.”

  “What can I say? You’re very good at taking direction.” The Gunman’s voice was smooth as polished marble. There was derision in his tone that stung Jessie to the core. He could only imagine how it chafed Grace.

  Her expression darkened. “Reckon I’m done taking direction.”

  With exaggerated slowness, Grace slid Justice from its holster. The metal on leather hissed as she drew the equalizer. Tokota loaded his rifle with an audible clack. Even Ruby’s Derringer gave an agitated click as she thumbed the hammer. Abigail peeped over the side of the cart, then bobbed back down.

  Grace palmed her revolver and said, “You once told me when I was done taking your direction—when I was done rounding up the others—to come find you and we’d break words.”

  The Darksome Gunman nodded. “That’s right. And I believe I said, if you don’t like what I have to say, you would be free to try and undo me. Right?”

  Grace gazed at him coolly. She inclined her head.

  The Gunman snorted with laughter. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, Grace, but this still ain’t the time nor the place to break those words.”

  A sharp frown crossed Grace’s brow. Her lips thinned, and she slid Mercy from its holster. Jessie eyed her and tried to convey caution to her using only his eyes.

  “Got another ride in front of you yet,” the Gunman drawled. If he noticed Grace shook with rage he didn’t indicate it.

  “Stick your ride!” Grace shouted as she raised Justice and Mercy. Tokota tensed and aimed his rifle at the Gunman. Joseph and Abigail shrank down beside the cart. Jessie raised a hand to Grace’s outstretched arms, as her guns barked and she unloaded at the Darksome Gunman.