Rustlers

by Orrin Russell

  The movements of each man were carried out in a matter of seconds; Balum’s group entered, the two parties saw each other, they fanned out, guns were drawn. There was no dialogue, no greeting, no questions or threats. Simply guns, ripped from their holsters.

  The only noise to be heard before the deafening blast of gunfire were the multiple clicks of hammers drawn back. And then commotion. Explosions from gunbarrels, bodies hitting the floor, screams, and the smell of gunsmoke.

  The only stationary figure was the man holding the two burlap sacks. He stood in the middle of a crossfire of bullets like a stone statue, his mouth ajar and his eyes wide.

  When the bodies of his friends lay dead beside him in puddles of blood he moved his mouth. No words came out. He closed it and licked his lips, then opened it again.

  ‘Don’t shoot me,’ he said.

  ‘Get over here. You too,’ Balum motioned to the banker with his revolver.

  The men crossed the floor. Balum moved back so he could keep his eyes on them and see what had become of his partners.

  Will was standing with his gun held straight out from his body and pointed at the money carrier. Charles was staring down at the floor beside him, his mouth peeled bag in horror.

  Joe lay on the floor in a puddle of blood. His hands were gripped around his neck. Blood gushed out over his fingers and down his wrist. It covered his chest and had sprayed up onto his chin, and continued to squirt through his fingers as the man strangled himself in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

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  Charles had dropped to a knee next to him and reached his hands out to cover Joe’s.

  ‘Will, run find a doctor. Go!’ he shouted at him.

  Will turned and bolted through the bank doors and into the crowd that had gathered out front. From inside they could hear him shouting for a doctor, then he was gone, running.

  Balum turned back to the banker and Witney’s man. ‘Take your guns off and throw them over thataway. Now sit down. Right there.’

  ‘You’ve got no cause to hold me,’ said the banker. ‘I’m no part of this.’

  Balum took two quick steps forward and drove his hardened fist into the banker’s mouth. It rocked his head back and sent him sprawling onto his back.

  ‘You’re half the cause of this you son of a bitch,’ said Balum. ‘You were in Fort Sumner, I saw you plain as day alongside Witney’s men. You saw us there, you followed our herd. You had time to size us up. Now shut your trap our I’ll knock your damn teeth out of your skull.’

  He backed away from the fallen banker and took another look at Joe. His eyes were open. They flickered back and forth between Charles and Balum.

  ‘Hold on Joe,’ said Charles. His hands were pressed over Joe’s, covering the front and back of his neck. Blood covered them completely, and continued to pool out from the spaces between their fingers. Joe’s face had turned pale. His long black hair lay underneath him, matted with blood.

  Charles looked at Balum. ‘I can’t stop the bleeding.’

  ‘Just keep your hands tight on his neck. It’s all you can do.’

  They knelt next to Joe, plugging the bullet hole in his neck and offering soothing words that sounded useless and empty as his life slowly drained away from him. The curiosity of the bystanders in the street won them over, and they crept through the doors and into the bank and held their hands over their mouths at the sight of Witney’s dead men and Joe’s impending death.

  When the doctor arrived he had to shove his way through the growing crowd. He carried a day bag in one hand and was accompanied by a boy not any older than the age of ten. He set the bag down away from the growing pool of blood and knelt beside them.

  ‘How long ago you say he got shot?’ he said in a slow southern drawl while he bent so close over Joe that his nose nearly touched the wound itself.

  ‘Five minutes maybe,’ said Charles.

  ‘Well that’s a piece of good news right there. Most people shot in the neck are dead in five seconds.’ His speech was slow, but his hands were not. They opened the day bag and placed a few bottles of liquid on the floor. He took bandages, gauze, and scissors and aligned them neatly before him. The boy knelt on the other side of the day bag.

  The doctor looked at the crowd of onlookers and singled out a man in overalls. ‘Jude, run to my house and bring that stretcher over.’ His hands were busy unwrapping a needle and suture thread from a small black pouch.

  ‘Iodine,’ he said, and the boy handed him a small glass bottle. The doctor wet the needle and wiped it clean with a silk cloth. He asked for the alcohol and the boy passed him a jug.

  ‘I’m going to do this quickly,’ he said, his drawl juxtaposing the content of his sentence. ‘I get finished on the front side, we’re going to flip him over. You keep your fingers pinched on that hole in the back, you hear?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Charles.

  ‘What’s the man’s name?’

  ‘Joe.’

  ‘And what’s yours?’

  ‘Charles.’

  ‘Ok Charles, move your hand out of the way.’

  Charles removed his hand and the doctor edged out Joe’s fingers from the opening of the wound. He pinched the skin tightly in his fingers and doused the neck with the bottle of alcohol. Joe’s body jerked and his eyes flared open, but the men held him down.

  The doctor’s fingers moved the suture needles like a seamstress on fabric. He tied the thread off after the first two passes and within a minute had the wound sewn and the final end tied off. He asked the boy for an iodine rag, and dabbed the seam, thoroughly wetting it in iodine.

  ‘You grab his waist,’ the doctor said to Balum. ‘We’ll flip him on a count of three. Don’t let go of that hole in back Charles.’

  They flipped him, awkwardly, and immediately the doctor ran through the same set of procedures on the back as he had in front. Finished with the stitching, he asked the boy for more alcohol, more iodine, gauze and bandage. The boy said nothing, but simply handed the doctor the items as they were requested.

  Jude came back with the cot while the doctor was wrapping the neck bandage.

  ‘Put that cot right here next to him. We’re going to flip him right back over on a three-count.’

  They rolled Joe’s body over and onto the cot, no less awkwardly than the first time. The doctor held his head and neck stationary as his body flipped over, and when Joe was fully onto the cot he asked the young boy for laudanum. He measured out a spoonful, then opened Joe’s mouth with his fingers and dumped the contents in.

  ‘I’d give him morphine, but there’s none to be found out here where we are. Let’s pick him up now and get him into my house.’

  Balum grabbed an end of the stretcher and turned to Will. ‘Get those two men over to the jail. Keep your gun out and on them, and don’t get close to them. Lock those two burlap bags in the cell with the deadmen, then meet us at the doc’s.’

  They lifted Joe and carried him out of the bank and through the rubbernecking crowd. Half the town had congregated in the street. Balum saw Angelique and Helene and Else among several other recognizable faces. He kept his eyes sharp for anyone who might possibly be part of Witney’s gang, but saw no one.

  They laid the cot out on a bed in the doctor’s house, and the doctor looked over his handiwork again and spooned another teaspoon of laudanum into Joe’s mouth.

  ‘Anything else we can do, doc?’ asked Charles.

  ‘Let’s speak outside.’

  They moved to the kitchen and the doctor rinsed his hands in a bucket of water. ‘The name’s Jim Fryer, by the way. Most people round here call me Doc Fryer.’

  ‘We appreciate your help, we surely do,’ said Charles. ‘How does it look?’

  ‘It looks bad. That’s the truth. I’ve never seen a man shot in the neck live much more than a minute or two. But I’ve seen plenty of strange things, and heard stories that are harder to believe than this one would be, should he survive. I’ll keep an eye on him. Not much more to
do for him though. Either he pulls through or he doesn’t.’

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  They sat at a table in the Rosemonte; Balum, Will and Charles. They had sat to eat, but none had any appetite, so they ordered beers instead and nursed them slowly.

  ‘I don’t see any need of running that money all the way down to Denver,’ said Charles. ‘Should be safe in jail. Witney’s starting to run out of men anyway.’

  ‘Where is he anyway?’ said Will. ‘Just seems strange, him being the cause of all of this and us not even laying eyes on him.’

  ‘It is strange,’ said Balum. ‘You can bet you’ll see him soon enough though. Right now I’m beat and I need some sleep. You boys keep your wits about you. If Witney’s men are around they’ll shoot you faster than you can blink.’

  He finished his last swig of beer and left the Rosemonte. Angelique and the girls didn’t let him get two feet inside the back door without hammering him with questions. He shook them off and climbed the stairs to his room. He stripped off his boots and gun belt and flopped down on the bed, exhausted.

  He slept, but not restfully. The death of Dan, and Joe’s condition, weighed on him as he knew it did on Will and Charles. The piles of money waiting for him in the jail cell seemed a distant subject.

  When he woke in the early evening, Angelique and the girls were waiting for him with the same batch of questions. He sat on one of the antique sofas in the main room and recounted the details from the events of the previous night and up to the shooting in the bank. The girls listened intently, and he had to repeat things several times over for the Danes, whose English was still fairly simple.

  The girls had made a stew for supper, and they moved to a table and ate together. When he had finished he buckled on his gunbelt and walked to Doc Fryer’s.

  Joe was asleep, breathing deeply, his face still ashen in color.

  ‘How is he?’ asked Balum.

  ‘He’s still alive,’ said Doc Fryer. ‘That’s about all the good news right there. He lost a hell of a lot of blood. I gave him enough laudanum to put him to sleep for a while.’

  ‘He shouldn’t be getting any visitors, save for Charles, Will and myself. Anyone else comes calling on him, they’ve got bad intentions. I hate to put you in that situation doc, but it’s how it is.’

  ‘Part of the job,’ said Doc Fryer. He rested his hands on his hips and looked at Balum. ‘You need to get yourself some rest, son. Witney’s still out there somewhere and you won’t be much use if you ain’t well rested.’

  He was right, and Balum knew it. He could feel the tiredness and the stress in his bones and muscle. The nap he had just awoken from had scarcely made a dent. He made a long loop around town, his eyes peeled for Witney’s men. The streets were sparse of townsfolk, and after several blocks of rambling, he drifted back to Angelique’s place.

  He poured himself a glass of cactus wine from the bar and tossed it back. Angelique came out of her room and saw him hunched over the bar. She stood next to him and took his unshaven jaw in her hand.

  ‘You need to relax and take your mind off things.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Same advice Doc Fryer gave me.’

  ‘Come with me,’ she said, and took his hand in hers. ‘I’ll help you.’

  He woke in her bed in the morning, with the sun filling the room in its warm glow. Angelique slept naked next to him. He took one of her breasts in his hands and pressed his face to it, sucking on her soft nipples. Then he mounted her, and she guided his dick into her while still half asleep.

  When he had finished he dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen. The Danes had breakfast going. He scooped some eggs and bacon out of the cast iron skillet and patted Else on the rump while she scolded him.

  The town was quiet, nearly deserted. He made his way on foot to the jail. Inside, hanging on the inner door was the key ring to the interior cells. He lifted it from its hook and opened the door. The four live men in the jail cell sat in a row along the wall. In the other cell lay the two dead bodies, smelling something foul, alongside the two burlap bags of money.

  ‘What the hell is the idea, Marshal?’ said Teddy. ‘Somebody’s got to bury them bodies. It’s gettin’ to stinking in here. And what about our food, huh? We’re hungry in here, this ain’t no way to treat prisoners.’

  ‘I’ll give you this bootheel to eat if you don’t keep quiet over there.’

  ‘Ain’t we getting no trial or nothing?’

  ‘Soon as Cafferty comes back,’ said Balum.

  The banker stood and walked toward the cell bars. ‘When is that going to be?’

  ‘Why, that’s up to Cafferty. Until then, you boys rest easy,’ he said, and closed the door behind him. He locked it and put the key ring in his pocket.

  The townsfolk nodded in acknowledgment of him as he walked by. There wasn’t a soul in town who wasn’t filled in on the gossip. As unreliable as the stories were going around, the one truth they shared was that a man by the name of Balum had come to clean up town, Ned Witney being top of the list.

  He stopped in on Doc Fryer and found Charles sitting next to Joe’s bed. The color had returned to the man’s cheeks, and he slept in a motionless slumber.

  ‘What’s the doc say?’ asked Balum.

  ‘Says it’s going about as well as it can. Not much more to say.’

  ‘Town’s quiet.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What’s Will up to?’

  Charles laughed. ‘Spending his money. He ain’t even got it in his hands yet, and he’s out buying chaps, a new vest, new hat, you name it. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he’s at Ned’s Palace, holed up in a room with a girl. It’d be a dumb thing to do, but hey, when a boy’s got girls on the mind…’

  ‘What are your plans, Charles? Once this is over.’

  ‘It ain’t over yet, Balum. Until that son of a bitch Witney is buried, I don’t have time to be making plans.’

  Balum left to stroll about the town again. He felt almost like a local sheriff on the beat. He didn’t like it. A town had too many walls, and they closed up on a man like a jail cell. He walked to the livery and found it open, the liveryman busy at his chores. They chatted, and Balum explained why there were four new horses in the stalls, to which the liveryman was more than understanding.

  He saddled the roan and rode out of town to the east. It didn’t take long to come up to the railheads. There were no cars on the tracks and no folks around, and he stopped and looked about, having seen little of railway locomotion in all his life.

  He pulled a plug of tobacco out of his pocket and relaxed in the warm sun. It was nice to be away for a moment. He let his mind turn pensive, and considered his situation. He was rich now, or at least as rich as he had ever been. He thought of Angelique, and of Consuelo, and even let his mind drift back to Charlise and Cynthia of Bette’s Creek, and other women who had entered and exited his vagrant life.

  He spent nearly half the day roaming the plains east of Cheyenne. He saw a small cluster of buffalo and a sizable herd of antelope, and wished he had a rifle with him. Before the sun got too low in the sky he turned and rode back into Cheyenne.

  Opening the back door to Angelique’s place, he entered an atmosphere radically different than what he had known. The sound of a live piano came through the curtain, along with laughter, shouts, squeals of women, and clinking glass.

  He parted the curtain and stepped into the main room. It was absolutely filled with people. They lined the bar and filled the chairs and sofas and stood in every square foot of floor space available. There were girls everywhere, beautiful and half-naked, cavorting with the men and just as drunk.

  He stood stupefied against the wall. From within the crowd Angelique suddenly appeared, dressed in her finest, with her hair done up and her face painted in makeup.

  She laughed when she saw his face. ‘My girls are back!’ she exclaimed with a smile. ‘The Palace is closed.’

  Balum looked around at the jubilee. ‘The piano?’


  ‘They dragged it out of there,’ she said. ‘Witney is done for. Have you heard?’

  ‘Heard what?’ he asked over the noise.

  ‘The rest of his men picked up and left. They rode out this afternoon.’

  ‘What about Witney?’

  ‘He’s up at his compound by himself. A couple of his men rode through town before they left. They say he’s furious.’

  Balum nodded. He was somewhat overwhelmed at the news, and of the transformation of Angelique’s place. He turned toward the stairs and Angelique grabbed his sleeve.

  ‘I had to put your things in my room,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind. But...business is back.’

  He grinned at her. ‘I don’t think I can complain about having to share a room with you.’

  The place was so crowded there were people hanging out and drinking on the staircase. He squeezed through them, and suddenly came face to face with Will.

  ‘You old dog, Will,’ Balum said, and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Didn’t take you long to find the fiesta, eh?’

  ‘Me?’ said Will. ‘You’ve had it to yourself for too long, Balum. Time to share.’

  ‘Enjoy yourself. Stay off the drink though. Witney’s men may be gone, but he’s still around somewhere.’

  He pointed himself towards Angelique’s room and closed the door behind him. He took out his Colt Dragoon revolver and disassembled it and gave it a thorough cleaning. He reassembled it afterwards, then poured a measure of powder into each cylinder. He inserted a wad after the powder, then pushed a bullet down each cylinder until they were compact.

  He would have liked to go downstairs and have a few drinks and celebrate with the folks below, but he knew his weakness for temptation, and decided to heed the same advice he had given to Will. He placed the Dragoon in its holster and undressed. Although he did not feel tired, he soon enough fell asleep, and did not wake even when Angelique crawled into bed with him.

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