The gunshots had all but faded away. Before much longer, the ride became smoother and the team pulling the wagon was given some extra incentive. Nate could feel speed building up, and he could hear the rumble of another horse’s hooves thundering to catch up to the wagon. A few seconds later, a second horse raced to catch up to them.
“He in there?” Deaugrey shouted.
Pete responded from somewhere nearby. “Of course he’s in there. Where the hell is he gonna git to?”
“Is he . . . alive?”
After drawing a breath that hurt his ribs worse than a solid punch, Nate said, “I’m alive.”
“You are?” Deaugrey said. “After the beating this outhouse took and all the shooting, I thought—what I mean is—glad to hear it.”
The light streaming into the box was blocked by someone standing close to the side wall. “You hurt?” Pete asked.
Looking toward the sound of Pete’s voice, Nate told him, “I’ve had better days, that’s for certain.”
“It looks like them regulators and the rest of the folks that were shooting at us have given up on trying to bring you back, so we’ve got some time to try and get that door open. Shouldn’t take long.”
Strictly speaking, Pete was correct. Even so, the couple of minutes required to bust that lock and pry open that door felt like an eternity to the man who’d been tossed around within those four wooden walls for far too long. Every so often, the sound of their efforts to break the lock was interrupted by the crack of a rifle and the metallic rattle of a fresh round being levered into place. By the time the lock finally gave way and the door was pulled open, Nate was too tired to get up and greet his rescuers.
The light flooding into the cramped space caused Nate to pinch his eyes shut and lift a hand to shade them. Even that hurt.
“Rise and shine, Sathow!” Deaugrey said.
“You . . . crazy son of . . . a bitch!” Nate said as he struggled to lift himself up so he could grab the hand that was being offered to him.
“I may be crazy,” Deaugrey replied while pulling Nate out of the battered jail. “But at least I never got locked in an outhouse for so long that it caused all of this ruckus.”
“It’s not an outhouse! It’s a . . . smokehouse.” Nate wheezed.
“That explains the smell,” Frank said from the driver’s seat of the wagon, “and my powerful hankering for peppered strip steak!”
23
The remains of the smokehouse were miles behind them when Pete called for the small group to come to a stop. He climbed down from his saddle, tied his horse off near a stream and headed through a patch of trees so he could climb a small hill and get a look at the trail behind them. Deaugrey followed suit and tied his reins off next to Pete’s horse by the stream.
“What happened to the mule?” Frank asked.
“I gave it away.”
“How generous of you. Who’d you give it to?”
“I left it for the fella who used to own this horse,” Deaugrey replied while patting the side of the sleek new animal he’d been riding.
Frank climbed over the driver’s seat of the flatbed wagon that had been used to carry the smokehouse away from the mining camp. “And somehow you managed to say that proudly. I am constantly in awe of your ability to justify anything at all to yourself.”
Nodding, Deaugrey replied, “Everyone’s in awe of me for some reason or other. How’s our patient?”
“I’ll be fine,” Nate said while peeling away a ripped section of his shirt sleeve that was soaked through with blood. “Must’ve caught a bullet while I was trapped in that goddamned box. It’s a wonder I wasn’t killed in there. Couldn’t you try bribing one of those regulators to get me out?”
“We did,” Deaugrey said. “Neither one would bite.”
“What about stealing their keys?”
“They weren’t carrying them on their persons. Can you believe that? I’ve heard of locking someone up and throwing away the key, but I’d always assumed that was just an expression.”
“So the next thing you came up with was dragging the whole damn smokehouse out of town?” Nate asked. “Now I see why I’m the one who comes up with most of the plans to carry out our jobs.”
“Actually,” Frank said, “our little escape route was my idea. And you should know better than to say you cook up all of the plans for getting our jobs done.”
Nate slowly turned toward the driver’s seat of the wagon. Having spent most of the ride sitting in the back like a bale of hay, he didn’t have far to turn. That was fortunate since his entire body still ached. “Your idea?” he mused. “Maybe you should stick to spouting Bible verses.”
“Would you have rather sat and rotted inside that little wooden box like a ham hock or bide your time in the middle of a crossfire while we tried to chip away at that reinforced door?”
“What about picking the lock?” Nate asked while looking over to Deaugrey. “Isn’t that the sort of skill you bring to the table?”
“That antiquated contraption was so rusty that it barely qualified as a lock,” Deaugrey said. “I think one of those tin panners found it at the bottom of a river.”
While Deaugrey talked, Nate rolled up the sleeve that was stained with blood and torn to shreds. Once he got a look at the wound beneath the ripped cotton, he reached for a canteen and started pouring water over it to clean off some of the blood. “I suppose I should be grateful you three came back for me.”
“Yes,” Frank said as he sat down beside him. “I suppose you should be grateful. Now let me take a look at that.”
“I already handed myself over to your reckless ministry,” Nate snapped. “I’m not about to gamble on your doctoring skills.”
“Shut up and let me see.” Before Nate could protest any further, Frank grabbed his arm and pulled it toward him.
“Jesus Christ!” Nate grunted.“Take it— Ow!”
When Frank tugged on that arm a second time, he was looking Nate straight in the eyes to see his reaction. Having gotten what he was hoping for, he said, “That’s for your poor choice of words. Hold still or you’ll get another.”
Nate may have held still, but he didn’t hold his tongue. As Frank poked and prodded the messy gash on his upper arm, Nate spewed a steady torrent of foul language. He didn’t, however, take the Lord’s name in vain.
“Lucky man,” Frank eventually said. “Looks like this little scratch was put here by some flying chunks of broken wood. You’ve got a nasty splinter, but there’s no bullet lodged in there.”
“Yeah,” Nate grunted. “Real lucky.”
“The really lucky part is that I happen to have some damn fine whiskey to help ease the pain a bit.”
“Really?”
“Nope,” Frank said as he mercilessly tore the jagged piece of wood from where it had been lodged.
Nate clenched his jaw, refusing to give his partner the pleasure of seeing him wince. After Frank plucked out the splinter, he held it out to show Nate before tossing it over the side of the wagon.
“Sorry about that,” Frank said. “Had to distract you.”
“You ain’t sorry.”
“Got me there. Here’s something you can use to dress that wound,” the preacher said, handing over an old blue bandanna.
Now that the splinter was gone, Nate could finally draw a full breath. He still hurt in a dozen different ways, but at least one of them had been taken away. Sometimes, a man just had to savor what little bits of goodness were tossed his way. He sopped up some of the fresher blood and started wrapping the bandanna over the cut.
“Where the hell have you been, anyway?” Nate asked.
Frank sorted through the gear that had been hastily tossed into the back of the wagon. “I was in Nagle with Pete. He just took a faster way back to the camp on the crazy notion that you might be in trouble. I barely g
ot back before I heard about you getting yourself tossed into that box. You’ll be happy to know that your regulator friend—Ross, I believe his name was—also took work running food and supplies out to miners who were out working their claims.”
“Why would I give a damn about that?”
“Because,” Frank said, “this is his wagon.”
“You’re stealing now too, Preacher?” Nate asked through a smirk.
“Guess you’re a worse influence than I thought.”
Nate winced as he tightened the bandanna around his wounded arm. “Did the two of you at least manage to find anything worthwhile in regards to that knife maker?”
“He makes a whole lot more than just knives, for one thing. Seems Dog Ear himself came to visit him to pick up an order of some specialty items.”
“Pescaterro, huh?” Nate said. “Almost forgot about him.”
“No you didn’t,” Frank said. “Once you’re put onto someone’s scent, you don’t let loose of them until the job’s through. Pescaterro wasn’t alone, though. Seems he had a friend along. The man who made that knife didn’t know the stranger’s name, but he was certain he was even more of a handful than Dog Ear.”
Now that he was bandaged up, Nate took a swig from the canteen and drained it dry. “That other man . . . I know his name. Abraham Keyes.”
“Keyes?” Frank asked cautiously. “Isn’t he the one who was locked away after killing Marshal Cavanaugh?”
“The same. It seems his short sentence was cut even shorter.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Hooo boy!” Deaugrey exclaimed as he returned from the little stream where the horses were tied. “Things must’ve really taken a turn for the worse if our holy father is spouting obscenities. I take it you’ve been told about our meeting with Mr. Keyes?”
“You met him?” Frank asked. “Here?”
Nate nodded. “I’ll tell you all about it once we’re riding again.”
“I wish I could help more in that regard,” Frank sighed. “All Pete’s knife maker friend could tell us on that account was that Pescaterro and his friend were headed south. That’s all he knew. Trust me.”
“They’re headed to Joplin. What did you mean when you said that knife maker put together a special order for Keyes?”
A shadow seemed to fall over Frank’s face as he thought about the answer to that question. Finally, he said, “Weapons and fortifications. Gatling guns, armor plating, even some sort of kerosene pump to spread wildfires.”
“Holy shit,” Nate groaned. “Sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize,” Frank told him. “I don’t approve of that sort of language, but every so often, it’s justified.”
“Is this a sign of the end of days?” Deaugrey chided.
Frank didn’t respond to that, but Nate said, “Only for Pescaterro and the piece of shit riding with him. How many weapons were made?”
“Not enough for an army,” Frank replied, “but more than enough to spill a whole lot of blood. According to the weapons maker, Pescaterro and Keyes weren’t riding with a large group.”
“Less than a dozen, I’d say,” Pete added as he strode toward the wagon. “Of course, the tracks were far from fresh. There was also mention of a safe.”
A grin flickered across Nate’s face.
“Thought you might like the sound of that,” Pete said.
“What was the safe for?” Nate asked.
“What’s any safe for? I’d imagine we’ll be needing to get it open and, unless we know for certain we can get the combination, there ain’t none of us here that are suited for the job. Do you know where to find Corday?”
Nate nodded. “It may take a day or two, but I should be able to get her here.”
“Finally,” Deaugrey said as he rubbed his hands together. “One of Sathow’s sinners that isn’t a trial to be around.”
“I’ll do my best to find her. I’ve got a notion of where to look, but even if I can’t bring her to Joplin, I’d say we’ve got plenty to go on already,” Nate said confidently.
“Oh yes,” Deaugrey said. “We’ve got this bull by the horns. Should be a walk through a field of daisies to finish the rest of this job.”
“It very well may be,” Nate said. “At least until we get closer to Joplin. I’d bet everything I have that none of those men were along with Keyes when he came through these parts and met up with me. In fact, I could venture so far as to say that he was in a rush to get back to Joplin.”
“Would you now?” Deaugrey asked.
“Yeah. Otherwise, he would have stuck around to put a bullet between my eyes rather than leave the job to a pair of incompetents like them regulators.”
“That would mean he isn’t overly concerned about being followed back to Joplin,” Frank pointed out.
“If you had the sort of armaments you mentioned waiting for you down there, would you be concerned about a small group of men like us?” Nate asked.
After a very short bit of consideration, Frank shrugged and admitted, “I suppose not.”
“I think you two are forgetting one key bit of information,” Deaugrey said.
The other men looked at him. They didn’t bother asking for more because they knew it would be forthcoming whether it was requested or not.
“The infamous Mr. Keyes,” Deaugrey announced, “came straight after me.”
“Is that so?” Frank asked.
Still looking at Deaugrey, Nate replied, “Yeah. It is.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell us, Grey?”
Clearly enjoying the discontent he’d sown, Deaugrey smirked and told them, “I haven’t the faintest idea. He marched straight into that cathouse, though, and requested me by name.”
Nate got to his feet and worked his arm to make sure the bandanna would stay in place. He climbed down from the wagon, grateful for the chance to walk more than a half step without running into a wall. “This wagon looks like it’s in rough shape,” he said while giving it a look from front to back.
“That smokehouse may have been pretty small, but it couldn’t exactly be considered normal cargo,” Frank said. “Every axle was rattling something awful during the last stretch of our ride away from that camp. I doubt it’ll make it much more than a few more miles before something vital gives way.”
“Then we’re in luck,” Nate said. “Because it won’t need to roll another couple of feet. It served its purpose, so we’re safe to move on. That right, Pete?”
“More or less,” the tracker said. “There’s some small camps scattered about and what looks to be a few claims in the area, but they ain’t no concern. They either didn’t hear what happened back in the main camp or don’t care because they ain’t taking their noses out of their work.”
“Good.” Nate placed his hands on the edge of the cart and took a look inside. Whatever gear wasn’t already loaded into the saddlebags being carried by the other horses was in the wagon being pulled by Frank’s mare and Nate’s gelding.
Pointing to a bundle in the wagon, Nate asked, “Is that my pistol and belt?”
“Sure is,” Deaugrey replied. “Getting to you wasn’t exactly easy, but stealing your gear from those regulators was child’s play. I don’t see why you insist on using that model Remington, though. It’s not nearly as well balanced as a Colt.”
“I’m sentimental. Because of that, I’d hate for Keyes to miss out on the rest of the fight he started after he went through so much trouble to get to you. How’d you like to pick up where you left off?”
Deaugrey’s smirk was a wicked sight to behold. “I believe that would only be proper.”
24
The next four days weren’t easy by any stretch of the imagination, but after being locked up in a repurposed smokehouse, even a hard ride through rugged territo
ry was a welcome change. Nate Sathow’s thoughts churned through several possibilities of what they might find in Joplin, adding new bits of information he’d learned from Frank and Pete to the mix of what he already knew regarding Casey Pescaterro and Abraham Keyes. For every path to victory he dreamt up, Nate came up with two others that led straight to doomsday. The effort of sifting through so many different outcomes put a contemplative scowl onto his face. Such an expression wasn’t unusual for him. In fact, it was so common that the lines scratched into his forehead and near his eyes had become permanent fixtures.
Little was seen of Pete during that ride. In the morning, he woke up, filled himself with chicory coffee and bacon, and rode ahead to scout the trail that lay in front of them. When the sun set, he made his way back to the spot where the others had made camp, stuffed his belly full of whatever Frank cooked for dinner, relayed whatever he’d learned that day to Nate and fell asleep. For him, that was more than just a common expression. Pete was usually so tired after he returned that he would literally fall back against a tree or rock and be snoring a few seconds later. Despite the long days, Pete was in his element. He scoured the hills for any possible dangers whether hostile Indians or bridges that had been washed away by floods. He didn’t need to be told what to do. He simply . . . was.
Deaugrey was kept busy as well. Since his particular talents didn’t lend themselves to life in the saddle, he perked up whenever he caught sight of a town, homestead or any other spot where he might be able to scrounge for supplies. While the rest of the group rode on, he would divert himself to any settlement he’d spotted and return stinking of liquor with his hair tousled by whatever woman he’d sweet-talked and his pockets filled with enough money to fund the ride for another day. Although some of Deaugrey’s offerings had surely been plucked from their unsuspecting owners, Nate knew that most had either been bartered or won. A swindle all the same, perhaps, but a legal swindle. Mostly legal, anyway.
Sathow's Sinners Page 15
