“No can do, my friend.” Sam answered. “I respect your need to fight for your honor. I feel you’ve given this fellow back all he gave you—and more. But I’m not going to let him shoot you.”
Shannahan blinked, his fighting blood still raging through his veins. He took a deep breath, and seemed to see clearly again. He saw Parrish’s hand on the gun.
“He can try it,” Shannahan said grimly. “But I’m through fighting nice. This time I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”
He held up his strong hands, calloused from work and many fights. Sam had no doubt that those hands could break a man’s neck. Sam knew that Parrish was quick and clever. He could still draw fast enough to plug the Irishman before he could get his hands around the gunfighter’s neck.
“Flesh and blood are no match against lead,” Sam said. “You’ve done your part. You’ve taught Parrish a lesson. Now it’s time he was taught his final lesson. Maybe it’ll demonstrate clearly the futility of trying to go against me or my brother.”
“Speak English.”
“I’m going to kick butt, and show anybody watching what’ll happen if they cross us.”
Sam had directed this last comment to Phil Caphorn, who had been watching the fight in silence. He knew better than to think it would worry Caphorn, but it might make him pause. It might be the slight advantage he or Matt would need.
San continued, “I have some beefs to pick with Parrish, as well. Matters like blowing up a mine. Like kidnapping Malinda, that caused a shooting fight that could have caused me to get killed. Like shooting at my brother. That gives me enough claim to Parrish.”
Shannahan’s breathing had become easier as he calmed down. Parrish’s hand remained on the tip of the gun handle.
“Alright, Sam, You can shoot this dog if you want.”
Shannahan stepped back into the crowd, where Hart was waiting with a towel and a bucket of water. The Irishman started to dry himself off. The crowd seemed to move further back, out of the line of fire, leaving Parrish more alone than ever on the ground in the middle of the street.
Caphorn was leaning against a post on the porch of the Jordan Hotel, watching the fight with interest. In his pocket was a message from his banker that arrived a little earlier, telling him the gold had arrived safely. He could now confront Sam and Matt when he felt like it. He was waiting now to hear Jordan’s plans and to watch how Sam and Matt handled the fight between Shannahan and Parrish. Caphorn figured that Parrish would make short work of the Irishman. After all, Parrish had a small reputation, and who had ever heard of Shannahan?
Parrish had been a disappointment. Just another man who was a little faster with a gun than most others, but who lacked what it took to be a real fighter.
Caphorn was amused at Sam’s talk, which Caphorn knew had been directed at him. He had seen various men partner at different times in the West, but the bond that existed between Sam Two-Wolves and Matt Bodine was unusual. They worked together well. They trusted each other. More importantly, they seemed to like each other.
And there was some other element that Caphorn could not define. It was something beyond his experience and understanding. Even now, Caphorn watched as Matt moved quietly, without comment or drawing attention to himself, to back up Sam. Matt was positioning himself himself to get a clear shot at Parrish should he try something else sneaky. Caphorn knew instinctively, however, that he would not double-team Parish, as many other men would. Sam had called the fight, so Matt would not interfere, though he would not hesitate to attack if Parrish broke the unspoken rules even a little.
What was even more impressive to Caphorn was that Matt had also positioned himself to keep an eye on his, as well.
Matt was very clever. He was the one that had initially challenged Caphorn. He was the one Caphorn would have to face first. Though he had been paid to kill Matt and Sam, Caphorn knew that he would not have to go looking for Sam. Where ever Matt was, Sam would also be backing him up.
These two men made quite a team, with a bond that seemed stronger than blood.
In a way, it would be a kind of a shame to kill such unusual men. But, then, a job was a job, and this would help his reputation. It would help keep the gold flowing into his bank account, which was the most important thing.
Now, Matt had positioned himself and was apparently ignoring Caphorn. The gunfighter knew, however, that if he made a move for his gun, he would be facing flying lead from Matt, and then probably also from Sam.
Caphorn kept his hands in his plain sight. He wasn’t ready yet to deal in death with Matt and Sam.
That time would come soon.
Very soon.
Parrish listened to Sam’s talk, his hand motionless on the gun handle. He wished now that he had taken Jordan’s original advice and left town. Maybe his reputation would be tarnished, but at least he would be alive.
He couldn’t believe all his plans had failed, that it had come to this.
Ridiculed by Jordan, fired by him as if he were an ordinary employee and a not a hired gun.
Beaten twice, once by Sam and once by Shannahan.
Now he was trapped like a rat, with no escape.
The gunfighter knew he was fast. It had made his reputation. But Sam was also fast. Sam and his partner, Matt, also had something that set them apart from all the other men he had faced. They laughed and enjoyed life and faced death as if they had no fear of death. They faced fist fights, mine cave-ins and shoot-outs with the same easy style that they brought to their drinking and partying.
Parrish felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was in a corner. He would have to shoot it out with Sam. He had been called. If he slithered away now, he would truly be a laughingstock. Nobody would take him seriously.
He could just as well be dead.
“Well, Parrish?” Sam said. “This has gone on long enough. You have the reputation as a gunfighter. Let’s see you put your money down.”
“You have the edge on me,” Parrish said, trying to keep his voice steady. He was very tired, hurting from his beatings, and he was getting more and more worried. He thought maybe he could talk his way out of this situation.
“I know it,” Sam answered. “I’m not one to take an unfair advantage. I’ll give you a fair chance.”
“That’s sporting of you.”
“I think so, too,” Sam said. “You’re as bad as Jordan, maybe worse. I should just shoot you and not worry about it. But I’m giving you a chance. That’s more than I should probably do.”
“What’s your proposition?”
“Pick up your gun belt. Strap it on. If you’re as fast as you think you are, you shouldn’t have any worry.”
“What about Bodine?”
“He’ll stay out of it, unless you try something underhanded. Then he’ll shoot you and be happy about it. He took it kind of personal when you took his girl.”
“She’s not my girl!” Matt protested.
“What ever,” Sam said.
“Do I have a choice?” Parrish asked.
“You always have a choice. If you want to get on your horse and ride, I won’t stop you. But then everybody in the West will know you’re a coward. And I wouldn’t be surprised if our paths still cross at some point. I have a long memory.”
Parrish breathed deeply, trying to calm his jangled nerves.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll move slowly.”
Parrish moved his hand back from the gun, got his feet under him and stood slowly. He felt like every eye in town was on him. If he had any thoughts of running, they had now fled. He flexed his fingers. They were a little stiff and sore, but they still worked. His arm was tired, but he felt like his years of practice and experience would still save him. He tried to calm his mind.
Sam stood quietly, in a relaxed posture, his arms crossed in front of him.
Parrish kneeled, picked up the gunbelt. He had worn the belt and the gun for years. It felt familiar to him, almost comforting. Sam had gotten a few lucky breaks. H
ow did he think he could beat Parrish at his own game?
He strapped the belt around him. The weight of the holster against his thigh gave him even more confidence. He situated it just right, bent slowly with open palms to tie it down.
“Let me check the gun, will you?” he said.
Sam nodded.
Parrish noted that Matt was apparently watching him even closer than was Sam.
He thought, Damn those two! And damned the day he had ever crossed their paths.
Parrish moved his hand slowly, smoothly pulled his gun from his holster with fingers and thumb. The weight of the gun sent a new wave of optimism through him. He removed the shells, blew out any dust that might be in the chambers, inserted new bullets. He carefully checked the action, cocking the gun.
All the while he was also watching Sam, who stood motionless, arms still crossed in front of him.
This might be Parrish’s only chance. Nobody could uncross his arms, draw his gun, and shoot faster than a man with a cocked gun already in his hand.
In a smooth, fluid motion, almost faster than they eye could see, Parrish shifted position. The gun in his hand almost aimed itself at the man standing down the street from him.
Parrish was pulling the trigger when he felt the first slug hit him in the chest.
He couldn’t believe his eyes. Sam had also shifted his position as his hand dropped to his own gun. He pulled it and fired the first shot in a blur of motion that didn’t register with Parrish until the lead hit him.
He pulled the trigger, but the bullet hitting him ruined his arm. The shot went wide and high.
He shot twice more. Those shots also went wild.
Sam’s shots were more accurate. He placed three more bullets in a tight pattern in Parrish’s chest. The gunfighter looked down in disbelief as blood started to squirt from his chest onto the street.
He tried to shoot again, but the gun was heavy in his hand and fell into the dirt.
As Parrish collapsed, he saw that Matt had also pulled his gun, but had not shot.
Parrish’s last thought before he died was, Nobody could be that fast.
Sam stood quietly as Parrish fell to the street.
Matt also watched, until he was certain Parrish would not make another move. He holstered his gun and walked over to Sam.
“One down,” he said. “How many more to go?”
“At least two,” Sam answered. “I don’t think Caphorn will back off. My guess is he’s getting paid big bucks by Jordan. This demonstration might stop some, but from what I hear about Caphorn, I doubt if it’ll stop him.”
“And I don’t think Jordan will back off, either,” Matt said. “I have an idea he’s going to pull something, but heck if I know what. With some of the town against him, or at least neutral, after your show at his mine, his options are more limited.”
The crowd started milling around. Sam said loudly, “Somebody clean up the mess, will you?”
At first it looked as if nobody would follow Sam’s request. Finally some of the crowd picked up Parrish’s body to carry it away.
At the hotel, Jordan had stepped inside, followed by Strep and Caphorn.
Chapter Nineteen
Nelson Jordan’s face was grim as he faced his men in his office.
“I’ve had enough,” Jordan said. “I’ve had it up to my neck, and I won’t stand it anymore!”
The others in the room looked down at Jordan. Strep’s bruised face had turned a splotchy black and blue. His hands were still steady, however, and he had a look in his eyes that Jordan could not read. Grant, his other key man, had so far managed to avoid getting hurt in the various confrontations with Hart, Matt, and Sam. He was still eager to help. Phil Caphorn looked bored with the hold thing.
“Talk’s cheap,” Caphorn said. “So far, all I’ve seen is that they’ve beat the crap out of you. So what are you going to do in return?”
Jordan gestured at Strep. “Now’s the time to blow the dam. I want all of Hart’s operations destroyed. I want him ruined. I want him dead. I want all of his en dead. I’m out of patience.”
“You still think it’s a good idea?” Strep asked.
Jordan glared at him. “I think you’re getting mighty big for your britches,” he said.
“Maybe. Maybe not. I agreed to work for you, not be your slave. I’ve given you your money’s worth. I think getting myself killed wasn’t part of the agreement.”
“What do you mean?”
“For awhile, you had things going your way. Hart was a thorn in your side, but you had plenty of claims in your name and a mine started. You had plenty of people who would fight for you. Now it’s not quite that simple. After the show that Sam and Hart gave at the mine, they’ve got a lot of support. Even from your workers. If shooting starts, they’ll sit out—if you’re lucky. Hell, I have half a mind to ride on myself.”
“So I was right. You are a traitor. You’re siding with my enemy.”
“I’m still on your payroll. I just think you need to be warned this is not going to be a picnic.”
“A picnic? Who’s talking about a picnic?”
Jordan turned to the door, where Malinda was smiling sweetly. Her dress was dirty and her hair had worked loose. But she was smiling happily.
“Nobody invited you,” Jordan growled. “You’re a traitor, too. Joining up with the no-account drifter, Bodine.”
“That’s not fair,” Malinda said. “I just wanted to let you know that if you want me to sing, tonight, I will . . .”
Jordan crossed the room before Malinda could finish her sentence. His hand made a quick movement and slapped the side of Malinda’s face. The sound filled the room.
“You’ll do what I tell you,” Jordan said. “I said you don’t belong here. Go back to your room. I’ll take care of you later.”
Malinda glared at Jordan, but turned on heals and left, closing the door after her.
Malinda was hurt and she was angry. Though she had some problems with Jordan in the past, it was as if the slap had opened her eyes to other parts of him. They were parts she hadn’t wanted to see before.
As she left the room, she shut the door, but left it open a crack. She quietly put her ear close to the crack to listen to the talk.
“There was no calling for that,” Strep said.
“You just shut up. You’re always been too uppity. I don’t want any more argument.”
Caphorn was smiling, though he didn’t say a word.
“Here’s the plan. We blow up the dam tonight. The water will rush through the streets and into Hart’s land. That should cause plenty of destruction, but I want more than that, now. During the confusion, I want as many of Hart’s men as possible to be picked off.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“You mean Bodine and Tow-Wolves?”
“Of course. They’re not going to just be sitting around twiddling their thumbs. And they’re hell on wheels.”
“That’s what Caphorn is here for. He’ll take care of those two.”
“No problem,” Caphorn said.
“By the end of tonight, they’ll all be dead, Jordan concluded. That’ll clear the way for me to grab up Hart’s claims and work this area like a real businessman.”
Malinda pulled her head back from the door. She had been so wrong about Jordan! She still felt some loyalty to him, but she had to draw the line at so many innocent lives being lost.
She hesitated for a second. She had been with Jordan for a long time. It didn’t feel right to go against him. Then again, he had never struck her before. She had never seem him so cold and ruthless.
Inside the room, movement started taking place, and somebody started for the door.
Malinda had to make her decision quickly.
She hurried out the back door to try and find Matt.
Jordan turned to Strep.
“Can you go along with this plan? Or are you going to fight me on it?”
“I had doubts. But I’ll fin
ish this job for you.”
“Good. Go on out and get the explosives ready.” He handed a slip of paper to Strep. “My mining engineer drew up a diagram for me, showing potential weak spots. He thought I was looking into a safety project. Actually, you put explosive at those points, and the whole dam is guaranteed to give way.”
Strep took the paper and left the room.
Jordan took out a cigar and lit it. After several minutes, with the cigar well-lit and smoking nicely, Jordan looked at the remaining two men.
“Well?” he asked.
“Strep’s not a traitor,” Grant said. “Maybe some of his decisions aren’t to your liking, but he’s not going to betray you.”
“What’s you thoughts, Caphorn?”
“Can’t trust him. Whether he opposes you openly or not, he has his doubts. He’s going to drag his feet. He’s going to make mistakes. I think you should get rid of him.”
“Do it.”
“It’ll mean more money.”
“Fine. Just do it. As soon as he sets the explosives. Make it look like he died in the explosion. I doubt if anybody will ever investigate this, but no use taking chances. We don’t want to get sloppy.”
Jordan turned to Grant.
“How many men remain loyal to me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a half dozen. Maybe a dozen. In the cover of darkness, it’ll be enough.”
“Then get to it. Make sure they’re ready when the dam gives way.”
Darkness was falling. Malinda wasn’t exactly sure where Matt and Sam would be at this hour, but she had a guess. She knew that Hart and his men often met after hours at a little saloon owned by a man named Clancy. He was the one that Matt said made the wine that they had drunk on their picnic. It was only a little while before, though it seemed like days.
Malinda wished she had time to get cleaned up and change. But there was not enough time. She didn’t know when the dam was going to blow, and she didn’t want to take any chances.
When she got to Clancy’s saloon, she hesitated again. She still had time to turn back. If she entered through the front door, then somebody would see her and report back to Jordan. It was now or never.
Blood Bond 7 Page 14
