Gambling on the Outlaw

by Margaret Madigan

  “I’d be happy to see him dead for what he did to me, but my first priority is Beth.”

  “You seem to have a lot of concern for Beth.”

  I shifted my weight. I did have a lot of concern for Beth, and because of that I didn’t have time for this conversation. I thought I could hear hoofbeats in the distance.

  “She thought he’d free me if she agreed to marry him.”

  “So you’re in love with her.”

  “Listen, are you going to help me or not? I need to get into the house and get her out.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “I’ll be sure you’re paid what Beth owes you.”

  “She already refused to pay me.”

  “She’s not me. I make a deal, I see it through.”

  He watched me, considering my offer, but he must have seen something in my face that earned his trust. “All right, we’re in. You want to put the gun away?”

  I lowered it, but didn’t put it away. Devol stood and approached me, offering his hand.

  “I always shake on a deal,” he said.

  I took his hand and looked him in the eyes. “I won’t break the deal, Devol.”

  “I know you won’t. What’s the plan?”

  By then we could all hear the sheriff and Summers approaching.

  “You stay out here and buy me some time. I’m going into the house. You won’t be able to keep them out, just slow them down.”

  He nodded his understanding.

  “If I don’t survive, tell Beth I promised you’d be paid. Tell her it was my last request.”

  I didn’t stay for more conversation. Instead, I hurried along the tree line, then choosing speed over stealth, I ran across the open yard to the side of the house—the same route I’d taken the last time I’d come to kill Dearborn. This time my mission was different, and I wouldn’t fail.

  I sneaked around the front of the house to the porch in an act of déjà vu, and once on the porch I made sure the gun was ready. I had no idea what to expect on the other side of the door, but the likelihood was good I’d take Dearborn by surprise—and that was exactly where I wanted him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ~Beth~

  I sat down to supper across the table from Clay, who chatted with Reverend Miller. I had to assume they’d come to whatever arrangements were necessary because the conversation had turned to funding a new steeple for the church. Having no interest in the topic, I tuned it out and checked the clock on the wall. It was 7:50—four hours and ten minutes before Isaac was released, assuming Clay kept his word.

  Juanita set a bowl in front of me. It was a hearty bean-and-ham soup, and the salty smell of the pork made my mouth water. I scanned through my memory of the day and I couldn’t remember when I’d eaten last. With food in front of me now, my stomach rumbled in protest.

  The first bite was warm and rich. When Juanita returned with a basket of bread and fresh butter, I took her hand in mine.

  “This is wonderful, Juanita.”

  Her eyes opened wide and her surprise was palpable, but then she smiled. I doubted Clay ever complimented her, if he even noticed the quality of the food she prepared for him. If I was going to be stuck here for a while, having Juanita as an ally would be to my benefit. It could make life easier, and if all of her cooking was as good as the bean soup, meals may be the brightest point of every day.

  “Gracias,” she said and patted my hand before heading back to the kitchen.

  I reached for bread and butter, lost in thought about how I could best avoid Clay on a daily basis, when the front door burst open and Isaac stepped inside, his gun drawn.

  I dropped the knife I’d been using to butter my bread and about choked on the beans and ham I was in the midst of swallowing.

  Isaac’s face was a mask of controlled rage. He was the picture of steely resolve, so different from the affectionate, caring man I’d come to see him as.

  Reverend Miller gasped and in a move reminiscent of Lydia, his hand flew to his throat.

  Clay, however, jumped from his seat and in lightning speed had his gun drawn and pointed at Isaac. I hadn’t even been aware he was wearing a gun, but to be fair I hadn’t paid any significant attention to him most of the day.

  “You are a stubbornly difficult man to be rid of,” Clay growled. He moved around the table in my direction.

  “I could say the same of you,” Isaac said, slamming the door behind him as he approached us through the sitting room.

  “I’m going to have to take Dawson to task for his poor prisoner management,” Clay said.

  “He should be here soon, though I suspect Devol will slow him down some. You can stop right there.”

  Clay halted his progress. He was nowhere near Isaac, but he was within reach of me, so he grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me from my chair.

  “I suppose you’re here for her?” He pulled me in front of him. I stumbled, nearly tripping on my chair.

  “Let her go,” Isaac said, his voice deep and even. And icy cold.

  “She belongs to me, now.”

  I struggled against his grip. It was tight, and his fist pulling my hair burned my scalp. I shoved the chair out of my way, knocking it sideways and sending it tumbling.

  “The hell I do,” I said. “You said Gil was going to free him at midnight. Either Gil got antsy and let him go early, or you lied to me.”

  He laughed behind me. “You’re such a stupid girl. Did you really think I’d let him go? You’re a gullible fool if you did.”

  “You told me you’d take me to town so I could confirm you’d let him go.”

  “He would have been picked up again outside of town.”

  “You’re a lousy piece of work, Clay,” I said. I’d known any deal with Clay could go wrong, but I’d trusted I covered all the angles well enough to give Isaac a good chance at getting away. I’d also hoped that by giving Clay everything he wanted, he would honor the deal.

  Clay pointed his gun over my shoulder, using me to steady his hand. There was no way I’d let him shoot Isaac. In one swift move, I swiped my knife from the table and swung it behind me, stabbing at whatever part of Clay I could reach. I didn’t even know if I’d make contact until I heard a satisfying grunt and his grip on my hair loosened.

  He pulled the trigger but by then his arm had lurched upward and the shot went wild. I ducked away from him and all hell broke loose.

  Before I hid behind a sideboard I noticed that Isaac had taken cover behind a sofa, from where he shot in the direction of the dining room. Clay’s cover was the dining table, and Reverend Miller lay flat on the floor, on the other side of the table, with his hands over his head.

  Clay and Isaac traded shots, even though neither had any hope of hitting the other.

  “You’ll never get out of here alive,” Clay taunted.

  “As long as I kill you first, it makes no difference to me,” Isaac said and punctuated the statement with another bullet.

  After the initial shock and fear, the whole thing turned pointless quickly. I counted rounds until they needed to reload. When they finally paused, I launched myself into the middle of the field of battle.

  “The two of you need to stop this nonsense,” I said.

  “Get out of the way, Beth,” Isaac said.

  “I’m glad the two of you decided to take a break from all the shooting.” I recognized Silas’s voice as he opened the door and strode into the room as if he’d been invited. Avery and Clem followed close behind, and all three of them had guns drawn.

  What surprised me, though, was when Gil and Summers sauntered in behind them, their guns drawn as well. Gil had a bleeding wound in his shoulder that was patched with a hasty bandage.

  In the yard outside the house, I could see a crowd of Clay’s men milling around. Undoubtedly they’d heard all the shooting and wondered what had happened. Some of them stood on tiptoe, trying to get a look inside.

  “What’s going on, boss?” one of them yelled. �
��You need our help?”

  “I got it under control. Get lost,” Clay bellowed.

  Gil slammed the door after that.

  It crowded even the large room to be filled with all these men and it would be an amusing picture if not for the seven loaded guns pointed in all directions. Isaac stood from behind the sofa and after just a moment of hesitation, pointed his gun at Clay. Silas’s gun was aimed at Clay, but Avery and Clem covered Gil and Summers. Gil aimed at Isaac and Summers aimed in the general direction of Silas and his men. I stood in the middle of it all.

  The tension in the air was palpable. One wrong move and the room would turn into a shootout.

  “You’ll never get away with this,” Clay said, using that pause while everyone sized up everyone else, to close the few steps between us and grab me from behind again.

  I struggled to get out of his grasp, but he held tight, so I stomped on his toes with the heel of my boot. He grunted, then tightened his grip on my hair and pulled my head back, straining my neck. He needed me as a shield, so he wouldn’t kill me, but if I kept struggling, he’d be sure I hurt. I’d have to watch and wait for my opportunity to get away from him.

  From the corner of my eye I saw the grim look on Isaac’s face as he watched Clay yank me around. I just hoped Isaac could keep his cool. I didn’t want him to make a wrong move because he was worried about me.

  “You don’t know what we’re trying to get away with, yet,” Silas said.

  “I suppose you still expect me to pay you? Is this still about your money?” Clay spat the words loaded with disgust.

  “I’ll take Beth, too.”

  Clay huffed a chuckle. “No. I’m not paying you and you’re not taking Beth.”

  “How do you think this’ll end for you, anyway?” Isaac asked. “We’ve got the advantage now.”

  Silas slanted a sideways glance at Isaac. “I’m sorry, but there is no ‘we.’ You and I are not partners beyond the agreement to deal with these men.” He waved his gun in the general direction of Gil and Summers. “We slowed them down, just like you and I agreed. Beyond that, I’m here for my own purposes. You’ll have to get through me and everyone else here to accomplish your own agenda.”

  Gil snickered. “You may have had a fair reputation as a gunslinger, but no way you can take all of us before we kill you.”

  Isaac looked none too happy with Silas for putting him in such a bad position, but didn’t take his eyes off Clay when he answered Gil. “I don’t need to take all of you. Just you and Clay.”

  Gil’s humor cooled when he realized Isaac was right. If he and Clay were gone, Summers wouldn’t be willing to give his life, not with a pregnant wife. And Silas, Avery, and Clem wouldn’t shoot unless shot at.

  “You won’t shoot at Clay as long as Beth’s in the way,” Gil said.

  “Then you should probably be worried about now,” Isaac said.

  I watched the color drain from Gil’s face, and then return as he flushed with anger. He raised his gun higher, steadying his aim on Isaac.

  “Looks like you’re in a pickle, Collins,” Clay said. “You’ve got two guns on you. No matter how good you are, you can’t shoot us both before one of us kills you.”

  Isaac didn’t have a chance to respond. Clay extended his gun hand over my shoulder again. He pulled back the hammer, and I squeezed my eyes shut and flinched as he pulled the trigger. There was shuffling and scrambling and yelling. The roar of Clay’s gun shot pain through my ear, and I screamed. I heard a grunt on the other side of the room. With so many targets, hitting one was as easy as shooting fish in a barrel. My fear was that he’d been aiming at Isaac.

  If Clay hadn’t been holding me in place by my hair, I would have collapsed to the floor, which was probably a safer place to be—down there with the reverend. Instead, I scrambled to keep my feet and opened my eyes, searching to see who’d been hit. It was Clem. He was down. I couldn’t tell if he was dead or not, but he wasn’t moving and it didn’t look good.

  Silas glanced down at Clem, then back to Clay. “Now you owe his family for killing him.”

  I’d expected once Clay let loose with a shot, everyone else would, too, but maybe, just maybe there was a lick or two of sense between the other men in the room.

  Clay cocked his gun again, and as if he’d meant to shoot Clem and not Isaac, he said, “You still think you have the advantage?”

  I’d had enough. I wasn’t going to stand by while Clay picked off everyone in the room, especially Isaac. Not after everything I’d done to prevent it.

  “You’re all a bunch of fools if you think this will end well,” I said.

  “My chances are looking good,” Clay said.

  “That’s only because you’re coward enough to hide behind me,” I shot at him over my shoulder. “Ask Clem how he’s feeling about the odds of survival without a human shield.”

  Isaac smirked. “So what do you suggest, Beth?”

  “I have an idea how we can settle this,” I said.

  “Oh really. Just what makes you think any of us cares about your ideas?” Clay yanked my head back so it rested on his shoulder and he sneered at me from the side.

  “If you’re so brilliant, then, how do you think this is going to play out?” I asked. “The six of you standing here pointing guns at each other is childish. If everyone pulls the trigger, the chances of surviving are almost zero. If you keep shooting until you run out of bullets, and by some miracle you survive, then what?”

  “She has a point,” Silas said, his tone only slightly less condescending than Clay’s, but he seemed sincere. “What’s your idea?”

  I took a deep breath and answered him. “We play poker.”

  Clay’s laugh was more of a bark of derision than anything. “Why would I agree to that? I already hold all the cards. I’ve got you to protect me from their bullets—if they even dare to fire on us—and this is my home. I can just wait them out.”

  “For one thing, I’m not willing to play along. I’m done being your shield, and if you think after this I’ll still marry you, you’re dead wrong. Plus, I’ll put up my property and the gold mine.”

  “You think you’re going to play? Poker is a man’s game.”

  “Seems to me like I’ve got a stake in how all this turns out, so I’m playing.”

  Silence descended over the room as the men considered the proposition. I smiled because despite their initial contempt for my idea they hadn’t dismissed it outright, and that meant they’d eventually agree to it. They were easy to read.

  “You know I’m always willing to play poker,” Silas said, “but how do you figure this game would work? What do we all have to bet with?”

  I jabbed my elbow into Clay’s ribs, hoping to hit the same spot I’d stabbed him earlier. He grunted and his grip loosened. I pulled away from him only to find myself in the middle of a circle of muzzles pointed in my general direction.

  “First, everybody lower your weapons. Let’s call at least a temporary truce so we can discuss this.”

  They all glared at me, then each other. Suspicion and doubt was thick in the air.

  “For the love of the Lord, please, lower your weapons and hear her out,” Reverend Miller said.

  Everyone’s gaze shot in his direction. I’d forgotten he was there, but he stood by the table, his dignity somewhat restored.

  “If there’s a way to resolve this without murdering each other, you should take it,” he said.

  Silas was the first to lower his weapon. “They’re right. None of us can win a gunfight in a space this small with so many bullets flying. Poker is a much more civilized solution, assuming we can all agree on rules and we swear on our honor to abide by them.”

  “You’re making an awfully big assumption that everyone in this room even has any honor,” Isaac said.

  When nobody else lowered their guns, I said, “Reverend, would you please go around the room and collect all the weapons?”

  He nodded and did as I asked. As he approa
ched each man, starting with Summers, they uncocked their weapons and handed them over.

  When it was down to Clay and Isaac, the reverend approached Clay.

  “Him first,” Clay said.

  “Oh for pity’s sake,” I said, marching over to Isaac and holding out my hand. “On the count of three the two of you hand your guns over at the same time. One, two, three.”

  They both did, and I handed Isaac’s gun to the reverend who took the load into the kitchen to find a place to stash them.

  “Now maybe we can talk with cooler heads,” I said. “First of all, we need to decide who will be playing. The way I see it, those of us who have a stake in this fight—in this game—are Clay, Isaac, Silas, and me.”

  “I’m playing,” Gil said.

  “Why?” Isaac asked. “Everyone here knows you’re just Clay’s lackey, huddled up in his back pocket.”

  Gil’s face fumed red again at the insult. “I am not in Clay’s back pocket. I’m a respectable lawman.”

  Isaac, Clay, and I all laughed.

  “What’s the point of you playing, Gil?” I asked. “What do you want that any of the rest of us can give you?”

  He fidgeted as he thought, then glancing at Clay he said, “I ain’t beholden to Clay. He doesn’t own the badge by any means,” which intuition led me to believe meant exactly the opposite. “But he’s leaned heavily on me trying to influence the law around Palmer. I want Clay off my back.”

  “What do you have to offer?” I asked.

  He looked at Isaac, then back at me. “I have plenty of money.”

  “Not enough,” I said.

  “I can make Collins’ conviction go away by giving up the real killer.”

  That was a big confession. Even though I already knew who it was, it still surprised me that he’d offer that up.

  “Assuming you know someone other than Collins committed the crime, and you knew but didn’t speak up to keep an innocent man from being convicted, wouldn’t that make you complicit?” Clay asked, his voice heavy with warning.