Where the Bullets Fly

by Terrence McCauley

  Mackey broke cover and charged up the hill, his Winchester in hand. Billy, Underhill, and the Boudreauxs followed.

  When he reached Sim’s position, he saw why Sim had beckoned them up. Darabont’s men were long gone. Their footprints were evident in the dirt and stones along the brightening hillside.

  Sim pointed to something in the near distance; a broken wagon propped over on its side. As he began to walk toward it, he saw something else. Something tied to the wagon wheel above the smoldering coals of the dying fire. When he realized it was someone, not something, he wanted to turn away, but couldn’t. He didn’t have the luxury.

  It was the body of a woman. Not Katherine, he knew, but a woman just the same. Probably one of the girls Darabont had taken from Hill House. And given the charred condition of her remains, most definitely the woman whose screams they had heard all night.

  The wind shifted just as Billy and the others scrambled up behind him. The Boudreauxs gagged at the scent and backed away.

  Underhill stopped walking. “My God.”

  Billy and Sim said nothing.

  During their years in Apache country, Sim, Billy, and Mackey had seen the bodies of settlers and bandits and members of rival tribes who had been lashed to wagon wheels and roasted over low flames. The sight was impossible to forget. The smell even more so.

  Both Boudreaux boys wretched and threw up.

  A wooden sign had been hung around her blackened neck with twine. It read:

  BELLA DETESTA MATRIBUS.

  “What the hell does it say?” Billy asked.

  “It’s Latin,” Mackey said. “From the writings of Horace.” Mackey realized he was gripping the stock of the Winchester too tightly and stopped. “It says, ‘War, the horror of mothers.’”

  “Sometimes,” Billy said, “I’m glad I’m not an educated man.”

  Underhill was the only one who hadn’t turned away, other than Sim. “That poor woman. She’s the one who gave birth to that baby, isn’t she? He cooked her. That miserable bastard . . .”

  Mackey had already heard enough. “We all see it, Underhill. No need to breathe more life into it than it already has.”

  The wind shifted again and the stench dampened a little.

  Billy looked over the remnants of the campsite. “Looks like they’ve been gone a while. Since before last night.”

  Sim nodded.

  “Bet they let out after we stopped their men from getting into position,” Billy said. “Probably left behind a handful of men to lob dynamite at us to keep us at bay.”

  Sim nodded again.

  Mackey could tell Billy didn’t want to say what was on his mind. But they all knew it needed saying. “Took the rest of the women with them.” He didn’t have to say Katherine was still with Darabont.

  None of them had to say what that meant.

  To Sim, Mackey said, “Got any idea where they’re headed?”

  Sim pointed at a trail of hoofprints that lead south through the timberland.

  Mackey didn’t have to ask the old scout if he was ready to ride. Sim Halstead was always ready. “I’ll need you to start tracking those bastards as best you can. We’ll be riding out behind you as soon as we can get provisions.”

  Sim walked down the hillside to get his horse. To Billy, Mackey said, “Head back to town and have the men stand down from their positions. Tell them the town’s safe for the moment, but they’ll need to stay vigilant. No telling if Darabont and his men might double back and hit the town another way.”

  He stole another glance at the dead woman. Even in death, she looked anything but peaceful. “Then get the undertaker up here to get her. Tell him to bring a coffin with him and bury her as soon as possible. Tell him to be quiet about it. I don’t want any of those busybodies in town seeing her like this. Bastards wouldn’t look at her in life. I won’t let them see her in death. I’ll stay here with her until he shows up. Remind him I’m an impatient man.”

  “What about the men Darabont propped up? He’s been holding on to them for us all this time.”

  “Have him dump them in the woods. No way those bastards get buried in the same ground as our own.”

  Mackey motioned for the Boudreauxs to come over. They were still wiping their sickness from their mouths with the backs of their hands. “I know this was tough for you boys to see, but dead people and dead game aren’t all that different. I need you boys stocked up and ready to ride within the hour. I need you to fetch those two Mexicans and Brahm from the JT Ranch and tell them we’ll meet them at the livery before noon if they still want to go. Any others who want to join are welcome, but don’t beg.”

  As the brothers went off to carry out the various tasks they’d been given, Mackey and Underhill stood alone on the hilltop with the remains of the dead woman. Neither of them mentioned the sight of her sagging belly.

  She had been the whore who’d given birth. She’d been the woman Katherine had been helping at Hill House.

  Mackey found himself mourning the girl, even though he’d never met her. He mourned her dead child. He mourned Old Wilkes and all the others who’d died in the fire. The people Darabont had killed.

  He didn’t know if he should thank God that Katherine was still alive.

  A buzzard squawked as it began to circle overhead, catching the scent of new death on the hilltop. Mackey raised his Winchester and shot the damned thing out of the sky. It dropped on the far side of the hill opposite Dover Station.

  Underhill watched Mackey lever a new cartridge into the rifle. “I know your blood is still up, Aaron, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to leave this town without any law.”

  “I agree. That’s why you’re staying behind. I need Billy with me, and the town will need watching while we’re gone. If Darabont sends a few stragglers back to cause trouble, you’ll be needed here.”

  “And what if nobody comes back?”

  “That federal star might not be legal anymore, but no one needs to know that. It’ll be enough to keep the town in order until we get back.”

  Underhill was silent for a moment. “And if you don’t come back?”

  Mackey felt phlegm in his throat and spat it out. “Then you’ll have yourself a sheriff’s badge if you want it.”

  Underhill looked back at the town below them. “This ain’t my town, Aaron.”

  Mackey could see the people begin to come out of hiding. Billy must’ve told some of the townsmen to stand down, because he could hear shouts and cheers beginning to rise up in the streets. The townspeople began to come outside and gather around the riflemen who had left their posts around the perimeter. Many of them fired their rifles into the air in celebration. Many threw their hats aloft like they had the day Lee had surrendered.

  Mackey was sure the boasting had already begun and knew, by nightfall, the number of Darabont’s dead would reach five hundred men and their defense would include repelling a charge of Darabont’s men at full gallop.

  They cheered because they thought their war was over now because, for them, it was. The reason for the siege was a distant memory. The dead whores had already been forgotten; Katherine, too. And he knew none of them would ride out with him to chase down Darabont.

  Mackey watched their celebration and found himself hating every single one of them. “It’s not my town either. Not anymore.”

  Chapter 30

  Mackey and Underhill walked in front while Billy rode shotgun as the undertaker drove the buckboard carrying the dead woman’s coffin off the hilltop. They went down a side street and back up Front Street.

  The cemetery was closer to the hillside where they had found her body, but this procession was not about brevity or convenience. Mackey wanted the town to see the woman whose suffering they had heard all night.

  He wanted them to see the woman who they refused to avenge.

  Townspeople craned their necks to look inside the wagon and seemed disappointed to see she had already been placed in the coffin. The only men who removed
their hats were the drunks from the Tin Horn who did so more out of habit than respect.

  He heard the people murmur questions to each other as the humble procession passed by. Which one was she? Was she one of theirs? Was it one of those women Darabont took from “that place”? They kept their questions to themselves. No one asked Mackey anything.

  Mackey and Underhill had to keep the horses steady as they approached the burned-out wreckage of the stagecoach. The horses stiffened at the smell of the dead horses lying bloated in the street, but the wagon kept moving.

  Mayor Mason flagged him down from the boardwalk in front of the jailhouse. Other than Doc Ridley, Mason was the last person he wanted to speak to, but he was still the mayor and entitled to answers.

  Mackey told Billy to continue the circuit through town, then up to the cemetery for burial while he and Underhill went to see Mason at the jailhouse.

  “Who was she?” Mason asked as he followed the two lawmen inside.

  Underhill went to the coffeepot, shook it, and realized it was empty. “I’ll go fill this up and put on a fresh pot. Think we could all use some.”

  “Pump’s out back.” Mackey laid his hat on the desk as he dropped into his chair. He hadn’t sat down for hours and suddenly felt every second of it. His lungs began to ache for the first time in over a day, reminding him he still had pneumonia.

  Mayor Mason stood in the doorway, waiting for an answer. “Aaron, was it one of the Hill House girls or . . . ?”

  “A decent woman? That’s what you really want to know, isn’t it?”

  “Aaron, I . . .”

  “What difference does it make? She’s dead and she died horribly. A lot of people died here over the last couple of days, not that any of you bastards give a damn. Don’t worry, Brian. She’ll be buried in an hour and then you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

  Mason took off his bowler and played with the brim. “You mean she’ll be buried in the cemetery?”

  “Within the hour.”

  “I hate to ask again, but everyone wants to know. Was she a woman from the JT or the mining camps or . . .”

  Mackey pounded the desk. “Instead of firing off a lot of damned fool questions, how about calling for a group of men to ride out with me to chase down Darabont’s bunch?”

  “You know they won’t do that.”

  Knowing it and finally hearing it were two different things. “Then get some of the men together to pull that stage coach and the dead horses out of Front Street. The men of this town ought to be good for something more than worrying about their own asses.”

  Mason surprised him by not flinching and remaining calm. “I’ve already asked your father to handle that. Are Darabont’s men really gone?”

  “Looks like most of them pulled out sometime last night, probably after we stopped them from getting any closer. The dynamite they threw last night was likely just a diversion, probably meant to keep us at bay during the night while the rest of them cleared out. I plan on closing the gap on them starting at noon today.”

  Mason looked up from the floor. “Why are you going after them?”

  “If you’ve got to ask the question, you wouldn’t understand the answer.”

  “But you’ll be going into the field with a skeleton crew. You’re outgunned and out manned.”

  “This isn’t over just because they ran off,” Mackey said. “They can’t be allowed to get away with what they did here today. There’s no telling what a man like Darabont might do. He could come back and finish up what he started or he could just keep riding south. It doesn’t matter what he does. It only matters what we do, and that’s why we’ve got to stop him.”

  “But he’s gone for now,” Mason argued. “Best to stay here and harden our defenses. To . . .”

  “That woman you heard screaming last night was lashed to a wagon wheel and roasted to death. Looks like she was the mother of that baby we pulled out of the rubble at Hill House.”

  Mason lowered himself into the chair by the door. “Good heavens.”

  Mackey rubbed his sore hand. He’d hit the desk too hard. “Heaven’s got nothing to do with anything that’s happened here the last few days.”

  “Are you taking Billy with you?”

  “I am.”

  Mason wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “We both know I can’t fight you and win, Aaron, but I don’t like the idea of you leaving the town unguarded right now. Your father’s men are riding high with glory now that they’ve helped run off Darabont. I’m afraid mob rule might take over in your absence.”

  “That’s why I’m leaving Underhill behind.”

  “I’m sure the marshal is a good man. We owe him thanks for how he helped defend the town. But he’s not you, and I don’t think anyone else could have held this town together against Darabont’s men. You were too busy protecting us to see how terrified they were, especially last night after the explosions started. They all heard about Darabont’s demands to give you up, but not one of them entertained the notion. Not even Doc Ridley and certainly not Mr. Rice.”

  Mackey was in no mood for compliments, even though he could tell Mason was sincere. “Their confidence didn’t do the people who burned to death up at Hill House much good. Old Wilkes or that woman in the buckboard or her dead baby, either, not to mention the people Darabont took with him.” He felt his throat close in on him. He swallowed hard. Katherine.

  “I told you no one blames you for that, Aaron.”

  “I had the chance to shoot that son of a bitch when he was standing in front of my door and I let him go.” He glared at Mason. “Because of you and your damned investors.”

  “No. Not because of me, Aaron, and not because of Mr. Rice and his investors. You didn’t kill him because you’re not like Darabont. You didn’t kill him because you’re not a murderer. You’re brutal and harsh, but you obey the law even though you bend it when you must. I know you killed that messenger, but as far as I’m concerned, that was war.” He looked over at the jail cell. “Just like whatever you do to get him to tell you where Darabont went was war, too.”

  Mackey closed his eyes. He’d almost forgotten about Berrie. It felt like he’d brought him in a month ago. It had only been yesterday.

  “Defending the town was one thing,” Mason went on, “but riding out after them is different. That’s not about defending the town and it’s not about justice. It’s about revenge, and even I know there’s no future in that.”

  Mackey looked at him, when a new voice came from the porch. “It’s not about vengeance,” the voice said. “It’s about justice.”

  Mr. Rice walked into the jail. He held a Winchester in his right hand, and his gray hair stuck up at odd angles. His expensive city clothes were dusty and grimy. There was a slight tear at the left shoulder of his jacket.

  He looked ten years younger than the morning Mackey had seen him at the railroad station.

  Mason stood. “Mr. Rice. I . . .”

  “Sheriff Mackey is right,” Rice said as he put the Winchester he’d been holding in the rifle rack. “You let a man like this Darabont scourge go, how long before word of what he did here gets around? How long before some other bastard tries doing the same thing. Six months? A year? I won’t invest in a town with a bull’s-eye on its back, Mason, and neither will my partners.” He nodded at Mackey. “Go get this bastard, son. I’ll foot the bill for the whole thing. Whatever it costs, just get him.”

  After everything he’d been through the past few days, Mackey enjoyed seeing Mason flustered. He ran his tongue inside his mouth and said, “You mean you’re still willing to invest here? Even after all that’s happened?”

  “Hell, yes,” Rice said. “The people of Dover Station have grit and determination. They hang together, and that’s rare these days. Who’s in charge while you’re gone?”

  “U.S. Marshal Underhill.”

  Rice seemed pleased. “I’ve heard the men talk after your deputy called for volunteers. I wouldn’t expe
ct many to ride out with you, except for the Mexicans and the German who volunteered. I can send out a call to hire more, but they wouldn’t get here for at least a week.”

  “More likely a month at the earliest,” Mackey said. “I’ll ride out with who I have. Anyone forced to ride will just be a drag on the rest of us.”

  “But you can’t just ride off without surveying the damage to our interests,” Mason said. “The loggers. The miners. Taylor’s ranch. Others who . . .”

  “Best to consider all of them dead or missing,” Mackey said. “Darabont was plenty busy before he hit us. Anyone still alive probably got scooped up by Darabont’s men. I’m not going to waste another day looking for what I know I’ll find. I’ll put that time to better use riding him down.”

  Mason clearly wanted to continue the discussion, but Rice beckoned him toward the door. “Let’s you and me get a riding party together and scout out these places tomorrow after the burials. See what’s been done and what we need to rebuild. We’re more apt to get volunteers if they know I’m interested in helping. The sheriff’s got enough to worry about.”

  Mackey watched the politician and the financier walk out of his jailhouse. He realized that for the first time in a few days, he was completely alone. It was likely to be the last time he’d be alone for some time.

  He hoped Underhill took his time filling that coffeepot.

  Chapter 31

  Pappy was waiting for him as soon as he stepped out of the jail. “Word is you’re going out after Darabont.”

  “For once, the word is correct.” Mackey kept walking toward his house. “Billy and me and some of the others will be hitting the trail by noon.”

  “I’m coming, too.”

  “Nope. Only room for one boss on the trail, and I don’t need you second-guessing my orders. Besides, I need you here to help Underhill keep watch over the town in case Darabont sends some men back here.”

  “Underhill? You’re leaving that goddamned Texan in charge? What about Billy?”