by Scott Connor
‘So, don’t you want to guess? The answer is fun.’
‘Nope.’ Lincoln ground his teeth, biting back the desire to drive his rifle butt into Mason’s damaged ribs.
Mason smirked and licked his lips. ‘Who do you think sold you out to me and Cody?’
Jed kicked Mason in the side, his boot connecting with a heavy thud.
‘Not Frank,’ Jed said.
Mason grimaced and shuffled round to move as far from Jed as his bonds would allow.
‘Frank would sell his own ma for a dollar,’ he said, wincing. ‘If he couldn’t get a dollar, he’d go lower.’
‘You don’t know Frank,’ Lincoln said. With the back of his hand, he wiped sweat from his chin.
‘I do know him,’ Mason said, ‘but Frank knows you better.’
‘What’s that mean?’ Lincoln spat.
‘Frank says you’re dull and predictable. You’ve never had an original thought in your life as a lawman.’
As Lincoln stroked his chin, he considered this opinion, but found nothing insulting.
‘So, that’s what Frank says, is it?’
‘Yeah, but Frank wouldn’t say anything so plainly. Frank’s more devious than – how would he put it – ten rattlesnakes in a small bucket.’
Lincoln winced. ‘Frank might have said that. How do you know him?’
Mason stretched and sighed. ‘We go back a long way.’
For a few moments Lincoln rubbed his chin. Then with a sudden rush of delight, he smiled, savoring his response.
‘You may go back a long way, but he still shot you.’
‘He didn’t,’ Mason said. His false smile evaporated.
Grinning at Mason’s discomfort, Lincoln turned to Jed.
‘Yup,’ Jed said. ‘Frank shot him. Only luck kept this dandy alive. His luck, not ours.’
‘See, dandy. Good old Frank knows which side of a lawman’s gun he lives on, and you found yourself on the wrong side.’
Mason mumbled to himself and hung his head.
‘Right, Sam, Jed,’ Lincoln said, turning from Mason and drawing his gun. ‘Time for our contingency plan, in case Frank didn’t reach Hopetown.’
Lincoln strode to the door and judged distances across the road.
‘Can’t find any rags,’ Sam said.
‘Use the dandy’s clothes,’ Lincoln said using a serious voice.
Sam laughed and grabbed Mason’s jacket.
‘Hey,’ Mason shouted, shoving Sam’s hands from his jacket with his shoulders. ‘Use cloth from one of the bodies.’
Sam lifted his hands. ‘Only because you asked so nicely.’
Sam pattered to the nearest dead outlaw. He ripped a strip of cloth from the body’s trousers, rolled it into a ball, then passed it to Jed.
With the lamp held aloft, Jed stood alongside Lincoln.
‘You throw,’ Lincoln whispered. ‘I’ll cover. Only one rifle is covering us from the stable and another from the warehouse.’
Jed passed the lamp to Lincoln and rolled under the doors. Surrounded by wooden buildings, the dangers from fire were obvious. The rotting warehouse across the road was an ideal target.
Even with the dust in the air the flames would be visible for miles and attract attention in Hopetown, whatever had happened to Frank.
Lincoln ordered Sam to watch the back exit. Then, with his jacket, he shielded the lamp from the howling wind and slipped under the doors. He rolled on to the boardwalk and watched Jed ignite the cloth.
The cloth caught fire with a whoosh.
As Lincoln pushed the lamp under the batwings, Jed leapt to his feet and dashed towards the warehouse, the wind flaring the cloth.
From the second floor of the warehouse, a rifle swung towards Jed.
Lincoln aimed and fired. His first shot hit its target, the victim collapsing soundlessly. Lincoln swung his gun to the stable and fired twice more. The second shot hit its target, but the victim cried out.
Lincoln leapt to his feet and strode two steps into the road.
Jed had dashed half-way across the road. He hurled the flaming cloth into the warehouse.
The cloth ripped through the dark dust clouds like a shooting star and landed on the top of a pile of tinder-dry logs.
As more men reached the stable door, Jed ran back across the road.
Lincoln fired three rapid shots. While he reloaded, Jed swirled round and fired too.
The flames caught hold of rotten kindling at the base of the log pile and doubled in size in a matter of seconds. As Lincoln kept his gun on the stable, ten men surged from the stable and peppered gunfire across the ground before Lincoln.
As the dirt sprayed into his face, Lincoln leapt back to land on the boardwalk. Jed landed beside him. Lincoln nodded to Jed and they leapt through the doors as another spray of bullets ripped along the saloon wall.
Lincoln rolled to his feet. He inched open the shutters.
Across the road the men scurried into the warehouse, their outlines framed against the growing fire. To Lincoln’s surprise, they hurled buckets of water over the flames and extinguished the fire within seconds.
The potential inferno dissipated before it began.
‘How did they do that?’ Jed asked.
‘With water,’ Lincoln growled.
‘I know,’ Jed snapped, ‘but they reacted too quickly.’
‘They’re good,’ Sam said as he peered over Lincoln’s shoulder.
‘I know,’ Mason said. ‘They’re my men.’
‘Shut up, dandy,’ Lincoln snapped. ‘They were lucky.’
‘You make your own luck,’ Mason said. ‘We plan well. Are you ready to give up? We’re way ahead of you. With Frank’s help we’re even better.’
With a resounding clatter, Lincoln slammed closed the shutters.
‘No, we’re way ahead of you. Your men did what I wanted them to do.’
Mason smiled. ‘No way. You failed.’
Lincoln shook his head. ‘Nope. Now I’ve shown that I’m willing to burn Dust Creek to escape, they won’t torch this saloon. I’ve put them off using the one tactic that would get me out of here.’
Mason’s mouth fell open as he considered Lincoln’s response.
Lincoln smiled. He almost believed it himself.
Chapter Eight
At the back of the stable Frank Taylor drew his legs to his chin. For the fifth time he scooped his hand into a water bucket and splashed a handful of water on his face.
When the ripples in the water died he glanced at his reflection, but he couldn’t tell if the streaks of charcoal had gone.
In the dung-filled stable, men who only bathed when they were caught in the rain surrounded him. By his side, Dave slumped against the ropes that strapped his arms to the front of a stall.
Frank hung his head. Cody’s savagery as he’d hacked at Dave had surprised him. To keep his thoughts from those terrible moments he forced himself to consider again the events that had led him here.
Two weeks ago, Sheriff Harold Steadman had told him about Marshal Polanski’s death, but he also told him to ensure Lincoln didn’t deliver a carpetbag to Abilene.
Frank had balked, but when Steadman said the carpetbag contained evidence that proved what happened in Dust Creek fifteen years ago, and that Lincoln figured in that evidence, he’d wavered.
When Steadman had offered him a city job in Abilene if he could complete his mission, his mind had turned to jelly.
Frank decided to stage a robbery and make it appear to be an outlaw ambush. So he sought out Mason Black and promised him that massive riches were in the carpetbag, all the time ignoring what would happen when the truth emerged.
With Mason he organized the ambush at Dust Creek and, with his confidence high, he thought his plan couldn’t fail. But then his plan unraveled.
He’d paid a gambler to pick a fight with Sam Williams in Purgatory, hoping to reduce the number of men guarding the bag, but Lincoln killed the gambler. Then Lincoln’s attack of Cody i
n Dust Creek started a gunfight before Frank gave the cue for the ambush to start.
From these failures the planned raid went increasingly wrong, leaving him sitting in the stable, desperately trying to work out what Lincoln would do next.
Frank looked up as the remainder of the gang ran back into the stable. He looked at Cody until Cody glanced at him.
‘So, I’m no use, then?’ Frank said.
Cody kicked over a water bucket.
‘Shaun,’ Cody said, ‘get them buckets filled, in case the big man does that again.’
‘He won’t,’ Frank said. ‘That’s not Lincoln’s way.’
‘Quiet. You got a lucky call.’
Frank opened his mouth to offer more choice comments, but then shrugged. Cody had taken his advice to have water ready, and Lincoln had started a fire, as he expected him to.
Frank rolled to his feet. He strolled to a stall and leaned against a post. Lincoln’s next plan would be to send another deputy to get help as soon as he knew Frank wouldn’t return.
‘Say, funny man,’ Cody said, interrupting Frank’s reverie. ‘What do you reckon would happen if we burn the saloon?’
As Cody took a pace towards him, Frank winced, the foul stench of Cody’s breath watering his eyes.
‘We can’t. We need the carpetbag.’
‘Gold doesn’t burn.’
‘The carpetbag contains documents, which I need to deliver to Sheriff Steadman. It doesn’t contain gold.’
‘I know that, funny man. Just wish we could get this over with.’
Frank patted his pockets and sighed. He’d left his smokes in the coach, along with his old friendships.
‘Patience. We have all night. We hold all the advantages.’
‘Tell you what, boss,’ Shaun said. ‘As we burn them out, I’ll go for the carpetbag. I reckon I can get the bag before it burns.’
‘That’s right,’ Cody said. ‘Let’s go.’
Cody waved his arm in a circular motion. When the gang pushed from the stalls and formed a tight circle around him, Frank pushed from his post and strode into the center of the stable.
‘Stop and think,’ Frank said.
‘You saying I’m not thinking?’ Cody snarled, his eyes blazing.
Frank lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair.
‘Burning will get Lincoln out. We might even get the carpetbag, but someone in Hopetown will see a fire out here in the plains. We won’t get far enough away.’
Cody favored him with a wider yellow smirk.
‘Who says we’re taking you with us?’
Frank shrugged, ignoring the taunt. ‘I know Lincoln.’
Cody grinned. ‘So he won’t burn? I’d like to see that.’
Frank considered Lincoln escaping from a burning saloon. Lincoln was predictable, but fire bought chaos and he thrived on chaos as he imposed his own type of order.
‘He’ll burn, but he’ll destroy the bag rather than let you have it.’
Cody nodded and bit his lower lip.
‘All right. We need another plan.’ Cody gleamed with a yellow grin. ‘And I’m bored of hanging around. We have to do something.’
Frank shook his head and raised a hand.
‘Stop, right now! We don’t need action. We need patience.’
Cody’s eyes narrowed. His yellow grin curled in the flickering light.
‘That’s where you’re wrong, funny man. I want the first and I haven’t got the second.’ Cody strode towards the stable doors.
‘Stop. We have the advantages. Help isn’t coming. We can sit this out, but Lincoln can’t. Every minute we wait improves our chances and reduces his. We pick our moment and move in.’
Cody swirled round and grinned with a sickening yellow smile.
‘You have no idea.’
‘As time passes, Lincoln’s mistakes will build and our small advantages become more significant.’
‘Sounds like you’re making this up as you go along.’
Frank winced, then held his arms wide.
‘It’s like poker. Lincoln’s bluffing. He hasn’t a hand, but we have a good one. When all bets are down, if we show our cards, the best hand will win.’
‘You talk plenty of rot, funny man. We’re sitting here with a plain full of grass and two troughs of rainwater. We’ve trapped the big man in a saloon and store. He’s enough food and drink to last all summer and winter. How do you reckon we last the big man out? Plant seeds to live on?’
Frank hung his head. The last time a siege trapped Lincoln, they were in a stable, not a saloon. In his plans he was still reliving that fight.
‘Food and drink isn’t everything,’ Frank said. ‘Wait until he sends out the next man.’
‘Stay quiet, funny man, unless you have something sensible to say.’
Cody swung around, turning his back on Frank.
‘What are we going to do, then?’ Shaun asked. ‘Do we go in, or not?’
‘No, not yet.’ From his belt, Cody extracted his long knife and advanced a long pace towards the slumped Dave. ‘I’ll do what I intended to do before and cut myself another slice of deputy.’
Chapter Nine
‘It’s time to rescue Dave,’ Jed said.
Lincoln shook his head. ‘We can’t go.’
Mason grunted. ‘Frank said that you’d never come out of here, if anything went wrong.’
Jed glanced outside and stamped his foot.
‘Prove Mason wrong. We can’t let Dave get cut up.’
‘As soon as the posse comes,’ Lincoln said, ‘we use the confusion to get Dave.’
Jed spat on the floor. ‘That’ll be too late. They have Dave and we can do something about it now.’
‘Brave talk, but we can’t leave our prisoner and Whiskey Bob.’
‘Yellow-belly,’ Jed muttered, then squared up to Lincoln.
The rows of whiskey bottles behind the bar seemed to lean towards Lincoln. He gritted his teeth and wiped the sweat from his brow.
‘In all my years,’ Lincoln said, ‘no one has called me that and lived.’
Sam grabbed Jed’s shoulders and pulled him from Lincoln.
‘Come on, Jed,’ he said. ‘That isn’t right. We need to take the best way – Lincoln’s way.’
‘Lincoln’s way is the wrong way,’ Jed murmured.
Blood pounded in Lincoln’s ears. In his younger days, he’d have already broken Jed’s jaw for that.
Still he stormed three long paces and grabbed Jed’s collar. With his blood surging, he thrust his face to within inches of Jed’s face.
‘Say that again,’ Lincoln spat. Phlegm showered over Jed’s forehead.
Jed’s eyes darted back and forth.
‘I said yellow-belly, but I guess you’re not. It’s just—’
‘It’s just what?’ Lincoln roared. He slammed a boot on the floor and forced a cloud of dust to spread around him.
‘We just need to do something,’ Jed whined, his eyes downcast.
‘We are. We’re waiting for Frank.’
‘What if Frank doesn’t return?’
‘Then I send you out for help.’
Jed’s gaze searched Sam, but Sam hung his head.
Then a piercing scream echoed through the night. The scream was inhuman, a wounded animal baying to die.
Another scream echoed, this time even more desperate and clearly Dave’s voice. Lincoln closed his eyes a moment and took deep breaths.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jed said, his voice flat. ‘You aren’t a yellow-belly. I’m just worried about Dave. We can’t let this happen to him. No job is worth that.’
For long moments Lincoln tensed as he waited for another scream. The only sound was the steady wind howling around the door.
Lincoln pushed Jed back a pace and, unable to meet his accusing stare, he glanced outside.
‘Where is this goddamn posse?’ he said.
‘Back in Hopetown,’ Mason said, ‘where it’ll stay.’
With a lunge, Li
ncoln grabbed his rifle and stormed to Mason. He thrust the rifle above his head, ready to beat his revenge from him.
Mason flinched from the rifle butt. With the rifle held high, Lincoln listened to his heart thud. Heartbeat by heartbeat his brow chilled and he lowered the rifle.
‘Frank’s a-coming, never doubt that for a second.’
Mason rubbed a cheek against a shoulder, drying the shining sweat that covered his face.
‘Frank’s double-crossed me as much as he’s double-crossed you. Die by all means, but do it with your eyes open, not believing sinners like Frank are saints.’
Jed fired a shot in the air. Roof dust cascaded around him.
‘Frank is no double-crosser,’ he shouted, ‘and Dave isn’t suffering no more.’
Jed dashed to the batwings. Lincoln charged across the room and grabbed his arm.
‘You’re not going anywhere.’
Jed shrugged from Lincoln’s grip and glared back, his gaze firm.
‘How will you stop me?’
As Cody edged towards Dave again, Frank glared at him.
‘Put the knife down, Cody,’ he said.
Cody rubbed the bloodied knife down his soiled jacket and grinned.
‘Are you getting squeamish? Bit late for that, funny man.’
Frank set his feet wide. ‘I said, put the knife down. You don’t need to do anything more.’
‘Make me,’ Cody muttered.
Without much hope, Frank glanced around the assembled gang. He only received harsh glares.
‘We haven’t time for this. Lincoln will make his move soon when he realizes I’m not bringing help.’
‘So, you can double-cross your partners, as long as you don’t have to watch them die?’
Frank gulped and ignored this truth. ‘No, but it isn’t necessary to torture Dave. I know Lincoln. This won’t work.’
‘This worked before. Everyone breaks when you cut up their friends.’
Frank strode towards Cody. He winced as the foul odor from Cody’s yellow grin washed over him.
‘You and Lincoln are the same. You’re predictable. You follow the same old plans. That’s why you’ll fail in the end.’
‘I’d heard you’re a funny man.’ Cody’s grin disappeared as fast as it came. ‘Go and be funny somewhere else.’
