“Not even if you said five hunnert dollars,” Creech replied. “I’ve heard enough about MacCallister that I don’t want to have nothin’ to do with ’im. Why, do you know he kilt four men right here in this very saloon the other day?”
“Four men, huh? Are you sure it was four, ’n not just two?”
“Oh, you already heard about it, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, maybe it was only two men. But still, if I was you, I’d get some men to help me.”
Learning that MacCallister was in town all alone, Quinn was convinced that he wouldn’t need anyone else. And if he didn’t use anyone else, he would have a legitimate claim to the entire twenty-five hundred dollars Kendrick was offering.
Quinn walked over to the bar, ordered another mug of beer, and told one of the bar girls to deliver it to Creech, who was still sitting at the table.
Leaving the Hog Pen, Quinn walked down the street to the CSS Alabama. If he was going to kill MacCallister, he at least needed to know what he looked like. He didn’t want to shoot the wrong man, after all. Kendrick wouldn’t pay for the wrong man.
Quinn giggled at his thought, and was still smiling as he pushed through the batwing doors and stepped into the saloon. He moved up to the bar. “What are you serving for beer? The reason I ask is down at the Hog Pen, Hog Jaw is servin’ horse piss.”
“Well, if I could get away with it, I’d serve the same thing,” Prescott said, drawing a mug for him. “After all, that is cheaper.”
Quinn paid for the beer, then looked out over the floor. When he saw someone sitting at a table alone, drinking coffee, he stared closely at him. He had the strongest feeling that it might be MacCallister. “Who’s the feller drinkin’ the coffee?”
“Why are you askin’?”
“No reason,” Quinn replied. “It just don’t seem to me like a man would come to a saloon to drink coffee. You’d think he’d want a man’s drink.”
“Yeah? Well, I wouldn’t say anything about him not being a man if I were you. Not if you want to live much longer, that is.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, sir, that is a fact. You see, mister, that there feller is Duff MacCallister. I reckon you’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”
“Can’t say as I have.”
“Well, there are quite few who would still be alive if they had heard of him before they tangled with him.”
“Fast with a gun, is he?”
“Fast with a gun? Well, now that you mention it, I don’t know if he is fast or not. I don’t know that those men were killed in what you might call an actual gunfight. I think mostly they were killed just because MacCallister was a lot smarter than they were.”
“Are you sayin’ he shot ’em in the back?” Quinn asked, surprised by the bartender’s remark.”
“Now don’t you be putting words into my mouth, ’cause I didn’t say nothin’ at all like that. What I said was, he’s smarter than anyone who has ever tried to kill him.”
“I’m thinkin’ that one of these days, MacCallister might run into someone who is smarter than he is.”
“That’s a strange thing for you to say. What makes you think that?”
“No particular reason,” Quinn replied. “It’s just that gunfighters like him always do.”
Prescott shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. MacCallister isn’t like the kind of man you are talking about. He’s not what you would call a gunfighter. And he doesn’t go around starting fights, but he does seem to have a knack for endin’ ’em.”
“Show me someone who has a reputation for killin’ a lot of people, ’n I’ll show you someone who’s picked more ’n a few fights.”
“What makes you such an expert in this?” Prescott asked, obviously getting a little annoyed with his customer.
“You might say I’m in that business,” Quinn replied.
“Oh? And what business would that be?”
“The business of killin’ people,” Quinn replied with a humorless smile.
“Who are you, mister?”
“Quinn. Ethan Quinn.”
Prescott blinked once, but he didn’t respond to Quinn’s remark.
“I see you’ve heard of me.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of you.”
“I thought maybe you might have.” Quinn finished his beer, then left the saloon.
Chapter Thirty-one
Walking across the street, Quinn stood in front of the leather goods store, keeping his eye on the front door of the CSS Alabama Saloon.
When he first went into the saloon, it had been his intention to challenge MacCallister man-toman, but he’d started thinking about the number of men that MacCallister had killed, just since arriving in Texas. Quinn realized that a direct challenge might not be the smartest thing he could do. All Kendrick wanted was for MacCallister to be dead, and dead was dead, no matter how he was killed.
Quinn smirked. And, he thought, the twenty-five hundred dollars would spend just as well, no matter how he killed him.
* * *
Prescott watched the door of the saloon until he was certain Quinn was gone, then he walked over to the table where Duff was still drinking his coffee. “Mr. MacCallister, did you happen to notice the man that just left here?”
“A slender man with long yellow hair?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. His name is Ethan Quinn, and he has a bit of a reputation as a gunfighter. I just thought I’d tell you that he was askin’ a lot of questions about you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Prescott. I appreciate the information.”
* * *
Elmer Gleason, a little bored staying out at the ranch, decided to ride into to town to look up Duff to see if he had been able to find out anything. Besides, two sets of eyes and two sets of ears would be better than one. He passed the blacksmith shop as he came into town. The ringing of the smithy’s hammer filled the street with sound.
He was pretty sure that Duff would be in one of the two saloons, so he decided he would check the CSS Alabama first.
* * *
Across the street, Quinn saw a rider coming down the street toward him, but paid no attention, other than just keeping an eye on him. He didn’t want the rider between him and MacCallister when MacCallister stepped outside. Quinn knew that he would have only a second to maintain the advantage over the man he intended to kill.
He smiled when he saw MacCallister push through the swinging doors and step out onto the wooden porch in front. The timing was perfect. Quinn would have a shot at him before the approaching rider could pass between them. He saw MacCallister pause to look up and down the street, and that gave Quinn the opening he needed. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction of his target, he pulled his pistol, then raised it toward the man he intended to kill.
The approaching rider saw Quinn raise the pistol and aim it at Duff. “Duff! Look out!” Elmer shouted at the top of his voice.
Duff’s reaction was instantaneous. He dropped to one knee just as Ethan Quinn fired. He felt the concussion of the bullet as it fried the air by his ear and slammed into the door frame just behind him.
“Damn!” Quinn shouted in anger. He cocked his pistol and aimed again, but he didn’t get the opportunity for a second shot.
Even as he was cocking his pistol, Elmer and Duff were shooting at him. Elmer’s bullet hit Quinn in his side, and would have, no doubt, prevented the gunman from shooting a second time. At the same time, Duff’s bullet plunged into Quinn’s heart. Quinn fell facedown, his feet still on the porch of the Merrill Town Leather Goods store, and his face in the dirt of Bratton Road. His right arm was outstretched, his hand still wrapped around the gun.
The shooting, happening as it did right in the middle of town, drew a crowd as people came pouring out of the businesses lining the street, the Rustic Rock Restaurant, the Del Rey Hotel, Sikes Hardware, and Buckner Ragsdale Mercantile.
“Damn! You know who that feller is? That’s Ethan Quinn!” someone said.
; “What happened?” another asked.
“He got hisself shot. That’s what happened.”
Sheriff Wallace and Deputy Bullock hustled onto the scene, and after taking a look at the Quinn’s body, Wallace looked around. “Who done this?”
“I did,” Duff replied.
“Me too,” Elmer added.
“Both of you? You mean it was two of you against this one man?” Wallace challenged.
“Sheriff, they didn’t have no choice,” one of the bystanders said. “I seen it all, ’n Quinn, he’s the one that started it. He shot first.”
“Who did he shoot at?”
“Why, he shot at him.” The man pointed to Duff.
“If he was shootin’ at MacCallister, what were you doin’ shootin’ at Quinn?” the sheriff asked Elmer.
“I shot ’im, ’cause I seen that he was ’bout to shoot at Duff,” Elmer replied.
The sheriff smirked. “Then you can’t claim self-defense, can you?”
“He doesn’t have to,” another man said. “Clearly, this man’s act is justifiable homicide, as it can objectively be proven to a trier of fact and beyond all reasonable doubt that Quinn intended to commit violence against Mr. MacCallister. A homicide in this instance is blameless.”
Wallace turned to the speaker. “What business is this of yours?”
“I am a lawyer, Sheriff, an officer of the court. As such, I have taken an oath to support the Constitution and laws of the United States and of Texas. The actions taken by these two men are fully justified.”
Blowout
“Are you telling me Quinn was killed?” Kendrick asked.
“Yes sir. I seen ’im shot down my ownself,” Creech replied.
“What about the men who were with him?”
“There warn’t no men with him,” Creech said. “He was all by hisself. But MacCallister, he warn’t all by hisself. They was another man, a feller by the name of Gleason, ’n he was also a-shootin’ at Quinn.”
Sitting at his table in the Pair of Kings, Kendrick drummed his fingers on the table, then turned to look at Peabody sitting across from him. “I thought you told me Quinn was the consummate gunman.”
“The what?” Peabody replied.
“You led me to believe that Quinn would be able to deal with Mr. MacCallister.”
“Well, if he had done what we told ’im to do, if he had got him some men with ’im, more ’n likely MacCallister ’n Gleason would both be dead now.”
“Perhaps.” Kendrick turned his attention back to Creech. “I thank you for bringing me the news.”
Creech cleared his throat.
Kendrick frowned. “What is it?”
“Uh, Quinn, he promised me a hunnert dollars if I found MacCallister for ’im. I found ’im, but Quinn didn’t give me no money. He said he would pay me later.”
“And you are telling me that, because?”
“I thought maybe . . . that is . . . I was kinda hopin’, you’d give me the money.”
“I am under no obligation to honor any contract entered into by the late Mr. Quinn.”
“Yes, sir. I just thought—” Without completing the sentence, Creech started to turn away from the table.
“However,” Kendrick said.
There was a hopeful sound to the word, and Creech turned back toward Kendrick’s table.
“You did bring me word of Mr. Quinn’s demise. I suppose, under the circumstances, that should be worth something.” Kendrick took out a twenty-dollar bill and held it out toward Creech.
The expression on Creech’s face registered his disappointment.
“But if you don’t want it,” Kendrick said, pulling the money back.
“No, sir, I want it! And it’s mighty grateful I am for it, too,” Creech said quickly, reaching out to take the money.” Grasping the money tightly, he left the saloon.
“We have to do somethin’ ’bout MacCallister, or he’s goin’ to be big trouble,” Peabody said after Creech left.
“There is no going to be about it. He has already proven to be trouble,” Kendrick said.
“What are we goin’ to do about him?”
“We do have an ace in the hole,” Kendrick said.
“What’s that?”
“We’ve got the girl.”
“Yeah, but we’ve had her all along.”
“We just haven’t been imaginative enough with our handling of Miss Ireland. Perhaps if MacCallister knew that the girl was not enjoying a comfortable stay with us, we might be able to draw him into acting injudiciously.”
“What do you mean, the girl not enjoying a comfortable stay with us? What do you have planned?”
“Suppose we had a lottery among the men, and the winner would be granted the opportunity to . . . let us say, enjoy Miss Ireland’s feminine charms? They would be second, of course. I would be first.”
“Kendrick, are you saying what I think you are saying?” Peabody asked, a broad smile spreading across his face. “You mean, laying with her?”
“That is precisely what I mean.”
“How ’bout if the winner was to be third? I mean, seein’ as I’m your right-hand man, maybe I could be second.”
“All right. I can see that.”
“When are we goin’ to do it?” Peabody asked anxiously.
“Not right away,” Kendrick said. “First, MacCallister has to realize that the threat is there. Otherwise, we lose our advantage.”
“How is he going to find out?”
“Get Creech back in here. I think if I would give him another eighty dollars, fulfilling Quinn’s contract with him, he would be willing to carry the message for us.”
* * *
Glitter Bright was sitting at a table nearby, but because the girls who worked the Pair of Kings had become as ubiquitous as the furnishings, neither Kendrick nor Peabody paid any attention to her. She’d overheard every word of Kendrick’s plan.
Her first thought was one of sympathy for the governor’s daughter. She felt bad about the young woman being a prisoner in the first place, but as she thought what the girl would be facing, she was even more concerned. She thought about warning her, but what would that accomplish, besides getting herself into danger, as well?
Maybe if Rosalie knew the danger she was in, she could hide.
But they would find her, and if they did, they might also find out that Glitter was the one who had warned her. Glitter kept thinking. What if both of them left town?
Glitter went upstairs to her room, then began putting things into a cloth bag. A moment later, she went back downstairs carrying the bag. “Weasel,” she called over to the bartender. “I’m takin’ some things down to the laundry. You got anything you want me to take?”
“No, thanks. I got it took care of yesterday. When are you comin’ back?”
“Prob’ly not until late. I’m goin’ out to see Mr. Tadlock.”
Weasel chuckled. “Why do you waste your time with him? That ol’ man ain’t never goin’ to marry you.”
Glitter smiled. “You’re jealous of him, ain’t you, Weasel?”
“Maybe I am, a little.”
“How come you ain’t jealous of any of the men that take me upstairs?”
“On account of I know they ain’t none of them that’s ever goin’ to think of marryin’ you.”
“You’re a sweet man, Weasel. I just wish we’d met somewhere else, before this.”
Weasel nodded.
“You take care, Weasel,” she said as she left.
Weasel stared at the empty door. Take care? That was a strange thing for her to say.
* * *
Glitter thought of what she had said to Weasel. She meant it. She really did have feelings for him. She also felt a sense of sadness because she knew what he didn’t—that she had no intention of ever seeing him later or of ever returning to Blowout.
Leaving the saloon, she walked across the street to the Blowout Livery.
“Hello, Miss Bright,” the stable man said.<
br />
“Hello, Mr. Statler. Would you get the buckboard ready and park it in front of the hotel in about half an hour?”
“I’ll bet you’re going to see Tadlock,” Statler replied with a knowing grin.
“You’re just too smart,” Glitter replied.
“I sure don’t know what you see in that old coot. Why he’s so ugly he’d make a train take five miles of dirt road,” Statler said, laughing at his own joke.
“Money, Mr. Statler. Money,” Glitter said, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together.
“All right. I’ll have the rig down there in about half an hour.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Although Rosalie did have the freedom to go anywhere in town she wanted to go, she had explored all of it, so she was content to spend her time in the hotel room, leaving only for meals. When she heard a knock on the door, she was frightened. “Who is it?” she called hesitantly.
“Miss Ireland, it’s me, Glitter Bright. Please let me in.”
Rosalie recognized the voice and wondered why she might be there, but remembered that the girl had seemed frightened of Kendrick. Thinking she might be in trouble, Rosalie opened the door.
“Thank you,” Glitter said, stepping in quickly and closing the door behind her. “I don’t think anyone saw me. At least, I hope not.”
“Are you in trouble?” Rosalie asked. “Can I help?”
“I’m not in trouble. You are,” Glitter replied.
Despite her situation, Rosalie laughed. “Well, yes, I am in trouble. But you didn’t have to come here to tell me that.”
“No, I mean you really are in trouble. More trouble than you think,” Glitter said.
“Oh! What kind of trouble?”
“Kincaid wants to . . . uh . . . well, just trust me, you need to get out of here. I’ll have a buckboard in front of the hotel in a few minutes, and I’ll drive you out of town.”
“But won’t you get into trouble for helping me?”
“I would if I came back to town,” Glitter said. “But I ain’t comin’ back. I’m runnin’ away with you.”
“Oh, Glitter, I don’t know. If they see me riding in a buckboard with you, they’ll know something is wrong.”
Ten Guns from Texas Page 24
