Thal had been struck dumb by his brother’s timely appearance. Everything about him was different, from the fancy clothes to his sinister manner. “Myles,” he said, and managed to smile.
“It’s been a while.”
“It surely has,” Thal said. “We heard you got shot, and the whole family was so worried they sent me to find you.”
“Save that,” Myles said. He turned back to the hard cases, and the ice returned to his steely blue eyes. “Now, where were we?”
“Nowhere,” Simpson said. “Zant and me will back off and leave these three be. We didn’t know he was your brother. Honest to God, we didn’t.”
“That’s true,” Zant said. “We were only standin’ up for Sal here.”
“So you’ve said.” Myles fixed his gaze on her. “You put them up to gunnin’ him.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Now, hold on,” Sagebrush Sally said, trying hard to show she wasn’t afraid. “It’s not like any of us gals haven’t done this before. Anything goes, remember?”
“My own brother,” Myles said.
“It’s all right,” Thal said, thinking to end it. “No harm was done.”
“Only because Bull happened to find me in time.”
“Look here,” Sagebrush Sally said, placing her hand on Myles’s jacket. “Like your brother says, no harm was done. Mr. Galt would say the same.”
“You’re thinkin’ for him now, are you?”
Sagebrush Sally swallowed and licked her lips. “Sheathe your claws and I’ll buy drinks for everybody and we can all be friends.”
“Now you’re tellin’ me what to do.”
“Oh God,” Simpson said.
“Shotgun, please,” Sally said. “Quit being a bastard about this.”
Myles clubbed her. He slammed the scattergun against her temple and she folded at his feet without so much as a whimper. It happened so fast, she was on the floor before anyone could blink.
“Myles?” Thal said.
“Oh God, oh God,” Simpson said. He extended both hands, palms out. “We’re sorry, you hear? We didn’t know and we’re sorry. Let us go. We’re not about to try and draw on you. Look. My hands are empty.”
“Mine aren’t,” Myles said, and shot him. The boom of the scattergun was like a cannon in the confines of the saloon. At the blast, the top of Simpson’s head exploded and his hat went flying. The body toppled with a thud, and Myles turned to Zant. “That leaves you.”
Zant was staring at his dead partner. Anger was taking hold, and he growled, “You had no call to do that.”
“You brace my brother, you answer to me.”
“We didn’t know!” Zant roared, and coiled. “You and the airs you put on. Like you’re God Almighty with that shotgun.”
“I’m givin’ you your chance, aren’t I?”
To Zant’s credit, he didn’t flinch. “I’ll be damned if I’ll cower to you like Simpson did.”
“Good for you,” Myles said.
Everyone in the saloon had frozen, one man in the act of laying a card on a table, another with a glass halfway to his mouth. Not so much as a muscle twitched.
“I’m waitin’,” Myles said.
“Someone should fetch Mr. Galt,” Zant said. “Let him decide whether you’re in the right or not.”
“Right has nothin’ to do with it,” Myles said. “You know that better than anyone. Quit stallin’ and get to it.”
“Bull, what do you say?” Zant called out, grasping at a straw.
“No, you don’t,” Bull replied. “You’re not draggin’ me into this. It’s between you and him.”
“I’ll count to three,” Myles said.
“Hold on,” Zant said. His anger had faded and he was staring at the scattergun as if it were a snake that was about to bite him. “How about I pay you to let me leave?” An idea seemed to occur to him, and he brightened. “Or better yet, how about I pay your brother for the inconvenience I caused?”
“Is that what you call it?”
“That’s fair, ain’t it?” Zant said. “I have pretty near sixty dollars on me. It’s all his if you’ll let me go.”
Thal felt he had to say something. “I don’t need his money. This is over as far as I’m concerned.”
“Me too,” Zant said eagerly.
“There’s more involved than you, big brother,” Myles said. “This is about respect.”
“I respect you, Shotgun,” Zant said quickly. “I truly do.”
“But you see,” Myles said with deceptive calm, “if folks hear you braced my brother and I didn’t do anything, they won’t respect me. And I can’t have that. I can’t have that at all.”
“Don’t make me beg.”
“You disappoint me, Zant,” Myles said. “I thought you were tougher. But I reckon you’re one of those who’s only tough when he’s pickin’ on those who aren’t.”
Thal realized his brother was referring to him.
“I’ll count to three and we’ll get this over with,” Myles said. Then, in a staccato rush, “One, two, three.”
Zant tried. He clawed for his revolver, a Smith & Wesson, and almost jerked it clear.
Myles shot him square in the chest.
At that range, the twelve-gauge lifted Zant off his feet and flung him like a rag doll. He crashed into the wall, and opened his mouth as if to scream. His limbs thrashing spasmodically, he sank into a crumpled heap, leaving a scarlet smear in his wake.
“And that’s that,” Myles said, breaking open the scattergun to reload.
Thal, like everyone else, scarcely breathed. His brother—his very own brother—had just murdered two men, and clubbed a woman besides. It didn’t seem real.
Myles turned to the onlookers. “What are you gapin’ at? Get on with what you were doin’.”
As if a cord had been cut, movement resumed, and the buzz of conversation, more subdued than before, filled the air.
“Nice goin’,” Bull said to Myles, and chortled. “I never did care for Zant much. He acted too big for his britches.”
“Would you see to the bodies so I can talk to my brother?”
“Be glad to,” Bull said.
Myles, smiling, offered his hand to Thal. “I can’t tell you how happy this makes me. You comin’ all this way on my account.”
It felt odd to Thal, shaking his own brother’s hand. He smothered an urge to hug him, as he had sometimes done when they were kids. “Ma and sis were awful worried.”
“Hold on a minute,” Myles said, and turned so his back was to the wall and he could see everyone in the saloon. Extracting the spent shells, he slid a new shell from an inside pocket and inserted it. He did the same with a second shell, snapped the shotgun closed, and fondly ran his hand along the twin barrels.
“When did you take up a shotgun?” Thal asked.
“I’ve taken up a lot of things,” Myles said. He patted the scattergun. “I’m partial to slugs. Buckshot spreads too much.”
Thinking that Myles did it to spare bystanders from being wounded or killed, Thal remarked, “It’s good you’re so considerate.”
“Considerate, nothin’,” Myles said. “A slug weighs a lot more than buckshot. Hit a man with an ounce of lead and he goes down. You should remember that from when we used to go huntin’ together.”
“We shot birds and other game,” Thal said, and looked at the two bodies. “We never shot people.”
“That was then,” Myles said.
Several doves were helping Sagebrush Sally to stand. She was woozy, and would have fallen without their support. As they led her off she glared at Myles but had the presence of mind not to say anything.
“Bitch,” Myles said.
“You’ve changed, brother,” Thal said.
“It’s called growin’ up,” Myle replied. “
We all do it.” He cradled his scattergun. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friends and I’ll treat the three of you to drinks?”
Thal went through the motions mechanically. He was more than a little bewildered by the turn of events. The brother he remembered wasn’t the same as this man standing in front of him. The brother he remembered would never have done what Myles just did.
“We have a lot of catchin’ up to do,” Myles was saying. “How about if I see you to a hotel and then we take in the sights?”
“I’m obliged,” Thal said, “but we’re sort of short on funds.”
“It will be on me.”
“You’re doin’ that well, are you?”
“Big brother,” Myles said, “I’m doing more than well.” He gave a light laugh. “I’m the terror of this town, and I love it.”
Chapter 24
Thal’s brother wasn’t exaggerating.
It was soon apparent that a lot of people were in fear of him. Those who got in Myles’s way were quick to get out of it. Fingers were pointed, tongues wagged. At first Thal thought it might be because Bull had tagged along, and Bull’s size was enough to draw attention. But no, he soon realized his brother was the attraction. The notorious Shotgun was as famous in American City as, say, Wild Bill Hickok was everywhere else.
Myles was in a jovial mood. He asked after their ma and their pa, and talked about the old days growing up on the farm.
For a while, Thal almost forgot that his brother had bucked two men out in gore. Almost.
Ned was uncommonly quiet. He hung back with Crawford, and only spoke if Thal addressed him.
Five blocks from the Devil’s Due Saloon stood the Manor House Hotel. Decked out in Eastern finery, it boasted a chandelier and a rare cleanliness in that neck of the world. The desk clerk and the rest of the staff wore uniforms with a lot of gold braid.
Myles led them to the front desk. “I need three rooms,” he announced.
The clerk was scribbling on a paper and didn’t look up. An older man with gray around the ears and a salt-and-pepper mustache, he answered, “Sorry, but we’re fill up.”
“You’d better think again, Conner,” Myles said.
The desk clerk snapped upright and the whites of his eyes showed. “Mr. Christie! I didn’t know it was you.”
“Three rooms,” Myles said, and indicated Thal and his companions. “One for my brother and each of these others.”
Conner coughed and consulted the hotel ledger. “There are a couple of drummers who checked in this evening that I can throw out. I’ll claim there was a mix-up and their rooms had already been reserved.”
“Whatever you have to,” Myles said.
“Let me see,” Conner said, running a finger down a page. “I don’t know who else I can evict without them raising a fuss.”
“No need for that,” Thal said. “Ned and me will take one room, and Crawford can have the other.”
“Are you sure?” Conner said.
“When I said three,” Myles said, “I didn’t mean two.”
Conner colored and coughed and bent to the ledger again. “There’s that actress who is so fond of herself. She can stay at the Ruby Theater. I know for a fact they have rooms at the back.”
“That’s settled, then,” Myles said. “We’ll be back in a couple of hours. Have the rooms cleared by then.”
“Yes, sir.”
As they emerged from the hotel, Bull chortled. “I like how you put that old fussbudget in his place. I wish folks were as scared of me as they are of you.”
“Kill a few more and they will be,” Myles said.
Half afraid that his brother wasn’t joking, Thal asked, “How many have you put slugs into with that cannon of yours?”
Myles shrugged. “I don’t count anymore. Mr. Galt tells me to shoot someone, and I shoot them.”
“You’re an assassin?”
“I’m a special deputy,” Myles said. “So is Bull. There are six others like us who uphold the law.”
“Is that were you were doin’ at the saloon?”
“Don’t start on me, Thalis,” Myles said. “I’m not little anymore. I’m a grown man, and I live as I like.”
“I can see that,” Thal said. “And it worries me.”
“It shouldn’t.” Myles clapped him on the shoulder. “Quit bein’ so serious. We should celebrate bein’ together again. We’ll go to the Gold Nugget. That’s our headquarters.”
“Your what?”
“It’s where Mr. Galt hangs his hat, so to speak. He owns it, and runs the whole town from his office. There’s not another saloon like it anywhere in the Black Hills.”
Once again, it wasn’t an exaggeration. Three stories high and made of stone taken from a nearby quarry, the Gold Nugget was a monument to opulence. From the brass doors to the paneling and paintings and a bar a hundred feet long, it was a sight to behold. The poker tables were covered in felt, the chairs all had high backs. Variety acts played on a stage trimmed with velvet. Balconies with curtains overlooked everything.
A host of women in tight dresses mingled with the customers, laughing and flirting and enticing everyone to have a grand time. The women were all young and pretty. Not an old dove among them.
“My word,” Ned blurted when a redhead sashayed by and winked at him. “It’s like we’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“More likely hell,” Crawford said.
At the back was a door with large gold letters that read MAYOR TREVOR GALT. FOUNDER OF AMERICAN CITY.
“I hope he’s in. I’d like you to meet him,” Myles said, and knocked. When someone hollered to enter, he opened the door and motioned for Thal and the others to precede him.
The office was fit for royalty. Seated in a chair that could double as a throne, behind a mahogany desk, was American City’s lord and master.
Thal didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t the man who rose to greet them.
Trevor Galt was even thinner than Myles. He wasn’t all that tall either, not much over five feet. He was so pale as to almost be an albino. His hair was white, but he couldn’t be much over forty years old. His eyes were a piercing green with peculiar yellow flecks, his eyebrows formed arches, and his forehead was higher than most. His suit, down to his cravat with its diamond stickpin, was immaculate. A gold watch chain decorated his vest, and rings adorned every finger. “Shotgun. Just the gentleman I was about to send for. I have a job for you,” he said with a British accent.
At least, Thal reckoned it was British. He wasn’t much good at telling one accent from another unless it was German. Germans clipped their words, as if they bit them as the words came out of their mouths.
“Mr. Galt,” Myles said. “I’d like you meet my brother and his friends.”
Trevor Galt came around the desk to shake their hands. “Your brother, you say? From Kansas, isn’t it?”
“Texas.” Thal set him straight.
“Even further away,” Galt said. “What brings you to our fair city, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“They’d heard I was shot,” Myles said.
“Do tell?” Galt was suddenly all interest. “Clear down to Texas? How did that miracle occur?”
Thal caught on to a few things right away. Trevor Galt was a polished customer, as suave as they came, with an excess of manners and charm. But there was something else, something about Galt’s cold eyes and expression that hinted at darker currents. “I heard it from our sister.”
“And where did she hear it from?”
“I’ve been wonderin’ that my own self,” Myles said.
Thal didn’t see any harm in telling them. “She got a letter from a Mr. Tweed.”
“Tweed?” Galt said, and his features hardened.
“That dang newspaperman,” Myles said. “Always pokin’ his nose in.”
“I don’t see what’s wrong about it,” Thal said. “Ursula wrote to you care of the marshal, and this Tweed was kind enough to write back.”
“We don’t have a marshal here,” Myles said. “Just us special deputies.”
“Well, no harm was done,” Trevor Galt said. “And you must be pleased to have your brother visit.”
“I truly am,” Myles declared.
“I’d have brought Ursula along,” Thal mentioned, “but we’d heard so many tales about American City, I didn’t think it was safe. So we left her at a boardinghouse in Deadwood.”
Myles gave a start. “Hold on. Our sis is here in the hills?”
“In Deadwood,” Thal said again.
Myles appeared astonished. “Ursula . . . in the Black Hills?” He shook his head in amazement, then swore and bunched his fist. “Are you addlepated? Bringin’ Ursula to the hills? Her, of all people?”
“What’s the matter?” Trevor Galt said.
“My sister,” Myles said angrily, “is as sweet a gal as ever was born, and as innocent as can be. And my big brother, my big, dumb lump of a brother, brings her here!”
Thal resented his tone. “You have no call to talk to me like that.”
“And you left her in Deadwood all by her lonesome?” Myles’s whole body shook, he was so mad. “If you weren’t my brother, I’d shoot you where you stand.”
“Calm down, Shotgun,” Trevor Galt said. “I’m sure your brother didn’t mean any harm to come to her.”
“It better not,” Myles snarled.
Thal was about to explain, but Ned chose that moment to step forward and jab a finger at Myles.
“Now, just you hold on, mister. I don’t care if you are Thal’s brother. He’s my pard, and you don’t get to talk to him like that. He came all this way to see if you were all right, didn’t he? As for your sister, he didn’t bring her. He left her in Kansas with your folks. But she went and snuck off, and the next we knew, we ran into her in Cheyenne. So don’t be callin’ him dumb and threatenin’ to snuff his wick.”
For a few anxious moments, Thal thought Myles might hit him.
“Snuck off, you say?” his brother finally said. “That sounds like somethin’ she’d do. Damn her anyhow. Let me guess. She wouldn’t go back, no matter what you said? You either had to bring her or she’d have come on her own?”
Ralph Compton Brother's Keeper Page 17
