Death In Helltown

by John Legg

  Seeing his hesitation, Lawton said, “Look, Harlan, I’m in a tough spot here. Like I said, the stage pulls out in half an hour. I ain’t got time to find somebody else. Tell, you what. You make the run this time. You still want out when that’s done, I won’t hold you. Maybe you’ll find it ain’t so bad after all.”

  Bloodworth finally nodded after a bit of thought. His decision was predicated on the fact that he had given his word some time ago that he would do this work. It didn’t set with him to renege on that when it left the company in a tough spot. He took the shotgun Lawton handed him, and stuck several extra shells into a pocket.

  “New driver’s name is…”

  “New driver? Where’s Parkes?”

  “Moseyed on a few days ago. Said he was headed for Montana or some such place. Anyway, the new driver’s name is Connolly. Don’t know his first name. Don’t care neither. I’m just waitin’ for Gil to come back.”

  “Might be a while. Last I saw, he was in pretty bad shape, and Doc Shelby wasn’t too hopeful for his recovery.”

  “Damn,” Lawton allowed. “He was tops, he was.” He sighed. “Well, maybe Connolly will work out. At least till I can run down a new one if Gil can’t make it back.”

  Bloodworth nodded and headed outside. The driver looked at him, saw the shotgun and came over to introduce himself. “I know you was partial to Mr. Adcock,” he said after shaking Bloodworth’s hand. “I ain’t him, but I’ll do my damnedest to try to follow in his tracks,”

  “I’m sure you will,” Bloodworth said noncommittally.

  “I heard what happened, and you should know I don’t hold it against you that the ol’ woman bought the farm. I heard you got all of ’em who did it. And that’s a good thing.”

  Bloodworth turned an icy stare on Connolly.

  The driver gulped. “We best be on our way,” he said.

  Bloodworth was tense throughout the journey to Clay Center, unable to relax even during the stops at regularly spaced stage stations, He finally found a little peace in Clay Center, getting a good night’s sleep. But the tension built as soon as the stage pulled out of town heading back to Dodge.

  About half way in the journey, Bloodworth began to get an itchy feeling. He didn’t know how he knew, he was just certain that something was wrong. He finally nodded to himself. He tapped Connolly on the shoulder. When the driver looked at him, Bloodworth said, “I’m gonna climb up top.”

  Connolly gave him a questioning look. “Something ain’t right,” the shotgun rider said.

  “Trouble?”

  “I’m thinkin’ so. What I want you to do is get these horses movin’ soon’s you hit that ridge up ahead. Keep goin’ after you crest it. Don’t slow down for nothin’.”

  Connolly nodded curtly. He showed no fear.

  Bloodworth shoved his hat under the seat, stuffing it behind the cash box. He stood carefully and grabbed the rail at the top of the stage. He tossed the shotgun up, then the Winchester he had decided to bring along. He pulled himself up and got as comfortable as he could amid the baggage. Just as he settled in, Connolly snapped the reins and the stage began to pick up speed.

  From below came an annoyed voice, “Driver, what’s going on? Slow down.”

  Bloodworth leaned his head over the rail and bellowed, “Shut you flappin’ hole and get back inside.” He looked forward again, squinting against the rushing wind and the dust kicked up by the hooves of the six horses.

  The stage crested the short hump of grassy ridge. Bloodworth smiled grimly when he spotted four mounted men standing across the road. Bloodworth hesitated only long enough to drop the shotgun and snatch up the Winchester. He levered a round in and fired, once, twice, three times.

  One man went down, and another jerked, as he was hit. The other two hurriedly split, drawing their pistols. The wounded one weaved, unable to control his suddenly bucking horse with one useless arm.

  Connolly did not slow, and the horses, then stage, rolled over the downed outlaw, then slammed into the wounded man, knocking him down. He screamed as the rear wheel ran over his leg.

  The two other outlaws raced alongside of the stage. The one on the right fired his pistol, the bullet clanging off the metal railing near Bloodworth’s head. He dropped the rifle and grabbed the shotgun. He spun up until he was sitting and let loose one barrel. The spray of the 10 gauge splatted the outlaw’s face.

  Bloodworth swung around, hoping he was not too late as the other outlaw had let loose a hail of bullets. Bloodworth fired again. The load of buckshot slammed into the outlaw, knocking him off the side of his horse.

  Bloodworth turned and laid a hand on the driver’s shoulder. “Hold up, Connolly,” he said against the wind.

  It took some moments, but Connolly soon had the blowing horses stopped. Bloodworth climbed down, teeth clenched in anger now that the danger was over. He walked to the door of the stage and opened it. “Everybody all right?”

  “Yes, no thanks to you,” one man said.

  “Reckon I could’ve let those scum come along and shoot you,” Bloodworth said tightly.

  “They would have robbed the cashbox and left us alone,” the man said stiffly.

  “Like as not you’d be dead,” Connolly said from the other side of the stage. When the man turned his annoyed face that way, Connolly added, “Last time some boys robbed a stage, they killed a woman. Wasn’t for Mr. Bloodworth here, there might’ve been others dead at their hands. Now shut the hell up and sit back till we see that all’s as well as can be.”

  Bloodworth nodded. He turned and began walking down the trail. He came to the last one he had shot. The man wasn’t dead but Bloodworth knew he wouldn’t last long. Bloodworth looked down at him, face hard. The man’s eyes, above the bandanna mask, looked up at him, pleading. Bloodworth spun on his heel and walked away. He had no real question that the others were dead, but he wanted to pull away their masks and see who they were. They might be worth some money. The one who had caught the shotgun blast in the face was pretty much unrecognizable, but he took a good look at the other two, then headed back to the stage.

  “Are you going to bury them?” a woman asked. She was a matronly woman, with frizzy hair under a brown bonnet.

  “No, ma’am. The wolves and buzzards can have ’em.”

  “But…”

  “You and the others want to do so, that’s your business,” Bloodworth said harshly. “We’ll be back in a few days to pick you up.”

  “But…” Then she nodded. “You are quite right, Mr. Bloodworth. It was foolish of me. You have my thanks, and those of all the others here, I’m sure, for your coolness amid the danger. As Mr. Connolly said, if it weren’t for you, we would certainly been in poor straits.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  Connolly was rubbing one of the horses with a hard-bristled brush. He looked up as Bloodworth approached. “You ready?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  Connolly patted the horse on the rump, tossed the brush up into the box and climbed aboard, as did Bloodworth. The latter turned and grabbed the two long arms. He set the Winchester down at his feet, sat and reloaded the scattergun.

  Without another word, Connolly clucked the team into motion. They rode for a while before Connolly cast a sidelong glance at Bloodworth and asked, “That was something, what you did back there.”

  Bloodworth shrugged. “Maybe, I suppose. But it ain’t something I take any pleasure in.”

  “That’s a good thing. But it was something needed doin’. You didn’t, there’s a good chance somebody other than some outlaws’d be lying out there dead.” He fell silent again when he got no response from Bloodworth. But another mile or so down the road, he said, “I offer my apologies for my disrespectful — hell, far worse than that — words when we first met. I gave little thought to the poor lady who was killed or to what you had to do to save others.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “No, it ain’t. I just thought you were a hard man who gave n
o thought to killin’ men. You are a bounty man. But you ain’t quite what I expected from such a man. Not a bit. Anyway, I am damn sure glad you was with us today.”

  Bloodworth sighed. Tiredness overcame him now that the adrenaline had ebbed. “Can’t say as I feel the same way about bein’ here. But I reckon it was a good thing. It’s even better that I was able to see to it that those scum are the only ones dead. I’d hate to have to live with the thought that some passengers ended up buzzard bait because I couldn’t do the job I was hired for,”

  ** ** ** ** **

  Bloodworth kept to himself at the next stage stop, and every one thereafter, even though he was the talk of the place. He found it loathsome that he was being feted for killing four men, even if they were out to rob the stage. He didn’t mind killing them; it was what he had been hired for. Well, not exactly. He was being paid to protect the cashbox and the travelers. If killing outlaws became necessary, well then it was part of his job.

  He kept his silence pretty much the rest of the route too. Connolly, he was pleased to note, had enough sense to keep his mouth shut other than to address him when necessary.

  After what seemed like weeks to Bloodworth, the stage rolled into Dodge. When he climbed down from the box, Bloodworth headed straight into the office.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “How was the trip?” Chester Lawson asked. But his smile dropped as soon as he saw the look on Bloodworth’s face. “Not well, I take it.”

  “There’s four dead men back on the road some ways.”

  “Not passengers?”

  “No.” His tone was flat.

  “Well, then, that’s a good thing. Yes, a good thing. You had me concerned there for a few moments.”

  “Glad to see you’re overcome with grief.”

  “Mr. Bloodworth,” Lawson said sternly, “my duty is to this company, our passengers, and whatever cargo we might be carrying. I have no time nor concern for men who would cause the company or its passengers harm. I would think you would know that.”

  “I do. Don’t make it any more pleasant, though.” He paused, then asked, “You have my pay?”

  “Of course.” Lawson went behind his counter and returned moments later with a small handful of coins.

  “Still don’t seem much for the work.”

  “There’s many a man’s be glad for such largess as the Carleton Stage Company provides its workers.”

  “Most of those don’t have to face bullets and kill outlaws.”

  “That’s true.” Lawson did not seem concerned. “Next stage leaves day after tomorrow. Get yourself some rest.” He grinned. “And maybe some entertainment.”

  “Well, Mr. Lawson, you can find yourself another shotgun rider.”

  “You can’t just go an’ quit. Leave me in the lurch. Where am I going to find another man so quickly?”

  Bloodworth shrugged. “That’s for you to figure out. I told you before leavin’ on this trip that I was done. What happened this time only settles it for me.”

  “But why? You’ve done an excellent job.”

  “I hired on to ride shotgun, to discourage hard cases to leave Carleton stages alone. I didn’t hire on to be a target for owlhoots at every turn.”

  “Is it killing those men? You’ve killed before.”

  “I have. More than I like to think about. But that was one on one for the most part. I’d hunt some feller down and if he came along peaceable, there was no problem. He resisted, I’d try to discourage him. He pushed me too far, like tryin’ to put a bullet in me, I ended his days for him.”

  “You’ve never faced more than one man before?”

  “I have.”

  “Then what’s the difference?”

  “When I’m huntin’ men, I don’t have no one to concern myself with but me. I don’t have to watch over a stage full of travelers, like as not none of them who’d ever been near a gun, or outlaws.”

  Lawson considered that for some seconds, then resignation began to settle on his shoulders. “There’s no way I can convince you to stay?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, Mr. Bloodworth, I thank you for your service. You’ve served Carleton very well. I’m glad you told me as soon as you got back. It gives me time, no matter how short, to find another man for the job, but I have no idea who might be available — and capable.”

  “You might try a couple of Redmon’s deputies. Two of ’em don’t seem be eager to work at their job. The other three ain’t quite as lazy, but one of them might be interested too.”

  “They reliable?” Lawson asked hopefully.

  “Doubt it. You mind if I keep the scatter gun?”

  Lawson shook his head. “You’ve earned it. Well, if you ever change your mind, I’d be plumb pleased to have you back.”

  “I’ll keep that to mind.” He paused, then asked, “How’s Gil?”

  “Not much better since you’ve been gone, but the doc thinks he’ll make it.”

  “The company takin’ care of him?”

  Lawson hesitated, and Bloodworth’s eyes narrowed. “It’s the right thing to do. The man gave you good service and did so for a number of years. You even said so just before I left for Clay Center this time. He deserves for the company to take care of him.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Lawson said thoughtfully.

  “No perhaps about it.” Bloodworth turned and left. Five minutes later he walked into Redmon’s office.

  “I hear you had a spot of trouble on the road,” the Marshal said.

  “News travels fast. Let me see what handbills you got. I reckon there’s rewards on all those fellahs.”

  “How do I know you just won’t pick out a few of the ones with the most money on ’em and claim those’re the ones you killed?”

  “You can ride on out there and check once I pick ’em out, if you have paper on ’em. ’Course, I expect the wolves and coyotes and buzzards will have been at ’em pretty good, but that’d be your concern.”

  “You are a pain in my ass, Bloodworth,” Redmon said as he handed over a sheaf of papers.

  Bloodworth shrugged and began looking through the stack. He tossed one on the desk, then another, then a third. “Fourth one I can’t say. A load of buckshot in the face tends to make identifyin’ a man a lot less than certain,” he said. “Those’re the others. A hundred on one, fifty on the other two.”

  “You’re getting’ to be a rich man, Bloodworth.” His voice betrayed some bitterness mixed with envy.

  “Hell of a way for a man to make a livin’. I’ll be by tomorrow to pick up the cash. Have it ready.”

  Redmon sighed. “I don’t suppose it’d do any good for me to ask you to leave town again.”

  “It wouldn’t. I’ll leave when I’m of a mind to.”

  ** ** ** ** **

  Sam Wattes slapped a beer and a jigger of rye on the bar just as Bloodworth arrived. “Heard about what happened,” the barkeep said. “Thought you might have use for these.”

  “I do.” He reached into a shirt pocket and started to pull out some money.

  “No need for that. ‘Least on the first one.”

  “Obliged.” Bloodworth raised the shot glass and threw it back. “Ah, that’s good.” He sipped some beer and looked around.

  “Sally’s upstairs,” Wattes said.

  A sour look crossed Bloodworth’s face. “Reckon that’s understandable.”

  “Pearl!” Wattes bellowed.

  A dark-haired, plain-looking young woman with a hard cast to her face, looked over from where she was sitting on the lap of a slightly drunk cowhand.

  “Get your ass over here!”

  Pearl whispered something to the man, then rose and sashayed over.

  “Mr. Bloodworth here is lonesome and his favorite is occupied. I think you might be the one to cheer him up.”

  Pearl looked Bloodworth up and down, then turned on a bright smile. It softened her face some. “I can make you mighty happy, big man.”

  Bloodwor
th cocked one eyebrow at her. Her smile widened. “I maybe ain’t the handsomest woman you ever saw, but I’ll make you forget whoever your favorite is — and whatever else might be troublin’ you.”

  “She can, Harlan,” Wattes said with a laugh.

  Bloodworth gave a doubtful grin, but nodded. He handed over some money and he and Pearl headed up the stairs. At the top, as they turned left to head down the balcony, a man came out of a room, followed by Sally. She stopped, eyes widening when she saw Bloodworth. They nodded when she saw that he was with Pearl.

  “You’re blocking the way, Dirty Bird,” Pearl said.

  Tight-lipped, Sally shoved past her client and Bloodworth and Pearl.

  Bloodworth felt a tightening in his stomach, but shrugged it off. He forgot it completely soon after closing the door to the room behind Pearl.

  ** ** ** ** **

  “How could you, dammit?” Sally demanded as Bloodworth sipped a beer at the bar.

  He glanced over at her. “Beg pardon?” he inquired.

  “You and Pearl.” Anger infused her voice.

  “And what about you and that saddle bum?” Bloodworth snapped, turning a hot glare on her.

  “Well…But…Damn you.” Sally turned and stomped off, furious.

  “Reckon she’s a trifle upset with you, Harlan,” Wattes said with a laugh, strolling up with another beer.

  “Seems so.”

  “Don’t let it bother you.”

  “I won’t.” He grinned. “I think Sally’s pretty special, at least as far as fallen angels go. But Pearl was just…”

  “I thought you’d enjoy your time with her,” Wattes said with another laugh. He turned and headed down the bar to help another customer.

  Bloodworth was about to leave half an hour later when Sally sidled up to him. “I was a fool, wasn’t I?” she mumbled, head hanging.

  “That’s a fact.” He turned to leave, but she tugged his shirt gently.

  “Look, Harlan, I know you ain’t so taken with me that you aim to up and marry me. But I think you like me. And you’re special.”