Hollow Blood

by Austin Dragon

  But these hellish birds seemed to have developed appetites for more than just the dead. Their beaks were picking and ripping at the corpse's flesh, but their eyes were fixed on him. Julian felt that if he didn't get away immediately with Caleb Williams, the birds would drag him away, too.

  Bounty Hunters

  "I am the man who rode with the devil."

  Julian arrived in town and it was nothing less than a madhouse. Most people hadn't gotten the news and feared being massacred by the alleged Indian war party. The two men and woman watched him approach them from their perch, a bench outside the general store. He looked around and down the street, where he finally saw the Marshal leaning against the wall just outside the entrance to a tavern.

  "Wagon made it in fine?" Julian asked as he stopped Caleb Williams in front of them.

  One of the men answered. "Yes it did. Much obliged to you and the other marshal."

  "That was impressive wagon riding," Julian noted. "If I ever get chased, you're the man I'd pay good money to be my driver. What do you do for a living?"

  "I'm a newsman, but I've done my fair share of horseback riding."

  "Then you came to the right place today for a story."

  "Let's see how my nerves are after I finish my whiskey. The news can wait."

  "Marshal, is it true the town is out of danger?" the woman asked.

  "There's no warpath on the way here, and U.S. soldiers are nearby. The town will be safe."

  "Thanks, marshal."

  "It was nice meeting you gentlemen, ma'am."

  Julian walked his horse to the waiting Marshal.

  "What happened to you?" Marshal asked.

  "Give me until tomorrow to be able to answer that question," Julian replied. "But the shooter won't be shooting anyone again—ever."

  Marshal smirked. "I had no doubt of that when I saw you break away and circle back. His bad luck that he annoyed the one marshal on the planet who'd chase him down even if he had to ride to other side of the earth. I don't suppose you gave him a chance to surrender?"

  "He wasn't interested in using his mouth for talking."

  "I don't know what that means, but we can converse about it some other time. Let's find my fugitive so we can get back on the road to your uncle."

  With their horses settled, the two men walked through the mostly empty streets to the sheriff's station. Everyone was elsewhere. The action was at the front of town.

  Marshal pushed the door open with Julian just a step behind.

  "Marshal 'Say-It-Twice,'" someone called out.

  Waiting inside were five rugged men in similar cowboy hats and attire, standing around the main desk.

  Marshal walked in and shook the enthusiastic man's hand, then waved to greet the other men. Julian noticed that one of the men, unlike the rest, was not too happy at the Marshal's arrival.

  "This is Marshal Julian Crane," Marshal announced to the men.

  "Another marshal," the man said. "I thought this Indian warpath wasn't headed into town."

  "It isn't. We are on the trail up north." To Julian he said, "The boys are bounty hunters."

  "We've taken in some notorious murders and other assorted fugitives," one man said. "American, British, French, Indian, we don't care. If the money is good, we'll take in anyone."

  "Have you and the boys seen Frenchie?" Marshal asked.

  "Him? No. Haven't seen him for a long while. What'd he do?"

  "Murder."

  "What's the bounty on him?"

  Marshal smiled. "This one is mine, boys."

  The lead bounty hunter, Voss, laughed. "Just foolin', Marshal. We'll tell you if we see him." He looked at Julian. "The Marshal and us have a good system. He doesn't interfere with our bounties, and we give him tips on his. We make good paydays and he...does his duty for the state of New York." Voss and the other bounty hunters laughed. "That amounts to a couple of coins, a cot, and...are they up to two hot meals a day now, Marshal?" Voss laughed louder.

  "Voss, I'm glad I'm here to amuse you and the boys," Marshal said dryly.

  Julian again couldn't help noticing that one of the bounty hunters seemed to want to be anywhere else but in the room. He realized that he never did ask Hans Van Ripper why he had the same reaction to the Marshal and now wished he did.

  The men spent the next twenty minutes sharing small talk until the town's sheriff finally returned. He was an elderly man, but still fit and brawny.

  "Sheriff," Marshal greeted.

  "Marshal. Back so soon."

  "I wanted to make sure you knew we were poking around in town."

  "What does he look like, and what did he do?" Sheriff Tanner asked.

  Marshal fully described the man to him. Julian for the first time knew the details himself.

  "Thanks for the professional courtesy," the Sheriff said. "However, if you find this man, tell me first before you try to apprehend him. I make it a point to be there when anyone is arrested in my town."

  "Yes, Sheriff," Marshal responded. "Perhaps we'll stop by before you close up for the night. If not, see you in the morning."

  Marshal led Julian back outside.

  "We'll split up. Cover more ground faster."

  "Are you sure he's here?" Julian asked.

  "He's here."

  Julian wondered to himself how the Marshal could be so certain. He felt it in his gut. A feeling Julian couldn't deny he had experienced a few times—something was not right.

  "I knew we should never have come to New York. I hate this state. We should never have come here!" a woman yelled.

  "Shut up, woman! Stop nagging me! You don't think I know? Do you think I'm going to stand and let harm come to my family?"

  The couple stood at the busiest street corner of the town. Everywhere they could see the panic, and it was equally reflected in their faces.

  "If we can't get away...the Indians scalp men, women, and children." She was on the verge of tears.

  "Sir, I have to get out of this town immediately. My wife and children, and me."

  The same man was now at a group of wagons readying to leave town.

  "Sir, we have no more room on our wagon train. I'm sorry. We are taking everyone we can possibly take," the lead man said to him.

  "But what am I to do? There are no horses for sale, and no other wagons to take us out of here. We must get on your wagon train."

  "Sorry, sir, but we have no more room."

  The man reached into his jacket to draw a gun. He aimed it at the head of the wagon train leader, who didn't blink as he stood his ground.

  "We must get on your wagon train."

  "What do you think you are doing?" The Marshal stood behind the man.

  The man turned to look back, his face sweaty and his shaky hand holding a gun.

  "I am Marshal Damian. Put that gun away now or I'll shoot you."

  The man swallowed hard and slowly lowered his arm.

  "We must escape from here, marshal," the man said. "I can't let them kill my family."

  "No one's killing your family or anyone else's. What put that notion in your head?"

  "The Indian warpath—"

  "There's no Indian warpath coming, at least none after Whites. Is that what everyone is still saying? Didn't you hear? One tribe was attacked by another, but they are being escorted to Fort Clinton for safety, and the Army is out in force throughout this entire region handling the situation. Those are the facts. Stop all this chaos in the streets and go about your business. You and your family can stay here in town, and you don't have anything at all to worry about."

  The marshal was more directing his comments at the wagon train crowd than the man.

  "No warpath?" the wagon train leader asked.

  "No warpath."

  The wagon train leader walked up to the man and punched him in his face, knocking him to the ground.

  "I have a mind to shoot you dead for pointing a gun at me."

  The Marshal stepped forward. "Sir, you got your punch in. Move
on now."

  The wagon leader glanced at the man on the ground and walked away.

  The Marshal bent down, extended his hand to the sad man on the ground and helped him to his feet. The man's face was near tears, not from the punch he received but for his desperate behavior.

  "I'm sorry I lost my head," the man said.

  Marshal put a hand on the man's shoulder. "The wrong man should never lose his head." He removed his hand. "There's not a man alive who can't relate to the emotions going through your mind."

  The Marshal dusted the man's clothes off a bit.

  "Where's your family?"

  "They're waiting for me at the hotel."

  "Go to them and enjoy the town's hospitality. There's no need for any panic. Everything is fine. I'm here," he pointed to a waiting Julian, "other lawmen are here, the Army is in the region. No warpath is going to take you from your family."

  "Yes, I hear you."

  "Good. Go to your family and don't point that gun at anyone like that again. I wouldn't want you to do something to make the law have to deprive your family of your person."

  "Yes, marshal."

  "Go to them now."

  "Thank you for your kindness, marshal. Bless you, sir."

  The Marshal rode off to the east part of town, and Julian covered the western part. With the news about the Indian war party spreading, people were starting to return, no longer fearful. He waited on the porch of another tavern and watched, business owners, travelers, people on foot, people on horseback, men, women and boisterous children—all returning to town to resume their routines.

  His eye somehow picked out one of bounty hunters in the crowd—the one who didn't seem to like the Marshal at all. The man walked into the shop of the local gunsmith.

  Julian waited patiently outside, and in a few moments, the man re-emerged and immediately stopped.

  "Can I speak with you for a moment, mister?" Julian asked.

  "Why? I have nothing to say."

  "I had a question or two about the Marshal."

  The bounty hunter had a look of nervousness. "Get off the street."

  He led Julian away, into a small alleyway to the back of the stores.

  "What do you want Marshal Crane? I have nothing to say."

  "Your friends were happy to see the Marshal."

  "They're not my friends. They're my business partners. There's a difference."

  "They were happy to see the Marshall. You weren't. Why is that?"

  "Marshal Crane, if you're asking me, a total stranger, then you already know."

  "Know? Mister, I've only been with the Marshal for a couple of days. I've never met him before in my life. You know him better than I do. Is there something you know about the Marshal that I should? I am traveling north with him alone."

  "That's unfortunate for you. The Marshal is evil."

  Julian stared at the bounty hunter. It was not the response he had expected. "Please, explain what that means?"

  "Why are you riding with him?"

  "He's taking me to a man I thought was dead."

  "And the Marshal is the only one who's seen him alive?"

  "Yes."

  The bounty hunter shook his head. "Did you think this man was dead before? Others thought he was dead?"

  "Yes. So?"

  "Then the man is dead, Marshal."

  "How could you say—?"

  "Marshal, I don't care how you do it, but get away from him as quickly as you can. He's tricking you, and wherever he's taking you, don't go. You go and you probably won't come back. That's all I have to say. I have to go."

  Julian grabbed him by the shoulder. "Mister, you can't make that kind of allegation to me and then walk away. I'm a lawman myself."

  "I thought lawmen had the uncanny ability to size a man up? If you stopped me, then you already know something is wrong."

  "I don't know anything. I simply noticed your expression when you first saw him at the sheriff's. That's why I'm asking what you know."

  "Didn't you ask about his background?"

  "Of course, yes. Before becoming a lawman, he was a simple farmer," the bounty hunter let out of a laugh, "before he joined the War."

  "He was never no farmer. He was a bounty hunter. He was all over the Thirteen Colonies hunting for scalp money. He looked much different back then. No one would recognize him. I do only because I saw him over the years as he changed, and my appearance changed too. Back then he was a big man, fat, not lanky as he is today, and his hair color was fair."

  "What do you mean scalp money?"

  "You know what I mean, marshal. There was big bounty money to be had back then. Some group of settlers or another wanting to clear their land of Indians, sometimes even a settler or two they didn't like. He even got other Indians to pay him bounties in goods to go after other Indian tribes they were at war with. He'd kill, scalp, skin, burn anyone—English, French, colonist, Indian, African. Behead people even."

  Julian felt sick to his stomach as he stared at the man.

  "Surely, as a lawman yourself, you knew all the not-so-nice things that went on before the War and during the War, too, on all sides. Or are you one of those people who believe such horrors don't happen on God's green earth?"

  "I fought in the War myself, so I surely don't belief that. I've seen the cruelty of men with my own eyes. I once saw a woman hack a mob to pieces. And I have seen the victims of scalping attacks, both White and Indian. I know this country's history, all of it, and it's nothing different than any other country. I just never understood the need for the scalp."

  "How else would you give proof of death to get your bounty? Drag the whole body back? Carry around a bag full of heads? Scalps were the most logical thing to do. It was about quantity back then. For the money."

  "To think we taught and encouraged such a thing among the Indians."

  "They didn't need to be taught and encouraged to do anything, marshal. They knew all about savagery long before Whites arrived on this land, the bad ones. Ask my wife. She's Indian, and she's a better history teacher than any White man will ever be. I have to go, marshal."

  The bounty hunter tried to walk away again, but Julian stopped him.

  "Please, mister. I can't believe what you're saying about the Marshal. He's a longtime lawman...well, at least for the past seven or ten years."

  "So?" the man interjected. "The law attracts men both good and bad. You know that better than I do."

  "But how do you know all this? You said you recognized him over the years."

  "How do you think, marshal? I had a family to feed. But I never did any of the things he did, what many of them did. I have to go marshal."

  "Shouldn't you say something, do something about the Marshal?"

  "No one will believe us. He has friends all over this region. Only a few people living know who he is. He's two people, the Marshal. The one everyone sees and likes, and the other him, the evil one. That's the side he hides from everyone."

  "Then you must tell what you know."

  "I gotta go. And another thing. I don't believe for a second that Frenchie murdered anybody. The Marshal probably did it and Frenchie saw him do it, whatever it is."

  "Mister, you have a duty to go to sheriff with this then."

  The bounty hunter laughed. "Bye, Marshal Crane." The man pushed past him and disappeared around the corner.

  Julian felt a wave of panic. He ran to his horse.

  He found what he was looking for—the Marshal's horse tied to a livery stable. Julian jumped down from Caleb Williams and ran. He stopped everyone he could to find out if they had seen the Marshal. One man knew him and pointed.

  Julian could hear voices in a heated conversation behind the church. Julian slowly peered around the corner and saw the two men. It was the Marshal and another man who was short and round.

  "Why are you lying on me!" the man said in a French accent. "I'm going to tell everyone about you!"

  The Marshal drew and shot the man in the chest!r />
  Wagon Train

  "How do you kill a devil of a thing?"

  Frenchie's lifeless body hung over the rear of the horse as the Marshal rode to the Sheriff's station. The Sheriff and a deputy happened to be outside when they saw him coming.

  The Marshal dismounted as Julian rode up on Caleb Williams.

  "Sorry, Sheriff. I couldn't bring him in alive," Marshal said. "He was a raving maniac. Pointed his gun right at my head and told me that he wasn't going to go back to face the law unless he was dead. I gave him what he wanted."

  The town sheriff walked over to the body and lifted up Frenchie's head.

  The Sheriff looked at Julian. "Where were you in all this?"

  "I was on the other side of town, sheriff," Julian answered. "I was coming back to check in. Glad I did. I would have been searching for this Frenchie for hours for nothing."

  "And you show up at the exact moment your friend meanders on back with his fugitive?"

  "I heard the shot, Sheriff."

  The Sheriff seemed satisfied.

  "Am I able to process this so we can be off on our way?" the Marshal asked.

  The Sheriff looked at the dead man again on the horse and nodded. "Yes, I'll attest to it as a righteous shooting."

  "Thanks Sheriff."

  Marshal and Julian took the body to the town's undertaker and then galloped back to the Sheriff's. The five bounty hunters were going in the opposite direction heading out of town.

  "Until next time, Marshal," the lead bounty hunter said with a smile.

  "See you boys." Marshal waved good-bye.

  Julian's eyes locked on the fifth bounty hunter for a brief moment. He didn't look back. The bounty hunters rode off.

  "Don't play with danger." His father always said to him. Julian and his friends were reckless little boys. He now thought to himself how much like Brom Bones and his Sleepy Hollow Boys he and his friends must have been. They all probably would have been part of the same gang had they lived in the same town.