Brolin (A Piccadilly Publishing Western Book 14)

by B. S. Dunn

‘What is it then?’

  ‘It’s what it says,’ Brolin explained, his impatience close to the surface. ‘It’s a pass. The trail runs between two peaks, above the snow line. From there it runs down into a valley to the town of Lazy River.’

  ‘I’ve heard of that town,’ King said, sounding pleased.

  They rode on in silence. The horses picked their way along the rugged trail as it climbed up through rocky outcrops and stands of aspen with leaves of gold, yellow and red. Tall pines cast long shadows across the steep slope that fell away to their left.

  ‘Why do they call it Bullet Pass?’

  The question came from nowhere. One moment there was silence, the next, the words tumbled from King’s mouth.

  Brolin’s lips thinned with frustration.

  ‘It’s called that because if we don’t go through it fast enough a whole lot of snow could fall on our heads.’

  ‘You mean an avalanche?’

  ‘Of course I mean an avalanche.’

  ‘Oh,’ was King’s only reply..

  They passed the snow line in the early afternoon. The landscape of greens and golds transformed suddenly into pristine white. A blanket of snow covered almost everything there was to see. With it came a bone-chilling cold. As Brolin and King did not have suitable clothing as protection they were forced to used the blankets from the bedrolls behind the saddles to keep warm.

  Mid-afternoon saw the pair enter the pass. It was narrow and two sheer rock walls rose up high on both sides. At the top there was an overhang of snow and ice. It clung precariously to the cliff face. A light snowfall was adding to the build-up and Brolin guessed it wouldn’t be long before the overhang gave way.

  The horses plodded through the snow, heads bowed. White powder settled upon both man and beast.

  A loud crack caused Brolin to look up sharply. At first, a few small pieces of ice fell through the void and crashed into the pass. These were followed by another loud crack and Brolin knew that things were about to become really interesting.

  He hipped around in the saddle.

  ‘King! Ride, damn it! It’s coming down.’

  Alarmed, King’s first instinct was to look up. What he saw chilled him to the core. A massive chunk of ice and snow had broken away from the overhang and begun its perilous fall.

  King froze, his face a mask of terror.

  ‘King!’

  The sound of his name being shouted snapped him from his daze. He kicked the bay horse brutally in the flanks to get it to move. The horse lifted its head and lunged forward, hindered by the knee-deep snow as it tried to break into a gallop.

  Frantically Brolin went to work on the buckskin as the pair fled for their lives. A great rumbling sound filled the pass as the white wall of death thundered down the mountain. Large chunks of ice and snow tumbled around the men as they rode desperately to keep ahead of the oncoming mass.

  Gradually the horses picked up speed as they fought the soft, treacherous snow. The noise became louder and louder until there came a loud whump as the avalanche hit bottom. Hundreds of tons of snow, ice and rocks landed far too close behind King and his bay for comfort. A great white cloud sprayed out, covering both men in a layer of damp powder.

  Then the thunderous roar abated and Brolin dared to risk a glance over his shoulder at the pass. There things were beginning to settle. When the two men finally pulled up they were through Bullet Pass and out of danger.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Brolin asked a pale and shaking King.

  ‘Uh … yes. Yes ... I think so,’ King gasped breathlessly. ‘That sure was close. I thought I was goin’ to die.’

  ‘It gets easier from here,’ Brolin told him. ‘Once we get below the snow line we’ll make camp, then tomorrow we should make Lazy River.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to go ridin’ in there? You bein’ wanted and all,’ King reminded him.

  Brolin considered the question, then brushed any concerns to one side. If Stall had passed through Lazy River then he, Brolin, would be the last person anyone would be concerned about.

  Six

  Five men and three women cowered fearfully in a darkened corner of the Lazy River Savings & Loan while Stall beat the manager about the head with his gun barrel.

  ‘I warned you, didn’t I?’ he snarled. ‘I told you not to mess around and play me. But you didn’t listen.’

  The six-gun rose and fell three more times; then the manager slumped to the floor and didn’t move. Blood poured from multiple lacerations to the middle-aged man’s face.

  Stall stood over him, panting from the exertion he’d put into the beating.

  The five outlaws had ridden into town separately. Blaine and Ross met up at the Deuce High saloon while Kansas and Jack Murphy lounged around the streets trying to look inconspicuous as they waited for Stall.

  Once the outlaw leader had arrived four of them converged on the bank, while Ross waited across the street with the horses.

  ‘Damn it, Mike! You’ve killed him,’ stated Kansas.

  Stall shrugged his shoulders. ‘Yeah, well.’

  He looked over at the cowering forms in the corner and spotted the bank clerk.

  ‘You,’ Stall’s voice thundered in the bank’s close confines. ‘Get the damn safe open. And make it quick, unless you want to end up like your boss here.’

  The clerk, a small thin man with buck teeth, tentatively edged forward. Stall stepped close to the frightened man and grabbed his collar. Then he half-ragged, half-carried him behind the counter and stopped at the safe’s door.

  ‘Get it open. Now.’

  The clerk fumbled with the lock on the Diebold-manufactured safe. His hands trembled and he had to pause to gather himself together.

  ‘How’s it look outside?’ Stall called out to Blaine.

  ‘It’s OK so far,’ Blaine answered impatiently. ‘Though I think some folks are startin’ to get wind somethin’ is up.’

  Stall turned back to the clerk, who was starting to swing the heavy door open.

  ‘Good, now get out of the way,’ he ordered. ‘Blaine, stay at the window. Kansas, give me a hand.’

  That left Murphy to watch the prisoners.

  Stall and Kansas hurriedly started to fill small flour sacks with as much money as they could lay their hands on.

  ‘How much you reckon is here?’ Stall asked.

  ‘Has to be two or three thousand,’ Kansas guessed.

  ‘Yeah. That’s what I was thinkin’.’

  ‘Hey, Mike,’ Blaine called to his boss.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘You’d better hurry. I got a feller comin’ across the street wearin’ a badge.’

  ‘Damn it!’ Stall cursed out loud. ‘We’ll be out shortly.’

  The pair roughly stuffed the last few bills into the sacks and emerged from behind the counter just in time to see the door open to admit the man Blaine had warned them about.

  Shock registered on the deputy sheriff’s face as he took in the scene before him. The bloodied dead man on the floor, the terrified customers and bank clerk, and the four men who faced him with guns drawn.

  ‘What the hell …?’

  It was all the young man could get out. Instinctively he clawed for his Colt six-gun, but before he had it halfway clear of its holster thunder filled the room. The outlaws fired in unison and their bullets ripped the deputy’s chest apart. Blood spattered over the large window behind him and the young man’s body was hurled violently backwards by the impact. He hit the low glass with tremendous force and fell through it. Shards scattered and the body came to rest outside on the rough plank boardwalk, his boots resting on the sill.

  ‘It’s time we left, boys!’ Stall shouted amid the screams of some women,

  The four outlaws rushed outside, waved their guns in the air and fired indiscriminately. It was a tactic designed to scare and confuse the townsfolk for long enough to allow the robbers a clear getaway. It didn’t work. While the women and children of Lazy River hurried from the str
eet, the menfolk responded valiantly and fought back.

  They took cover wherever they could find it. Behind a water trough, in an alleyway or behind an upright awning post. They didn’t run away and as Stall and his men ran across the street to get to their horses a hail of lead followed their every step.

  Stall felt the burn of a bullet as it passed close to his face. Another clipped his jacket, while a third chewed a piece from his hat. Small eruptions of dirt leapt around his feet, splinters were chewed from the woodwork of the false-fronted shops.

  Kansas took his time and picked his targets methodically before he squeezed the trigger.

  Murphy and Blaine fired at anything that presented a target before Blaine went down with a bullet to his thigh. Murphy came to his aid and helped him over to the horses.

  So far the outlaws had been lucky. With all the lead flying around, only Blaine had actually been hit.

  Murphy gave Blaine a leg-up into the saddle while Ross, already on his horse, held Blaine’s mount steady. Stall and Kansas leapt aboard their mounts whilst keeping a firm hold on the sacks of money. The air was filled with a sound as of angry hornets as the outlaws swung their horses around in the middle of Main Street and pointed them out of town.

  A cry of pain drew Stall’s attention to Ross, who was hunched over in his saddle.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he shouted at the wounded outlaw.

  Ross straightened up and Stall could see the red stain high up on the right side of his chest.

  Ross winced with pain.

  ‘I’ll be …’

  That was as far as he got before a second bullet smashed into his head and turned his brain to mush. He toppled sideways from his horse and landed with a sickening thud on the street’s hard-packed earth.

  ‘Damn it to hell!’ Stall bellowed. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  The outlaw leader spurred his horse hard and it leaped forward. The others followed his lead and before long all that was left of their passing was the smell of burnt gunpowder and the dead bodies.

  ~*~

  When Brolin and King rode into Lazy River the following day the tension in the air was so palpable that the gunfighter started to wish that he’d let King come in on his own.

  As they rode warily along Main Street the locals stared at them. Not inquisitively but with apprehension, nervousness, or even, here and there, suspicion. Brolin moved uneasily in his saddle and placed a hand on his Remington’s gun butt.

  ‘Is it just me? Or do these people have an uncommon interest in us?’ King wondered.

  ‘Somethin’ isn’t right,’ Brolin stated. ‘And if I had to guess, I’d say Stall is behind it. So let’s just get some supplies and be gone.’

  ‘What are we goin’ to do for money?’ King asked the obvious question. After all, the outlaws had robbed them of every last cent.

  ‘I’ve got money. I’ve a small poke hidden in my boot. That’s why Stall’s men didn’t find it. What they got was loose change.’

  They rode along further, past a small hotel, and the Deuce High saloon. On the opposite side was the jailhouse. On the porch in an old rocking-chair was a middle-aged man, cradling a sawed-off Greener. He watched them intently as they passed, then he rose and walked inside.

  ‘Look at that,’ King said in a hushed voice.

  Brolin turned to look at what had drawn King’s attention and saw the bank’s smashed front window. He also noticed bullet scars in the woodwork around it and the dark stain on the boardwalk, which he guessed was blood.

  ‘I’d say Stall and his boys stopped here briefly,’ Brolin suggested. He looked about and saw more signs of the previous day’s gun battle. Outside the undertaker’s he saw an open casket leaning against the wall. Inside was the cold, stiff body of John Ross.

  Brolin didn’t know his name but he recognized him as one of Stall’s men.

  ‘Is that …?’ King’s question remained unfinished.

  ‘Yeah, it’s one of them.’

  ‘Good,’ King said in a harsh voice. ‘One less we’ll have to deal with when we catch up.’

  ‘Over this way,’ Brolin said. He pointed to a false-front building with large windows and a painted yellow sign above the awning. It read Emporium.

  They guided their horses over to the hitch rail and looped the reins around it. They climbed the steps, walked across the boardwalk and up to the glass paneled door.

  ‘Wait out here,’ the gunfighter ordered.

  When Brolin swung the door open a small bell tinkled to announce his arrival.

  The front of the store was empty, but as he sidled up to the counter a small, middle-aged man with round features came from a back room to greet him.

  He hesitated for a moment when he saw Brolin’s gun, tied down low in a familiar style.

  ‘I need some supplies,’ the gunfighter announced.

  ‘Yes ...’ The man stammered nervously, ‘W - w - what is it you need?’

  ‘Coffee, bacon, some beans and two boxes of .45 ammunition, a box of .44s and a box of .45s for a Sharps.’

  The man nodded, ‘Yes sir, that shouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘Also,’ Brolin continued, ‘I need a couple of slickers and two warm jackets.’

  The bell tingled as it announced the arrival of someone else in the store.

  ‘Will that be all, sir?’ the owner asked. ‘Or will there be something else?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Charlie,’ a deep voice said from behind Brolin. ‘Turn around, mister, and keep your hands clear of your hardware.’

  Brolin turned slowly, being careful to make sure his hand stayed well clear of the Remington. Standing there with his sawed-off shotgun pointed at Brolin’s midriff was the man he’d seen seated outside the jail.

  ‘What can I do for you, Sheriff?’ Brolin asked hesitantly.

  ‘That’s Deputy,’ the man said. ‘Deputy Sam Crawley. And you, Brolin, are under arrest.’

  Seven

  Brolin cursed himself for a fool as the steel-barred jail door slammed shut behind him with a loud clang.

  ‘Man, wait until the sheriff gets back and sees what I caught,’ the deputy gloated. ‘Everyone thought you were dead for sure. Then you turn up here. I saw you in Abilene once. I think it was ‘74. You took down the Thompson brothers after they gunned a feller on your crew. That’s how I recognized you on the way in.’

  ‘Small world. I’m startin’ to think it might have been better if I had’ve stayed dead.’

  Brolin looked around the small cell. The back and side walls were of block construction while the front and the wall to the adjoining cell were iron bars. The steel-framed cot against the solid wall was low and the mattress lumpy. Apart from the smell, there was nothing more.

  Then something occurred to him. Where was King? After the deputy had arrested him and taken him outside the store, King was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Why here?’ Crawley’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  Brolin frowned and looked at him. ‘What?’

  ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘Will it make a difference if I tell you?’

  Crawley shrugged. ‘Nope. I was just curious is all.’

  ‘I’m chasin’ the feller who robbed your bank yesterday.’

  The deputy moved in close to the bars, his expression hardened. ‘How do you know our bank was robbed?’

  ‘Not hard to tell, really,’ Brolin said drily, and went on to explain why. ‘The bank has a smashed window, bullet scars in the wall and your undertaker has one of them on public display outside his front door.’

  ‘What are you chasin’ ’em for?’

  ‘They held up the train I was on four, five days ago,’ Brolin explained. ‘Killed some passengers. One happened to be a small boy.’

  ‘He kin of yours?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Then why bother?’

  ‘I owe their leader.’

  ‘Do you know who their leader is?’ Crawley asked.

  ‘Mike Stall.
’

  ‘Red Mike Stall?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The deputy whistled slowly. ‘The witnesses only said his name was Mike. Man, the sheriff is goin’ to have a grizzly by the tail if he catches up with him.’

  ‘You want to let me out so I can go after him?’

  Crawley looked at him and smiled broadly.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Yeah, well. It was worth the try.’

  ~*~

  King watched the jail from across the street. He sat on a rough plank seat outside the barber’s shop. He was trying to work out what to do and every solution he could think of to the current problem led to the same conclusion: he had to bust Brolin out of jail.

  Although he was torn between that and going on alone, he reasoned that the latter would only get him killed. No, the only way to get his revenge against Stall and his gang hinged on Brolin’s being with him. So he had to be ready if he was going to get him out.

  King moved off, determined to do just that.

  ~*~

  ‘Stand back against the wall,’ Crawley ordered. He waited for Brolin to move.

  Brolin stepped back a couple of paces and watched as the deputy unlocked the cell door. The keys rattled against the metal briefly, then the door swung open with a soft squeak.

  With the sawed-off shotgun trained on Brolin’s midriff, Crawley stepped into the cell and bent at the knees to pick up the tray on which the food had been brought in.

  The gunfighter stayed where he was. He knew better than to buck twin barrels loaded with certain death.

  The deputy scooped up the tray and backed away through the open door. He placed the tray on a small table, then locked the door again.

  ‘Enjoy the meal?’ he asked conversationally.

  ‘I’ve had worse,’ Brolin answered with a shrug.

  In fact, the meal had been quite good. It wasn’t much: just steak and beans, but it tasted great on an empty stomach and had been washed down with a lukewarm cup of bitter black coffee.

  ‘I sent word over to Black Rock Falls earlier, askin’ about the train thing you mentioned,’ the deputy informed Brolin. ‘The answer came back a while ago confirmin’ what you said, so I guess you was tellin’ the truth. It was mentioned that you helped save lives while you were there, too.’