Outlaw Pass (9781101544785)

by West, Charles G.

  There was just a hint of softening in the gaze fixed so firmly on Adam as Finn made up his mind. Finally he spoke. “So you’re Shorty’s brother—I always called him Shorty.” He nodded his head as if to confirm the statement, while continuing to evaluate the stranger. “Bless me if you ain’t a bit taller than your brother.”

  “A bit, maybe,” Adam confirmed.

  “Your father must be a large man as well—John, I believe Shorty said his name was.”

  “Nathan,” Adam corrected, already impatient with the seemingly small talk. Then, judging by the expression on Finn’s face, he guessed that the little man was seeking to verify his legitimacy.

  “Right you are,” Finn said. “My mistake.” He continued to study Adam’s face for a few moments more before deciding to trust his instincts. “I’m sorry for my lack of hospitality,” he went on, speaking with the thick brogue of his native Ireland. “But I’ve had a few of Sheriff Ainsworth’s bullyboys snoopin’ around lately, and I have to keep an eye out for the back-shootin’ bastards. I expect they would have put a bullet in my back long ago, but they think I’ve got a cache of gold dust hidden somewhere around here. And their sneakin’ around ain’t found nothin’ yet.”

  “Well, I’m not interested in your gold,” Adam said. “I’m just concerned about Jake.”

  “I believe you,” Finn replied. “And now that you’re tellin me he’s missin’, I’m concerned as well.” He paused to recall the exact day Jake had left his camp. “It’s been two,” he started to say before changing his mind, “no, three weeks when he left here on his way to town—I think to see some little saloon girl he knew.”

  “He never got there,” Adam said. “I found the girl and she said he never showed up.”

  Finn didn’t respond at once. He could well imagine why Jake didn’t make it to Bannack. There were hundreds of gullies and rock piles between his camp and town. Jake’s body was no doubt lying in one of them. Finally he shook his head back and forth sadly. “I warned the boy to be careful, that Ainsworth’s men were still watchin’ the camp, waitin’ to see if I’m gonna pack up and try to sneak out. He’d already had a run-in with some of ‘em over the girl that came close to gunfire. If I hadn’t been there to talk some sense into his head, he wouldn’t have walked away from that. There were too many of ‘em. There are always too many of ‘em. He wouldn’t have had a chance. They ain’t the kind of men to forget somethin’ like that, and if somethin’ bad has happened to your brother, I’d be willin’ to bet they had a hand in it. I know that they threatened to kill Jake.” Finn paused again, watching Adam’s reaction to what he had just said. There was no change in the calm facial expression, but the big man’s eyes seemed to be looking right through him with a steel-blue intensity, causing Finn to sense the deep presence of a violent capability. The younger brother had demonstrated a rough and ready demeanor, willing to stand up to any challenge. But this solemn man standing before him now was the more lethal of the two, cold and calculating, with blood that ran as cold as Jake’s had hot.

  “Which trail did Jake take to town?” Adam asked.

  Finn turned to point. “At the mouth of the gully, then to the north, the way I always go to town. It’s a ride of about four miles. I ain’t been there since Shorty left. I don’t go no more than I absolutely have to. Sometimes, if some of Ainsworth’s boys see me in town, I’ll come back to find my camp all torn up, lookin’ for somethin’ they ain’t never gonna find.”

  Finn’s statement caused Adam to recall something Mutt had said, that the folks who had struck it rich were prisoners in the valley, afraid to try to take their gold out. The thought that was searing his brain, however, was the matter of Jake’s fate. He had to find out for certain what had happened to his brother, and he feared that it was too much to hope for that Jake was all right. Hidden by his stoic expression, a fire of rage was spreading through his veins as he thought of the free-spirited fun-loving younger man, and his fear of what might have happened to him. Life on the Triple-B, herding cattle, had never appealed to Jake. He was too much like a colt, yearning to stretch his legs. Maybe I’ll find the young colt, and all my worry will be for nothing, he thought. He turned to step back up in the saddle. “I’m much obliged to you, Mr. Finn,” he said as he wheeled the bay. “I’m goin’ to look for my brother.”

  Concerned for what Adam was going to find, Finn felt a deep compassion for the somber older brother. “You’re welcome to come on back here to camp for the night. It’s getting along in the afternoon and there won’t be much daylight left.” When Adam paused to consider the invitation, Finn went on. “Be less trouble if you leave your packhorse here while you’re lookin’,” he said.

  Adam paused to think it over. “’Preciate it,” he said after a moment. “I’ll take you up on that.” He dismounted again and took the packs off the roan, then hobbled it and left it to graze. “I’ll be back about dark if I don’t find somethin’ any sooner.”

  Adam had ridden about half of the four miles to the town, checking every gully and ravine he came upon, when the trail he followed took a sharp turn to avoid a deep ravine whose sides were thick with scrubby pines. Judging it too steep to risk riding down into the bottom, he dismounted and made his way down the slope on foot. It was here that he found the body, a little more than halfway to the bottom. It had caught on a sapling pine and was lodged there, swollen and decomposing. The shock of finding his brother in this way was enough to cause Adam to sit down hard on the slope in an effort to control his emotions. The advanced stage of decomposition made it difficult to identify the corpse as Jake’s. Had it not been for the shock of sandy hair, he might have held out hope that it was not his brother. When he had left Finn’s camp, he had tried to steel himself for what he might probably find, but no amount of discipline could prepare him for this crushing grief over seeing what they had done to Jake. Feeling a sudden weakness in his knees, he sat down beside the body, which had been stripped of everything except shirt and trousers—they even took his boots. Thinking what he was going to tell his father, he remained there for some time, remembering Jake on the last day he had seen him—so much alive and eager to start out for the gold fields. After a while, his grief began to turn to anger, and he knew he could not return to the Triple-B until those who had murdered his brother had paid with their lives. With his way clear before him now, he got to his feet and climbed back up to the top of the ravine.

  Finn was waiting for him when he returned. It was sooner than he expected, so the little Irishman presumed he had bad news to report. “You found him?”

  “I found him,” Adam replied, his impassive emotions now under control again. “I wanna borrow a pick and shovel to bury him.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Finn said.

  It was the hardest thing Adam had ever had to do. Bent in a permanent position around the tree trunk, the body had not been discovered by buzzards yet, but when he and Finn pulled it away from the tree, they discovered a whole colony of worms that were well into their macabre occupancy. The sight caused Adam to gasp involuntarily, sickened by the desecration of his brother’s body. Although able to maintain a grim face, he was barely able to control the fire of vengeance raging in his very soul. Finn realized there was nothing he could say that would console the big man, so he worked away in silence as the two of them dug Jake’s grave near the top of the ridge. When it was done, and Jake was in the ground, Finn watched as Adam collected some rocks to fashion a crude marker before attempting to offer his condolences.

  “I’m sorry,” Finn said. “That ain’t easy on you to find him like that.” When Adam made no reply, he asked, “What are you gonna do now? I expect you’ll be goin’ back to tell his father.”

  There was still no immediate reply from Adam, so deep was he in a mental whirlpool of sorrow and rage. Finn thought he had not heard his question and started to repeat it when Adam spoke. “Do you know any names?” he asked, obviously deep in thought. He looked up sharply at Finn. “Them that
threatened Jake?”

  “No, sorry,” Finn replied.

  Adam recalled the man whose nose he had broken in the saloon had been called Lon by his friends. “Was one a baby-faced little bastard named Lon Bridges?” Finn shook his head no.

  “Adam,” Finn was quick to comment, “you might not be thinkin’ straight at a time like this. It’s not just two or three men you’re dealin’ with; it’s closer to a hundred. They’re all connected. They know everything that’s goin’ on between here and Virginia City. There’s no sense in puttin’ yourself in danger. It won’t bring your brother back, and is likely to present your father with two dead sons. If you had a little altercation with Lon Bridges, they’re most likely already lookin’ for you. Go home, boy.”

  “If they’re lookin’ for me, then I reckon I’ll make it easier for ’em,” Adam said as he stepped up in the saddle. “But I don’t wanna bring any trouble your way, so I’ll pick up my packhorse and find me a place to camp.”

  “Hell, it’s close to dark now,” Finn said. “You might as well stay with me tonight. I ain’t noticed any of Ainsworth’s boys close to my place for a day or two, anyway. Give you a chance to get something to eat and rest your horses, maybe think a little bit more about what you’re gonna do.”

  “I’m obliged,” Adam said. “I ain’t particularly hungry, but I could sure use a cup of coffee.”

  Lon Bridges held a small mirror up before his face and stared at the reddish blue bruises around his swollen nose. “That son of a bitch!” he exclaimed when he gingerly touched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “He’s a dead man if I ever see him again.”

  “Big feller, totin’ a Henry rifle?” Jesse Doyle asked. “I’m bettin’ he’s the same son of a bitch ridin’ shotgun on the stage—killed Hawkins and Highsmith and that tall feller they brought with ’em. And Sykes is lyin’ in the cabin with a hole in his leg. The son of a bitch shot a hole in my new hat.” He scowled at the memory. “Damn it, I just bought that hat.”

  “Plummer’s gonna be mad as hell when he finds out you boys didn’t get that four thousand dollars,” Lon said. “He ain’t gonna be too happy about losing four men while you was at it. He’s the same jasper that killed Ned and Curly last night after he broke my nose. That’s six men he’s caused to go under since he came to town, countin’ Billy Crabtree, I reckon you could say, even if it was really that bitch that did poor Billy in.”

  “You reckon he might be a marshal they sent in here to try to clean up the town?” Doyle wondered aloud, then answered his own question. “Nah, Plummer’s a deputy marshal. They’da told him if they was sendin’ in another marshal.”

  “I’m thinkin’ he’s a hired gun the damn miners brought in,” Lon said, “and the sooner we shoot him down and hang his body up for ever’body to see, the sooner the proper citizens of Bannack are gonna see who runs this town.” He placed his fingertips tenderly on his bruised face again, and commented, “And I’d purely enjoy doin’ the job.” He was about to say more when one of the men outside the cabin called out that a rider was approaching.

  Lon and Jesse walked out to stand on the small stoop to see who had found his way through the narrow mountain pass to their hideout in the valley. “Oh, hell,” Jesse muttered when he recognized the figure sitting tall in the saddle. “It’s that new gunslinger, Briscoe, Plummer hired, come to collect Plummer’s share of that four thousand.”

  “He’s gonna be hotter’n a hornet with a toothache,” Lon said, at once thankful that he had not been in on the botched stagecoach holdup.

  “I can’t help that,” Jesse replied. “He wasn’t there when that whole job blew up in our faces. We wasn’t ready for no hired gun ridin’ shotgun.” He spoke with a show of bravado, but every member of Plummer’s gang held a healthy respect for Briscoe. Plummer’s special agent, Briscoe acted as a lieutenant for the crooked deputy marshal to the outlaws that worked for him. Plummer had a reputation for adeptness in handling a gun, but most of his men agreed that Briscoe was better. There had been some resentment at first because Briscoe did not ride routinely with the gangs that did the actual work of robbery and, in many cases, murder. They soon learned, however, that he wasn’t hired to be a road agent, and several men who had thought to hold out on Plummer were unfortunate to find out his real purpose. No one knew much about Briscoe’s background. There was some speculation that he had at one time been a lawman down Kansas way. Some said Plummer sent for him after Briscoe had participated in the massacre at Lawrence, Kansas, when riding with Quantrill’s Raiders. Those old enough to have any knowledge of that time knew there was an assassin named Briscoe who rode with Quantrill. But he was an older man, and had seemingly disappeared right after the Lawrence raid. Some thought him dead, but his body had never been found. “This feller’s too young to be that Briscoe,” Lon said.

  “Maybe this one’s old Briscoe’s ghost,” Jesse joked.

  “Maybe so,” Lon replied. “He’s sure as hell a loner—don’t hang around with anybody—just stays to hisself till Plummer sends for him.” All anyone knew for sure about Briscoe was that he was as lethal as a rattlesnake.

  “How do, Briscoe?” Lon called out when the tall rider sitting rigidly in the saddle approached close enough to hear his greeting.

  Briscoe nodded in reply, saying nothing until he rode up to the door and dismounted. Glancing about him, his gaze darting from the faces of the two men leaning on their saddles in front of the cabin, and back to focus on Jesse Doyle, he spoke. “Plummer says he’ll split the gold with you, and you can keep anything you took from the passengers.”

  “Well, now . . .” Jesse hesitated, reluctant to admit the failure of their mission. “Them things don’t always come off like we plan.” Seeing the immediate frown on Briscoe’s face, he hurried to explain. “We ambushed the stage just like we was supposed to, but we didn’t get no gold. It was a trap. That’s what it was. They was hopin’ we’d hold ’em up.” He continued to embellish as he related the incident. “Them miners hired themselves a gun hand from somewhere, and we was took by surprise—even had a whore with a pistol. She kilt Billy Crabtree, and that hired gun shot Rob Hawkins and Jim Highsmith, and that feller they brought with’em, before we knew what was what. Me and Sykes was lucky to get away. Hell, that feller shot the hat off my head and Sykes took a bullet in the leg.”

  “That ain’t all.” Lon stepped in. “He started up a row with me and the boys in the saloon last night.” He pointed to his face. “Caught me when I wasn’t lookin’. There wasn’t nothin’ I could do about it with a Henry rifle lookin’ me in the face. Then he snuck around the buildin’ and bushwhacked us. He got Ned Waits and Curly. Me and Junior was lucky to get away.” Briscoe made no remark, but leveled his critical gaze at Lon. “There ain’t no doubt but what them miners sent for the son of a bitch,” Lon went on. Then, hoping to escape Briscoe’s wrath, he boasted, “But you ain’t gonna have to worry about him much longer, ’cause I’m fixin’ to settle with him for bustin’ my nose.”

  There was no show of anger in Briscoe’s face as he listened patiently without interrupting either report, but then there was never any emotion in the stone-cold face of Plummer’s man. When he spoke, it was without passion. “You two are about the sorriest pieces of shit I’ve ever seen. I’ve got to go back and tell Plummer his men in Bannack got their asses whipped by one man with a rifle.” That, he decided, was the sum total of the explanations he had just heard. “Maybe your bunch ain’t the men to handle these jobs if you can’t take care of one man you claim is a hired gun.”

  “There ain’t no doubt about it,” Jesse protested. “What else could he be? The way he handled that rifle, it damn sure looked like he knew what he was doin’.”

  Not particularly impressed, Briscoe remarked, “Sounds like he mighta been bulletproof, too. Plummer probably figured you boys could handle a situation like that if it came along. Maybe he was wrong.”

  “Now, hold on a minute, Briscoe,” Jesse quickly responded,
not wishing to risk Plummer’s displeasure and possibly losing out on notices of future gold shipments from Virginia City. “Plummer ain’t had no cause to complain about our work before. Hell, give us a chance to kill this bastard before he decides to cut us off. Anybody can get caught by surprise once in a while. We’ll get him. Won’t we, Lon?” He turned to Lon for confirmation.

  “That’s a fact, Briscoe,” Lon replied. “He’s as good as dead, and them miners will know better’n to try somethin’ like that again.”

  Briscoe studied the faces of both men for a long moment while he considered their boasts. The report he took back to Plummer would no doubt decide their fate as far as members of this gang of road agents was concerned—and as in most cases of this nature, could mean their extermination. If they eliminated this gunman quickly, and without loss of any more of Plummer’s men, Plummer might forgive them this one botched robbery. “All right,” he finally decided, “I’ll give Plummer your side of it, and he’ll be waitin’ to hear that you took care of this gunman, whoever the hell he is, so business can get back to normal.”

  “’Preciate it, Briscoe,” Jesse said, obviously relieved. He looked at Lon and smiled, then glanced at the other two, who were listening to the conversation with more than a little interest, since it affected their immediate future. “We was just gettin’ ready to cook up some grub. You can unsaddle your horse and join us—start back in the mornin’.”

  “I’ll be startin’ back right now,” Briscoe announced unemotionally. “It’s a day and a half’s ride to Virginia City, and I don’t need to waste any time.”

  It was a typical response from the mysterious gunman. Briscoe never showed any signs of mixing with the other outlaws on a social basis. He was a loner, and it seemed to Jesse and some of the others that Briscoe thought himself too good to mingle with the rowdy bunch. “Ain’t you even gonna stay long enough to let your horse rest up a little?” Lon asked.