When he stepped outside and helped himself to one of the Hemphills’ horses, Nick vowed that those folks wouldn’t suffer because of their generosity.
Nick didn’t have much doubt as to where he should go next. The only thing that concerned him was getting there in time.
TWENTY-ONE
The deputy’s fist slammed into Mather’s face, sending a spray of blood into the air. Marshal Bagley stood nearby with his thumbs hooked in his belt, watching as if he was getting bored of the sight.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Mather grunted.
Marshal Bagley shook his head impatiently. “You know damn well. The man we’re after was wounded. Wounded real bad. We know he came this way, so that only leaves three choices. If he was dead,” Bagley said while ticking off one finger, “we would’a found a body by now.”
Ticking off another finger, Bagley said, “He might’ve gotten away, but he would’a had to steal a horse or walk faster than any man could, or we would’a spotted him. And three, he got patched up somewhere. Let me tell you, there are men in Virginia City who don’t like that third one very much at all.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Mather said.
Leaning down to snarl in the old medic’s face, the deputy asked, “Then how come I seen you coming back in here carrying that case a while back?”
“I treat a lot of folks around here.”
“But none of them needed treatment,” Bagley pointed out. “I asked.” When he saw the old man wasn’t about to say anything, the marshal nodded to his deputy, who then delivered another punch to Mather’s face.
“They’re good people,” Mather said as he spat out a wad of blood.
“Who are?” Bagley asked. “All we want is the fugitive. We get him and we’ll forgive the rest.”
Mather reflexively glanced to the right-hand window of his front room. “None of the folks around here deserve any trouble,” he said.
“And they won’t get it from me, just so long as I have something to pass along.”
Hanging his head low, Mather said, “I heard mention of a name. It may be the man you’re looking for.”
“What was the name?”
“Nick Graves.”
“That’s better,” Bagley said with a smile. “Now, just tell me where you heard that name.” Seeing the old man turn to look the other way, Bagley glanced to his deputy and told him, “Make this old buzzard spit out who was hiding that fugitive. Remember, he don’t need his teeth to say it.”
Grinning like a kid that had been given the keys to a candy store, the deputy grabbed Mather by the shirt collar and hauled him over to the dining room. Weathering more than a few blows from the medic, the deputy threw the older man into a straight-backed chair and started pounding his fist into Mather’s face again and again.
Bagley remained in the living room and sat on the padded arm of the medic’s sofa. As he lit a cigarette, Bagley heard a horse racing toward the front of the house. Without disturbing his deputy, Bagley moved to a window and pulled the curtain to one side. He spotted the horse and recognized it as one of the animals that had been tied to the front of the Hemphill place.
The man climbing down from the horse wore a jacket that was just a bit too small for him and a hat that looked as if it had been trampled by an entire team of mules. His hands were bandaged and the ferocity in his eyes could have been seen from a mile away.
Walking to the front door, Bagley pulled it open and stepped outside. He clenched his cigarette between his teeth and rested his hand upon the grip of his holstered .45. He couldn’t see much more than the young rider’s face as he walked around his horse. “What can I do for you, boy?”
“You’re Marshal Bagley?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Nick Graves. I hear you’re looking for me.”
Bagley’s eyes widened and the cigarette dropped from his mouth as he quickly drew his pistol.
Unfortunately for Nick, the years of throwing hot lead for a living overpowered what had happened in the last few days. His instinct to shoot first won out and he brought up the shotgun that had been wedged under his arm. Although Nick managed to get his left hand under the barrel, his right hand fumbled at the trigger guard. He knew he would have trouble working the trigger, but he had no way of knowing how badly his aim would be compromised. In fact, Nick was barely able to hold onto the shotgun when it roared and bucked in his grasp. The fresh blood that had soaked through his bandages and smeared along the surface of the weapon didn’t help matters either.
Marshal Bagley dropped to one knee and hunkered down as the shotgun went off.
Nick moved forward and forced himself to aim the shotgun one more time. He got his left hand back into place and then situated his right as well. For a moment, he swore he could feel his missing fingers gripping the weapon tightly. The subtle motions of aiming weren’t right, however. He could feel that the moment he tried to sight along the barrel.
Bagley fired a quick shot at Nick, which only missed by an inch or two. “Get out here!” he hollered to his deputy. “Right now, goddammit!!”
Seeing the uncertainty flicker through Nick’s eyes, the marshal dove to one side and swung his .45 toward the younger man.
Nick dropped to the ground just as the marshal’s shot blazed over his head.
The front door swung open to reveal a surprised man with bloodstained fists. “Jesus!” the deputy said as he lifted the gun that was already in his hand. “You all right, Marshal?”
Sweat poured from Nick’s brow. It was the most rattled he’d ever been in a gunfight since the first time he’d fired at another man. His hands felt as if he was being forced, arms first, into a vat of melted iron. The panic in his heart mixed with the pain to fill his entire body.
Nick saw the deputy, but also saw Marshal Bagley in his line of fire. All but choking on his next breath, Nick fought through the pain and aimed the shotgun. The moment he pulled the trigger, he could feel the gun sliding through his hands. Without a firm grip on the stock or barrel, the shotgun tilted downward just before the hammer dropped.
The thunder of the shotgun blended in with the gut-wrenching scream from the marshal as a load of buckshot ripped through his leg just above the knee. Bagley dropped and pulled his trigger as quickly as he could until the .45 was empty.
Amid the flurry of return fire, Nick ran for the first piece of hard cover he saw. He dove behind the corner of Mather’s front porch and scooted down as far as he could. The porch was only about a foot and a half high, but Nick was able to get most of himself behind it while frantically digging for the extra shells he’d stuffed into his pocket.
Still firing at the porch, the deputy dragged Marshal Bagley toward his horse.
“Holy shit,” the deputy gasped. “Your fucking leg—”
“Just kill that son of a bitch,” Bagley snarled.
The deputy straightened up and took another shot at the edge of the porch. He then climbed up onto the porch and strained his neck to get a look along the other side of it. “I think he’s gone. Probably went back to them Hemphills. They’re the ones that patched him up before.”
“That squirrelly little prick,” Bagley snarled as he grabbed hold of his wounded leg. The moment he felt half of his leg hanging by a thick, meaty strand, he pulled in a hissing breath and took his hands away. “Go get that kid and kill anyone that stands in your way.”
“What about you, Marshal?”
“Just go!”
More than happy to look away from the gruesome sight of Bagley’s leg, the deputy mounted his horse and dug his heels into its sides. The animal let out a whinny and launched into a full gallop. Riding toward the Hemphills’ property, the deputy spotted Nick, headed in that direction.
Nick had been reluctant to leave, which was why he wasn’t that far ahead. When he heard the sound of someone following him, he brought his horse around. He’d already reloaded the shotgun, so he took it in his right hand and rest
ed the barrel along the top of his left arm. Even though his finger was still a little shaky upon the trigger, it was a bit easier to steady his aim while only using one damaged hand.
The deputy spurred his horse straight toward him and fired a shot, which hissed a few feet from Nick’s head.
Once the other horse was close enough, Nick pulled both of the shotgun’s triggers and unleashed its two barrels. The gun bucked up off of Nick’s arm and gave a thunderous roar that rolled through the air in all directions.
The deputy’s horse reared and kicked its front legs out while letting out a terrible scream, which was already fading by the time the horse keeled over. Although the animal caught most of Nick’s buckshot, the deputy in the saddle had gotten his share as well. He tossed himself wildly from the saddle, but wasn’t quick enough to keep from being caught underneath.
Nick walked over to the deputy while reloading the shotgun. “Who’d you tell about me?” he shouted.
“Don’t worry, asshole,” came the hurried reply. “Red’s gonna know soon enough where to find you! If I was you, I’d start riding for Mexico right now!”
“He’s gonna know? That means he doesn’t know yet.”
The deputy felt his stomach knot. He also felt his legs start to gain some leverage as he continued to wriggle out from beneath his dead horse. “If you hurt me, them folks that took you in will pay for it.”
“What did you say?” Nick asked.
The deputy sensed he’d gained some ground and nodded. “Marshal Bagley gave the order, his self. I told him you were holed up with them folks and he’ll bring hell down on them if you hurt his men. Ride off now, and—”
A blast from both barrels of the shotgun cut the deputy off in mid-sentence, while also nearly separating his head from his shoulders.
Nick looked down at the bloody mess and said, “Nobody’s gonna know I was here and they’re not gonna know who took me in.”
He fumbled through the motions of opening the shotgun and digging in his pocket for fresh shells, but his bandaged fingers didn’t find any. Nick tossed the shotgun and picked up the gun from the deputy’s hand. He tried to fish a few rounds from the dead man’s gun belt, but his fingers weren’t up to the task. Swearing under his breath, Nick kept at it until he’d gotten one bullet free of its leather loop. That brought the gun’s cylinder up to half capacity.
It would just have to be good enough.
Nick rode back to Mather’s house and discovered Marshal Bagley was still there. The lawman had pulled himself to his horse and was just starting his painful climb into the saddle when Nick arrived. The moment he saw who was coming toward him, Bagley looped one arm over the horse’s back so he could reach for his gun.
Nick knew better than to try and shoot at him from where he was. Although he knew he could hit the marshal on any other day, his fumbling with the shotgun had put him in his place. He climbed down from his saddle, carefully wrapped his hand around the pistol he’d taken from the deputy, and walked over to Bagley.
“I know who patched you up,” Bagley said. “You put that gun down or those folks will get a visit from Red’s Committee.”
There was no emotion in Nick’s face as he walked up to within five feet of the marshal. His hands may have been bloody and his fingers mangled, but his aim was good enough to keep Marshal Bagley from moving his gun arm one more inch.
“You fucking bastard,” Bagley spat. “No wonder them vigilantes are looking for you.”
“How long have you been taking orders from them?”
“Long enough to know it don’t pay to go against them. Besides, most of the assholes they string up got it coming, anyway.”
“Most? What about the Hemphills? What do you think will happen to them if you manage to tell Red they helped me?”
“You know…just as well as I do,” Bagley wheezed as his vision started to fade and his grip upon the side of his saddle loosened. “Red likes making…examples of folks like that.”
Nick flexed his mangled hands and muttered. “An example just like me.”
“Let me go…” Bagley pleaded. “I need a doctor. Let me…get to one and I’ll see what I can do about Red.”
Shaking his head solemnly, Nick said, “There’s only one thing to do about Red and I’m the one to do it. You’re just another crooked lawman who shits on the folks he’s supposed to protect.”
The marshal froze in his spot as he stared down the barrel of Nick’s gun. The color was already gone from his face after losing so much blood. Even now, it was getting harder to maintain his grip on his saddle. “The rest of my…men will come. They…must have…heard the shots.”
“Here’s one more for them to go by,” Nick said before pulling his trigger.
TWENTY-TWO
Arizona Territory
1884
A cheerful whistle drifted through the air. The man doing the whistling had gathered up an armful of dry wood and was stacking it in a ring of rocks to make a healthy campfire. Since he hadn’t wanted to mark his position until he was far enough away from anyone who might see him, this would be the first night that he could have something other than cold beans and jerked beef for supper.
The food was stacked up and ready to be prepared. A freshly killed rabbit lay nearby and he was ready to make a pot of coffee. As the sun eased its way down past the western horizon, the man settled into a spot beside his crackling fire and kept whistling.
He was mistaken about one thing, however.
He wasn’t too far for anyone to see him.
The two men who crept up to his campsite just didn’t make any noise.
J. D. drifted from one tune into another while his hands busied themselves cleaning the rabbit and placing the meat over the flames. When he turned around to get the bag of coffee beans he’d left in his saddlebag, he saw one of the men crouched not too far away.
“Who the hell?” J. D. snapped as he went for the gun at his side. Behind him, he could hear the subtle brush of iron against leather as the second man drew a pistol and put it against the back of his head.
“Such a nice night,” Nick whispered. “No need to ruin it with gunshots.”
Letting out an aggravated sigh, J. D. let his gun slide from his hand and into his holster. “If you want to rob me, you’re not gonna find much.”
“I know. You did just get out of jail, after all.” J. D.’s eyes widened as he started to turn around. The man behind him backed up a bit, but kept his weapon drawn. When he saw Nick’s face, J. D.’s knees buckled and he landed with his backside in the dirt.
“You let me go and I left,” J. D. said quickly. “I answered your questions! What the hell else do you want from me?”
Nick sat down as Joseph moved up behind J. D. When Joseph took the pistol from J. D.’s holster, he got no resistance. Nick lowered his gun.
“I came up with a few more questions. We’d like to know where you’re going,” Nick said.
“I thought I might go into Old Mexico. Seems to be a lot safer down there.”
“Is that where your friends are headed?”
“I’m alone.”
“You know why that is?” Nick asked. “Because the only people who use this trail are either lost or on the wrong side of the law. You’re riding to catch up with some of your friends.”
“Look around! I’m alone!”
“For now,” Joseph grunted. J. D. shifted to get a better look at Joseph now that he was closer to the fire. When he saw Joseph’s face, he scowled and shook his head. “Goddamn gravedigger needs to hire on some help just to keep me from eating my dinner.”
Joseph’s free hand snapped forward and knocked the hat off of J. D.’s head. Grabbing a handful of J. D.’s hair, Joseph nearly wrenched the man’s head off as he forced J. D. to look at him again. “I’m not a hired gun. I’m the man that your friends tried to kill. Those same friends of yours killed my family.”
“As you can see,” Nick said, “my partner here is a little upset. He’d
like nothing more than for me to walk away and let him find some creative ways to put different parts of you into that fire.”
J. D.’s muscles slackened and his voice rose to a high-pitched whine. The more he talked, the closer he sounded to breaking into tears. “I already told you about Dutch and where they were headed. What more do you want from me?”
“We heard the rest of your gang were using this trail,” Nick said. “So that means there was more you could have told me before. I want the rest of it.”
“Like what?”
“Like the names of the places where the rest of the gang is going to pick up your new members.”
J. D.’s mouth moved, but no words came out. Judging by the look on his face, even he was impressed as to how much Nick had learned. When he felt Joseph’s grip tighten on his hair, J. D. sputtered, “Pe—Perro Negro!”
“Where’s that?” Nick asked.
“A day or two ride east of here, farther into Arizona.”
“Where are they headed from there? You might as well lay it all out for us, because if we need to track you down again…”
“San Trista, and then they’ll hit a ranch called the Busted Wheel.”
“Is that the place near Dos Rios?” Nick asked.
“Jesus Christ, who told—”
Joseph shook J. D.’s head as if he was trying to shake something loose from his ears. “Is it?” he shouted.
“Yes! Yes!” J. D. squealed. “The man who owns that place is supposed to have a stash of gold hidden away. It’s left over from the strike that let him buy up so much land.”
“Dutch found himself another source of information, huh?” Joseph snarled. “Is that it?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“And killing the folks there is just a means to an end? That’s how you assholes work, isn’t it?”
J. D. squirmed as he tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t buy him a close-up look at his campfire. Unable to find one, he merely clenched his eyes shut and let out a whimper. When the gun barrel touched his head once more, the next thing J. D. felt was the warm flow of urine down the inside of his leg.
Man From Boot Hill Page 13
