Rustlers

by Orrin Russell

He awoke much as he had the day before. The early morning sunrise shone softly through the window. Angelique lay next to him. He put a hand on one of her voluptuous thighs and ran his fingers over her skin. He could certainly get used to this type of morning.

  As he lay admiring her body something called his attention. He looked away from her and to the window. Something outside, something distinct. He rose and opened the window. The sound of a human voice carried across the thin morning air. A voice calling his name.

  He turned around. Angelique was awake now and had propped herself up on her forearm.

  ‘Do you hear that?’ she asked.

  ‘I hear it.’

  She looked at him from the bed.

  Balum had put his trousers on and was strapping his gun belt around his waist. He pulled his boots on and grabbed his hat from the rack.

  Angelique jumped off the bed and draped her robe around her. She followed him down the stairs. The Danes were up and had come out from their rooms. Balum did not go through the curtain. He walked to the front door and slid the bolt across.

  Before he left he turned to look at Angelique. There was no hug, or kiss, or reassuring word. Just those same cold, steely eyes that bore through him, the same as when he had first met her in that very room.

  He left her there and walked into the street. Witney’s voice called out from somewhere in the center of town. He cried out for Balum, the name accompanied by a string of profanities.

  Balum continued to walk. Witney’s shouting had woken the town, and faces were peering out windows and through doorways. No one was confused as to what was happening; they had been waiting for this for some time.

  Balum turned down the street that held the Rosemonte. Charles and Will stood on the front porch. Balum stopped and nodded. They nodded back, and he continued his march towards the center intersection from where Witney’s voice originated. Charles and Will followed on the boardwalk some fifty yards behind him.

  Before he reached the intersection where the jail and the Central Bank of Cheyenne stood, Witney turned the corner.

  He was tall, his face pockmarked, and thin. So thin, he looked like a skeleton dressed in clothes he had robbed from a well-dressed scarecrow. He wore a black broadcloth suit and black pants. Wrapped around his waist was a brown leather gun belt that held two guns low on each hip.

  They each stopped their movement at the sight of one another. The distance between them was as far as a man could throw a stone, but even at such a stretch Balum could see the anger twisted into the man’s face.

  ‘Balum?’ Witney shouted down the street.

  ‘That’s right, Witney.’

  Ned Witney did not respond immediately. His pockmarked face squinted at Balum.

  ‘You do not know who I am,’ he finally said.

  ‘I know you’re a man that hired a gang of killers, Witney. I know you arranged to have them rob our herd, and you sold that herd and pocketed the money yourself. I know you’re responsible for the death of one of my partners, and that you’re a scourge to this town.’

  ‘Well you can know something else you bitch-fucked curr!’ spat Witney. ‘I’m going to kill you and piss all over your rotten body.’

  The skeleton hand of Witney hung next to his holster. It moved suddenly, and like a snake coiled in defense, it struck, his gun appearing in his hand nearly instantaneously.

  Balum had no conscious thought of drawing. He only felt the strike of the Dragoon’s recoil in the base of his palm as the gun jerked from the gunpowder ignition.

  In the same moment he was spun and hurled to the ground. He cocked the hammer of his gun and lined another bullet up to the barrel and rose again to face Witney. The scarecrow man staggered towards him, and the two fired shots simultaneously. Balum’s left leg was knocked from under him, and he stumbled forwards. His thumb drew the hammer back yet again and he rose and heard the sharp whistle of a bullet scream past his ear followed by the blast of Witney’s gun.

  Balum leveled his Colt and fired again and Ned Witney fell into the dirt. Balum took a step and a sharp stab of pain shot through his leg, and he fell to his knees. He cocked his gun again, held in front of him as if it were an extension of his arm.

  But there was nothing to fire at. He felt hands on his shoulders and heard a voice above him.

  ‘He’s dead, Balum. Relax now, let’s get you to the doc.’

  Charles stooped and draped one of Balum’s arms across his shoulders. Will was on the other side, doing the same.

  The surge of adrenaline had momentarily prevented him from understanding what had happened. He knew he had fallen but did not understand why. He looked down at himself then, and saw his shirt stained with blood, and blood running down his leg from a hole in his trousers.

  His vision blurred. He let himself be carried through the streets, and soon he was being lain on a table in Doc Fryer’s kitchen. He felt hands at his sides, felt his shirt ripped off his chest, then coldness and biting pain in his side.

  ‘Never seen a bunch of boys liked to get shot as much as you fellas,’ he heard Doc Fryer say. ‘Took a beauty in the leg there too, didn’t you. Here, have a bit of this. Joe seems to like it well enough.’

  Balum opened his mouth and felt a thin syrup coat his tongue. He swallowed and rested his head back on the table.

  When he woke he did not know how much time had passed. He tried to remember, and when he did he realized this was not the first time he had woken. His bandages had been changed several times over and he remembered the taste of more syrup in his mouth. He looked around the room. Joe lay in the bed across the room, asleep.

  He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again Joe was sitting up in bed sipping on a bowl of bone broth.

  ‘How long have I been here?’ asked Balum.

  Joe put two fingers to the bandage on his neck and shook his head. Then he held up three fingers.

  ‘Three days?’ said Balum.

  Joe nodded.

  ‘You’ve gotta be kidding.’

  Joe shook his head.

  Doc Fryer heard Balum’s voice and came into the room. ‘Decided to wake up, have you?’ he drawled.

  ‘Have I really been here three days?’

  ‘Three days exact. For a while there I thought Joe would pull through and leave you behind. That bullet hit you square between your eighth and ninth ribs. Most likely nicked a piece of your liver. Any higher up and it would’ve got your lung, and that’d be it. Your leg now, that wasn’t any better. Hit your femoral artery. That’s one you don’t want to hit. You were squirting blood like a geyser, had to tourniquet it and cut you open even deeper to sew you up. You boys don’t die easy though,’ Doc Fryer let out a laugh, drawn out slow just like his speech. ‘And you drink that laudanum like it's whiskey.’

  ‘How about some of that bone broth? I’m starving.’

  ‘I’ll have my son fetch you a bowl. And there’s plenty of people want to come calling on you once you’re up for it.’

  ‘I’m up for it.’

  ‘Well I’ll send the word out then,’ said Doc, and left the room.

  The first visitors were Charles and Will. Seeing both Joe and Balum awake and drinking bone broth put them in good spirits, and soon they were jawing away at each other as if they were on the trail and nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

  Angelique came calling soon after. She curtsied politely to the men, and they took their hats off and stood and offered her a seat. It was only the second time they had seen her, and the first time she had been dressed like a man. Her hair done up now and dressed in one of her form-fitting dresses, they scarcely new where to look. They stammered and fidgeted for a moment, but Angelique was a professional at making men feel comfortable, and soon had them carrying on again in good spirits.

  Doc Fryer poked his head in the door and interrupted them. ‘US Marshal here to see you Balum. Should I tell him to come back?’

  ‘No, no. Send him in.’

  Pete Cafferty wo
re pressed clothing and carried himself as a soldier. He greeted each person in the room individually and asked Balum if he was comfortable discussing matters with everyone present.

  ‘I don’t mind at all, Marshal,’ said Balum.

  ‘When I left I figured I’d return to either a full jail cell or a stack of dead bodies. I got both. Heck, there’s even a jail cell full of dead bodies.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Balum. ‘Forgot about them.’

  ‘I had my doubts, Balum, and I expressed those to you. But by all accounts you took care of this mess as well as within the law as possible. I owe you my gratitude, and that of the federal government.’

  ‘Thank you Marshal. That’s much appreciated.’

  ‘That was a temporary position, Balum. But as you know, this country is short of law. And it’s not any man that can do the job. I’d like to extend a more permanent offering to you.’

  Balum sipped the broth. He looked at Cafferty over the rim of the bowl. ‘I don’t know, Marshal. I never really considered myself a lawman.’

  ‘Now’s the time to consider it.’

  Angelique stood up from her chair. The way she was dressed, and the striking image she presented made men take notice of any movement she made. She put a hand on Balum’s ankle and squeezed it.

  ‘You’ll have plenty of time to consider that later. Now it’s time to get better,’ she said. ‘We’ll get you back to my place and I’ll make sure you have everything you need.’

  Behind her sat Charles. Balum caught his eye, and his friend gave a smirk and slowly shook his head from side to side.

  Balum laughed. It hurt his ribs, but he laughed anyway. ‘I’m sure you will,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you will.’