Sathow's Sinners

by Marcus Galloway

  “There you are!” Dog Ear said as he cranked the upper portion of the contraption around. “Stop this thing, Talman!”

  Apparently, Talman was the wagon’s driver because after Pescaterro’s order, the team was brought to a noisy stop.

  Nate took quick aim and fired a shot meant to pick Dog Ear from his perch. Instead, it hissed through the air above Pescaterro’s head. The outlaw grinned like the madman he was and started working the pump connected to the fire-spewing device bolted to the wagon. Nate’s next shot clipped that device in a spot that sent a thin fan of fire spraying from one side instead of through the nozzle.

  Pescaterro bared his teeth and ducked behind the contraption while drawing a pistol from his holster. Before he could pull his trigger, he was reminded of Pete’s presence when Pete fired a shot behind him. Pescaterro grunted in pain, but refused to drop. Wherever he’d been hit, it didn’t wound him enough to keep him from twisting around to fire a series of shots at the alley on the opposite side of the street from Nate’s.

  “Get ’er movin’ again, goddamn it!” Pescaterro roared.

  Talman snapped his reins to get the wagon lurching forward. Pete took his chance to fire again. At least one of his bullets found its mark because a pained groan came from the front of the wagon as it was drawn down the street and out of Nate’s immediate line of sight.

  Pulling back on his reins, Nate slowed his horse without bringing it to a stop. Whatever Pescaterro had in store for him, he wasn’t about to charge straight into it without giving himself at least a little time to react. He emerged from the alley and was almost immediately joined by Pete.

  “I’ve got a plan,” Nate said to the tracker.

  Pete nodded once and fired a shot at the wagon. “I was hoping to hear something like that.”

  “I believe there’s a nice open spot a few streets down where a corral or two butt up against an empty lot. You know the one I mean?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We need to get that wagon into that spot,” Nate said, “and then hit the fire spout with all we’ve got. Should blow that thing to hell without taking any more of this town along with it.”

  “Good plan,” Pete replied. “Except for one part. That lot is in the other direction.”

  “Can you think of any other place we can bring that wagon?”

  Pete didn’t have to think for very long before he shook his head and said, “Nope.”

  “Then since you know where that lot is, you can drive the wagon there. I’ll deal with Pescaterro.”

  Pete snapped his reins and rode ahead.

  Nate urged some more speed from his horse and easily caught up to the wagon. Ever since Pete had fired at the driver, Pescaterro was nowhere to be found. The top of the wagon was empty except for the contraption that rattled and shook like so many spare parts piled on top of a mess of copper tubes. When he got a little closer, Nate could see the outlaw climbing over the front of the wagon to drop down into the driver’s seat.

  “Hey, asshole!” Nate shouted as he drew up alongside the wagon. “You about ready to turn yourself over and face the rest of your jail sentence like a man?”

  Pescaterro had been tending to the slouching driver. As soon as he heard that question, he stood up in the driver’s seat and pointed his pistol at Nate. Dog Ear unleashed a torrent of obscenities which couldn’t be heard since he’d also unleashed a barrage of gunfire at about the same time.

  Ducking down over his horse’s neck, Nate steered down another street and tapped his heels against its sides for a bit more incentive. The bullets from Pescaterro’s gun burned through the air, each one getting closer to drawing blood before Nate was finally out of the outlaw’s range. Instead of waiting to get another shot or even steering the wagon to follow his target, Pescaterro climbed right back on top of the wagon and allowed Talman to slump over.

  While Pete had also been hunched over his horse, he rode forward instead of following Nate. Now that Pescaterro had found something else to do, Pete drew up until he was even with the driver’s seat. Then, he pulled one foot from his stirrups and pushed off of the other to leap from his saddle. He reached out with both hands to catch the handle on the side of the wagon meant for the driver to pull himself up when climbing into his seat. One of Pete’s boots rattled against the front wheel and came dangerously close to getting snagged before his other foot found something more stable that he could use as a step. Using muscles fueled by a good amount of desperation, he hauled himself up and onto the wagon.

  Talman turned to look at the uninvited passenger. Although he attempted to lift a shotgun to repel the boarder, he was too weak to raise the weapon more than a few inches before allowing it to fall from his grasp. He groaned and pressed a hand to a bloody wound on his right side.

  “Looks like you got hit pretty good,” Pete said as he sat down beside the driver. “If you want to see a doctor, you’ll have to do what I say. Otherwise I’ll toss you from this wagon right here and now.”

  Letting out a breath that seemed to have been the only thing filling his body, Talman shuddered and started to roll toward the open side of the wagon. Before he could fall to the street, Pete grabbed his shirt and pulled the driver back up beside him. “Not just yet, friend,” the tracker said. “I got a question or two to ask.”

  * * *

  Nate might have been able to pick off the outlaw from the top of the wagon if he could take a moment to aim. Instead, he was forced to control his horse while charging down a slender portion of a busy street. The wagon took up most of the path through town, which left Nate with precious little space to maneuver. When he wasn’t forced to weave between folks trying to walk on the boardwalk, he was doing his best to keep his horse from getting tripped up by a water trough or a poorly placed barrel.

  When he finally found a stretch of road that was mostly clear, Nate raised his Remington to fire. Pescaterro had made it to the contraption on top of the wagon and begun furiously working the pump. Only a trickle of kerosene was being fed to the nozzle, so he reached down to fiddle with the tubing connected to something near his feet. Just as Nate found his shot, the contraption on the wagon spewed a long tongue of flame toward the street directly behind them. Nate fired up at the outlaw and saw his bullet spark against the side of the contraption.

  “You’re a persistent cuss, I’ll give you that!” Pescaterro shouted while he brought the nozzle around toward Nate.

  The road widened as it crossed another street. Since he only had another second or two before he would need to break off and circle around again, Nate aimed the Remington as if he were pointing his finger and fired up at Dog Ear. His bullet snapped Pescaterro’s head back, but the outlaw quickly recovered. When he brought his head up again, he was wearing a wide smile as blood flowed from the grazing wound he’d been given on his left cheek. Pescaterro swung the fire spout around with renewed vigor and was only distracted when the entire wagon lurched to one side.

  “Watch it up there!” he shouted at the driver’s seat.

  The team of horses was verging on turning wild and it was all Pete could do to keep them from stampeding out of control as he convinced them to round the next corner. Once they’d completed the sharp turn, Pete flicked his reins and shouted for anyone walking the street nearby to clear a path for him.

  All this time, Nate had drawn up close enough to the wagon to get a better look at the contraption on top of it. As far as he could tell, it was basically just a pump connected to a supply of kerosene with some sort of flint near the end of the nozzle. Like any weapon, it wasn’t very complicated once it was seen as a machine instead of something terrible in itself. Nate didn’t know all there was to know about Caster Grunwaldt’s contraption, but he had a good idea of how to keep it from working. Pulling back on his reins, Nate slowed his horse just enough to get a look at the fire spout from a different angle.

  “Where you goin
’?” Pescaterro shouted as he turned the nozzle to keep Nate in his sights. “We ain’t through yet, bounty hunter!”

  Nate watched Pescaterro carefully. When the outlaw started working the handle that would get the kerosene flowing, Nate took aim and fired every last one of his bullets into the pump that drew the combustive liquid from its supply. His first round sparked against a copper pipe. The next punched a hole through a small metal cylinder. The next hit the top of that same cylinder, doing enough damage for the pump to come out in Pescaterro’s hand.

  “What in the hell?” Pescaterro said while looking at the broken pump handle as if it were a severed limb. Before he could say much of anything else, the wagon turned sharply again onto a course heading back in the direction from which it had come.

  Since the flames had stopped spewing from the contraption, Nate allowed his horse to slow down while he reloaded the Remington. When Pescaterro looked at him from atop the wagon, Nate gave him a casual wave. That was more than Pescaterro could take, and he threw the handle away so he could draw the pistol tucked under his belt. He fired a few shots at Nate, none of which came close to hitting him. When the wagon slowed to make another turn, the outlaw shifted his attention toward the driver.

  “All right,” Nate said while snapping the Remington shut. “Let’s put an end to this madness.”

  Pete kept his head down, his grip tight on the reins and both feet propped against the boards in front of him. When Pescaterro shouted at him, he acted as though he hadn’t heard anything. Soon, there was no possible way to ignore the raving killer as he pounded his pistol on top of the wagon like a crazed judge with a gavel.

  “I said stop this damn wagon!” Dog Ear hollered. When the wagon kept rolling, he crawled toward the front to get a look at the driver. “You ain’t Talman!” he said.

  Sneaking a quick glance over his shoulder, Pete replied, “And you ain’t very bright.”

  The road in front of the wagon was now clear. Pete had driven off the busier street onto a path that provided easy access to the backs of several of Joplin’s liveries and feed stores. Now that he had a wider road in front of him and didn’t need to worry about as many people crossing in front of him, Pete snapped the reins to get the team working as hard as they could. That first surge not only shook the wagon, but also sent Pescaterro sliding back toward the contraption that was now so much useless metal.

  “You’re dead!” Pescaterro swore.

  Pete had heard that threat several times while riding with Nate Sathow, and he figured he’d hear it a few more before he decided to part ways with him for good. Hearing it from someone like Dog Ear, however, didn’t sit well with any man who put much of a value on his life. Pete’s spirits lifted somewhat when he spotted the old fence surrounding the open lot coming up on his right. The only reason that spot had stuck in Pete’s mind at all was because it had seemed like a nice little bit of quiet in the middle of a thriving town. He’d passed it by when scouting Joplin on his first day there and thought he might come back if he needed somewhere to stash everyone’s horses in a pinch. Now, he leaned forward in his seat and gauged how much longer he could allow the team to go full steam before reining them in.

  Behind him, Pescaterro scraped at the roof of the wagon while pulling himself closer to the front. Pete took that as his cue to pull back hard on the reins. Dog Ear cursed one more time as he flopped onto his side and dropped his pistol while scrambling to grab hold of something so as not to fall off the wagon completely.

  Nate thundered into the lot and circled around the wagon so his horse could burn through its last bit of steam before coming to a stop. Its hooves were still kicking up dust when Nate swung down from the saddle and reached for the rope hanging near his right leg. He kept his eyes on Pescaterro while easing out the lasso and giving the rope a few twirls.

  “What the hell you gonna do, bounty hunter?” Dog Ear snarled as he reached for his pistol. “Take me in like a calf?”

  Without a word, Nate threw the lasso, dropped the rope over Pescaterro’s head on the first try and pulled with all his strength. It wasn’t enough to bring the big outlaw down on the first try, but he made Pescaterro wobbly enough to be dragged off the wagon on the second. The outlaw howled like an animal and grunted loudly when he hit the ground on his side. Blood was still streaming from the nick he’d gotten from one of Nate’s bullets, and he wasn’t faring any better after his awkward landing. It was the pure crazy inside of him that pulled the outlaw to his feet and sheer muscle that allowed him to free himself from the lasso.

  Pescaterro bared his teeth. He’d dropped his pistol on the way down, but scooped it up while snarling, “You couldn’t kill me before and you ain’t about to now!”

  Nate’s answer to that was to draw his Remington and fire from the hip in a lightning-fast motion. His round cut a trail through the air and burned a hole through Pescaterro’s left shin.

  “Goddamn!” Dog Ear screamed.

  “Toss the pistol and come along quietly,” Nate warned.

  Pescaterro’s face barely looked human when he looked up. Shifting his weight from his wounded leg, he started to bring up his pistol once more. Although he didn’t seem to feel it when his other shin took a bullet, the outlaw’s legs could no longer hold him and he fell over in a heap. Nate strode over to him, kicked the pistol from Pescaterro’s hand and then stomped him twice in the head. For a moment, it seemed as if the outlaw still had some fight in him. After another second, though, his body went limp and he passed out.

  Looking down at the fallen outlaw, Nate felt the entire ride through town catch up to him at once. His head drooped slightly and his bones began to ache with every bump he’d weathered. The stench of all that kerosene made his head throb, and his ears rang from the thunder of gunfire. When he heard the sound of movement coming from the wagon, Nate snapped his Remington up to aim at the driver’s seat.

  “Easy,” Pete said as he raised his hands a bit. “It’s only me.”

  Once again, Nate allowed himself to relax. “What can you see from up there? Anyone coming?”

  “I’d say the law and a good portion of the rest of the town is still busy with the fires.” Pete climbed over the back of the driver’s seat and onto the wagon’s roof where he could examine the contraption bolted there. “This fire spout is simple enough, really. Just a pump and something to make a spark. Not even very efficient at getting the job done.”

  “It sure created a hell of a commotion, which I believe is all it was intended to do,” Nate said as he used the rope to hogtie the unconscious Pescaterro.

  Pete climbed down from the wagon’s roof and walked around the back to get a look inside. “Just the Gatling gun in here,” he reported, “and what’s left of the man who was turning the crank.”

  “What about those armor plates?” Nate asked.

  “They’re not in here. I guessed that as soon as I saw how fast this wagon was moving. They must’ve dumped them off somewhere. Doesn’t make sense as to why they’d do something like that, especially when they knew Dog Ear was gonna lead them straight through hell and back.”

  “That’s just the thing. I don’t think they were supposed to make it back.”

  Pete walked around to join Nate a few yards away from the wagon. “Pescaterro may be crazy, but he didn’t strike me as someone with a death wish.”

  “This man’s not a partner in what’s going on here. He’s just another weapon. The man at the top of this gang just pointed him in the right direction, wound him up and turned him loose. You going to give me a hand with this?” Nate asked as he started dragging Pescaterro by the ropes binding the outlaw’s hands and feet.

  Pete hurried over to Nate’s side and grabbed part of the rope as well. Between the two of them, they managed to drag Pescaterro at a fairly steady rate. “You think Keyes is the one in charge?” Pete asked.

  “Keyes is a conniving, cold-bloo
ded lizard. Of course he’s the one behind this mess.”

  “To what end? This all can’t just be about carving off a piece of that railroad pie.”

  “I’ve got my suspicions,” Nate said. “And we’re real close to proving them right. For now, I’d like to tie up the two loose ends we got right here.”

  Pete looked down at the first loose end which was still trussed up like a prize heifer. When he looked to Nate again, he found the other man pointing his Remington at the wagon. “Wait!” Pete said. “Since that thing stopped moving, all that kerosene ain’t been getting spilled off. It’s all soaked in!”

  “That wagon wasn’t supposed to make it through the night,” Nate said. “Considering what’s on it, I’m inclined to agree with that decision. Get that team unhitched.”

  Hurrying to the front of the wagon, Pete rushed through the motions of freeing the four horses from the wagon. He managed to keep hold of two of them, but lost the others when the frightened animals bolted for the street. Leading the remaining horses toward Nate, Pete said, “We might be able to get some use out of that wagon.”

  “It’s caused too much damage already.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  Nate didn’t wait around to discuss the matter before firing. His bullet punched straight through the container of kerosene beside the pump and his next cut the support holding the nozzle which dropped it and the flame inside onto the wagon’s roof. Although a fire did start, Nate sped it along by sending another bullet to nick the edge of the contraption and send a bunch of sparks flying. As Pete had suspected, the wagon had absorbed a good amount of spilled kerosene and went up like a bonfire when the sparks touched down.

  Standing with Nate to admire the growing blaze, Pete said, “It might take more to destroy that thing.”

  “Before anyone can get to it, the law will collect what’s left. Also, this’ll create a nice diversion for us to get away from here without having to answer a whole bunch of damned questions.”

  When the fire reached a larger supply of kerosene, it sent a loud blast straight up into the starry sky. Heat washed over both of the men standing over the prone outlaw. “This doesn’t make much sense,” Pete said. “Why go through so much trouble just to let Pescaterro have a night’s fun?”