She seemed to Lem Wright to still be of schooling age when she asked, “Is you the law or customers?”
Howard said, “The law.”
Soiled Dove dropped a pinch of snuff behind her lower lip, sticking it out while she thought, then said, “Good. There’s been too much trouble tonight.”
Chaney took out his small-handled Colt, and Howard sniffed, “Borrow that from your granny?”
Howard pushed around the horses and opened his coat so the Dove could see his deputy’s badge pinned over his huge belly, “Look at me, little girl. What the hell’s the problem?”
She blinked twice at Howard. “That crazy man killed Miss Kate. I had to get out.”
“What crazy man?”
“The one who never pi-roots, just talks. He was a general or somethin.’”
“What room’s he in?”
“He was in Miss Kate’s office, but I dunno now.”
Lem smiled at the girl. “You forgot your shoes. Your toes’ll freeze off.”
The Dove moved the snuff with her tongue, wiggling her grubby feet. “I guess I wasn’t thinkin’.”
Lem Wright tucked the blanket around the Dove’s feet, then held open the large door with the stained-glass Chinese symbol for “love” in its center, keeping his gun hand ready over his Remington New Model.
Lem’s deadeye fixed on Howard and Chaney. “Time for the reunion.”
They went inside, while the Dove rubbed her toes and started a song she didn’t know all the words to. Lem drew his pistol, and was careful not to let the door slam behind him.
The blood pooling around Widow Kate soaked the Persian rug, casting it purple where she was lying. Her body was balled together next to her comfortable chair, hands clamped against the side where the blade had slit deep. Kate’s eyes were closed, and there was no reaction when Beaudine nudged her with his boot. A few of the line girls peered silently from the office doorway, while the only one saying anything was doing it in shrill Chinese.
Beaudine was unfazed as he wiped the blood from the ivory letter opener before slipping it in his pocket; the staring eyes, the Chinese accusations, weren’t reaching him at all. He moved quickly, snatching up carved jade and cast-gold trinkets, then stuffing his coat until it bulged. He gave Kate’s pipe a deep sniff, tasting the opium residue in the back of his throat, before noticing Howard, Lem, and Chaney standing just feet away.
Beaudine waited for a sign of respect from his men until Howard offered, “Still crazy as a shit-house rat?”
Beaudine said, “I hear you build coffins for heathens,” as he opened the drawers of the large desk, dumping out letters, paperwork, ledgers, and more onto the floor.
The Chinese girl started yelling again, and Howard thumbed his badge at her face. “Get upstairs. I might even see you later.”
The Chinese girl dry-spit, “Yeah, without paying,” but the line girls all backed their way up the front stairs as Beaudine kept rifling, smashing an abacus against the floor, then tearing through the bottom of a drawer, bloodying his knuckles.
Beaudine’s face was washed with sweat, his words strained, “That cow has cash hidden somewhere, and she’s not keeping any secrets. Not now.”
Lem Wright said, “Nobody ever gives it up easy, do they?”
“Always a joke, Deadeye.”
Beaudine grabbed a box decorated in filigree and topped with a two-headed dragon with ruby eyes. The ornate heads were locked in battle, and when he pressed down on one of them, the lid sprung open, revealing another stash of opium. Beaudine dumped the pure on the desk, then pocketed the box.
Lem said, “Is that why we’re here? Robbing a whorehouse?”
“You’re here for gold, the letter.” Beaudine nudged Kate again with his toe. “Kate tried to include herself in our plans, and had to be dealt with. The cleaver’s tied to my saddle, and she’s damn lucky I didn’t want to brave the cold to get it. Is that Betsy?”
Howard had his Remington New Model out, the hammer back. “You remember.”
“She doesn’t look like you’ve taken very good care of her, or yourselves.”
“She still shoots.”
Beaudine ripped aside the drapes, revealing bare walls. “But can you?”
“You dragged me into somethin’ ’cause we shared a cell one time, and I’m still not one dollar richer, but my soul’s poorer.”
“Not much I can do for your soul, but you’re closer to that Bishop gold now than you know.”
“By walking into another killing?”
“I was defending what’s ours.”
Lem said, “We’ve been through a hell of a lot, but we made it. You’ve got one minute to tell us what this is, and then I ride out—clean.”
Beaudine studied him. “You giving me an order, Deadeye?”
Lem’s gun was leveled. “A choice.”
Howard kept the Remington New on Beaudine’s chest, the grin on his face spreading. “I know I ain’t that bright, but I’d say you got less than a minute, by that clock on the wall?”
“Or Betsy screams?”
“Oh, I’ll bust your back first. Then, when you’re screamin’, I’ll let Betsy do her job.”
Beaudine stepped around the desk. “Bishop survived his punishment.”
Lem said, “I know. He cut down Chester, ’cause he was after you. I missed him by a couple of hours.”
“I’d say that was fortunate for you both.” Beaudine looked beyond the guns to Chaney. “I didn’t recruit you.”
Lem said, “He was with Chester and figures to take his place. Probably be of more use, if this ain’t another bullshit run.”
“Bishop still has the gold he stole with his brother, and we can get it.”
Howard said, “Jesus save me, I wanna bust you in half.”
Beaudine continued, “An officer of my acquaintance will be taking Bishop prisoner, and will deliver him. To us.”
“Here?” Lem’s voice raised.
“A two-day ride into the hills to the old Goodwill strike. We’ll need supplies, and some extra guns. Kate should’ve ponied cash, but she gave us plenty to barter with.”
Lem said, “You still haven’t said exactly what we’re walking into. I like to know what to carry, what to load.”
Beaudine gave his words mannerly import. “You were always thorough, Deadeye. My co-officer, Captain Creed, thinks he has a right to an equal share for delivering Bishop, but we’ll disabuse him of that notion.”
“Bull—!”
The rest of the word was the scream of Howard’s giant fist crashing into the top of Kate’s desk, splitting the wood nearly in half. He raised Betsy like a club to smash across Beaudine’s head, but instead took a deep breath they all could hear, and turned the gun around in his palm, aiming it again at the major.
Howard’s hand and voice were shaking, his chest heaving, “I made a promise I wouldn’t swear or kill no more, but you’re pushin’ me with this; this part of a million dollars, that ain’t real!”
Beaudine said, “Howard, I know what it is to be out of control, but I’m about myself right now, and you need to be the same. This money is real. You know that.”
“What makes it more real now than that night with the doc and his family?”
Beaudine looked straight down the barrel of Howard’s gun to his flicking eyes. “All of these people who want a piece, like Madame Kate on the floor. Doesn’t that tell you? I wrote that letter for Dev Bishop, believing every word. Men facing death tend to be truthful.”
“John Bishop wasn’t.”
Beaudine corrected Lem with a scolding. “Bishop refused to cooperate. There’s a difference. After that night, I never stopped looking. You scattered, but I stayed with it, and every time I turn around, there’s someone new who wants a share, because they knew that gold was someplace. And the doctor’s the key to the moneybox.”
Lem said, “He didn’t give it up before, and now he’s got nothing to lose, so why would he tell?”
“Becaus
e there’s only one thing he cares about now—us. He’ll bargain.”
Lem smiled. “The gold for the chance to wipe us out.” He put his hand on Howard’s arm, lowering his gun. “This Creed will deliver?”
“He will, but won’t be alone.”
“This half a million is gonna have a lot of blood on it.”
Beaudine pocketed one last jade trinket. “What half a million doesn’t?”
Chaney finally said, “Maybe everyone here, if Bishop uses that double-barrel rig. I’ve seen it, you haven’t.”
Beaudine looked down on Chaney. “You’re new to me, and not impressive at all.”
Lem cut him off, “He’ll be more use than Chester was. At least he’s seen Bishop, the way he is now.”
Chaney said, “So did Chester Pardee.”
Beaudine straightened his collar. “Then it’s up to you to be properly prepared. You want some kind of a share of this? You’re going to earn it.” He walked out of Kate’s office tall and straight, ready for a parade.
On the front porch, Soiled Dove was rubbing her feet with both hands, as Howard and Chaney swung onto their horses. Lem took a torch from a barrel by the front door, watching Dove as he lit it.
Dove’s lower lip protruded, more snuff filling it. “That’s a courtesy for the boys who ride in at night. The good customers.”
Lem got onto his horse with the torch. “I’ll come back, and promise to spend a fortune.”
Howard punched the air with a giant fist, and said, “I’m back-slidin’. Five minutes with Beaudine, and I don’t have a Christian feeling left. There’s lumber ’round back. I could make that dead woman a coffin. It won’t take long.”
Lem said, “You’re wanting to do it is enough to keep your soul safe.”
Chaney said, “I figured we’d be given a map or something, not drafted into another war.”
Lem turned his eye on Chaney. “Another? I didn’t know you served. Thank you for your sacrifice.”
Lem snickered at his own joke, making Chaney feel like a fool, again. Chaney let his fingers dance on the Colt he’d just re-holstered, playing with the idea of ending this game right now.
Lem had been watching Chaney’s hand. “Stakes getting too high?”
That’s when Soiled Dove piped up. “So, you all arrest that crazy man?”
Lem said, “He’s coming with us.”
“The regular sheriff’s away ’til tomorrow sometime, and he’s gonna be awful touched up about this. He makes a lot of money from Miss Kate.”
Howard said, “You tell the sheriff that we got the killer, and he don’t need to bother with nothin’.”
“Somebody’ll have to step up, take Kate’s place,” Lem said.
Soiled Dove wrinkled her nose at him. “Maybe me?”
“Maybe. Go on inside, and get warm for real.”
Soiled Dove got up, and padded inside as Beaudine rode around the far side of the porch, sporting an officer’s hat that had been stripped of its braiding, and his many-grey tunic, newly sewn together. Even made of bits and pieces, Beaudine was again impressive, with the long cleaver tied behind his saddle, the blade wrapped in butcher’s paper.
Beaudine said, “How’re you fixed?”
Howard was still holding Betsy. “Belly wash and jerky.”
“That’s going to change.”
“Words.”
Beaudine looked to Howard. “We’ve had our wait, but now the Bishop gold is ours for the taking. Are you loyal or not?”
“To you?”
“To the mission. If you have to light out”—Beaudine pulled the cleaver from behind his saddle, and hefted it with both hands—“I’ll hold no ill feelings.”
Lem said, “What if we turn our guns on you?”
Chaney sat up alert, his hand on the Colt, but again, he was holding back. Waiting. He looked to Lem’s frozen eye, to Howard and his clenched fists, and finally to Beaudine.
Everyone seemed ready to pull when Beaudine spoke, his eyes fixed on something none of them could see. “Delivering death is our mission. It’s your choice who we deliver it to: each other, or the bastards who’re denying us a better life.”
Beaudine urged his horse, breaking away from the three. “I know where I’m heading.”
Howard, Chaney, and Lem turned their mounts around, guns back in their holsters, or tucked into belts. Lem held the torch for all of them, showing the way.
Howard said, “Shit-house rat crazy.”
Deadeye Lem Wright added, “And we’re gonna follow.”
Chaney said, “For now.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Heart of the Enemy
“Sir, I’m getting our dinner. I can’t be sitting around doin’ nothing. Uh, with your permission.”
Hector stood at attention before Creed, pointing to a distant gathering of trees that were being swallowed by the long shadows of the setting sun.
After a moment, it dawned on Hector that his pointing was useless and he dropped his arm. “Them rabbits went right for the woods. I can still see their tracks. Must’ve been five or six. I can get ’em and we’ll be eating for the rest of the trek, sir.”
Captain Creed said, “Take one of the men with you, and be back in an hour. You can tell time?”
“Yes, sir.”
The pocket watch that Creed took from his jacket was a fine, ornate piece, presented to him by his men for his leadership skills. He held it in front of the boy by its gold chain. Hector swallowed air before gently putting it in his palm. “Thank you, sir.”
“I expect my watch and you back in an hour, with or without dinner.”
The hour bled forty minutes, and White Fox had built a fire to burn low and steady. The fire was obeying, shielded from the wind by a small wall of snow that she’d iced from a canteen, making it solid. Bishop and Creed were beside the flames, as she stood by, waiting for Hector to return from the woods with an armful of rabbits.
Bishop said, “Hector’s a good boy.”
“Yes. He volunteers for every duty he can. Now he comes up with his own.”
“My son was a lot younger, but there’s a resemblance of spirit.”
“All boys look the same. That’s why we give them uniforms.”
“They weren’t the same to me, Creed.”
“Keep telling yourself that. You seem to need it.”
Just beyond the fire, the horses and Creed’s other six men were dark shapes, outlined by the orange flicker. The six stretched out, assuming positions that favored their bandaged wounds. Their talk was all worn-out sneers.
Fuller took hold of Creed’s horse, pulling the bottle of sipping bourbon from the saddlebag, where it was tucked next to the shotgun rig. Little of the bourbon was gone.
Fuller said, “Captain, you think—?”
“Each man gets one swallow to keep out the chill.”
“I’ll make sure.”
Fuller walked to where the guns were stretched out, and handed off the bottle to Fat Gut, who guzzled deep. Fuller snatched it back, wiped the top, and passed it on to the next.
Fat Gut leaned against his Winchester like a crutch, bourbon wetting his chin. “You’re really pushin’ it with me, boy.”
Fuller said, “No, I ain’t,” before letting the next one drink and throwing Fat Gut some more words. “I outranked you during the conflict, so I figure I still do. Wanna try? I’ll even help you stand up.”
Fat Gut rubbed his leg wound, shrugging. “It’s too damn cold. Lucky for you.”
Bishop watched Fuller pass the bourbon among the hired guns before saying to Creed, “Your bottle’s getting some real use. Grant’d be proud.”
Creed’s voice was in the back of his throat. “I expected better of you than cheap jokes. We’re bundled around a campfire, not sitting back in front of a fireplace. Men who served are supposed to have a better fate.”
“Who claimed that?”
“It’s not policy. It’s what you hope for: that sacrifice will be rewarded.”
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“Like the money you’re going to get for us?”
Creed said nothing, just let the flames bounce across the dark amber of his glasses, outlining the edges. Finally, Bishop said, “There’s a bounty on me, and I never robbed a bank or a train.”
“You killed a man.”
“That you said needed killing. You agreed with me.”
“I still do, but that don’t change what’s going to happen.”
Bishop felt the piece of arm that remained through his sleeve. “So how the hell do you know about Beaudine?”
Creed took warmth from the fire. “Because he tried to join my regiment. The man’d worn the grey, claimed he had a change of heart. But then we found out he was wanted for strangling some strumpet, arrested right after he’d signed his papers. Not even Southern-born, but claimed he was a plantation owner—with acres of cotton and a hundred slaves—who felt the need to serve. He never served anywhere, except in prison or the crazy house.”
Bishop let Creed’s words sink in before he said, “You told me something, Creed, but it’s not enough. It’s just a hell of a coincidence.”
“One of God’s jokes—the war connects us all.”
“More than the war. I want Beaudine dead.”
“I know the feeling.”
“You lost your eyes, I lost my family.”
“And your limb.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“I wouldn’t give it no never mind if I found the replacement you did.”
Bishop paused, and then, “You’ve known me a hell of a long time. You’re really thinking you can play with me like this?”
“I’m in command, and you’re a prisoner.”
The back of Bishop’s left hand smashed into Creed’s jaw, sending his glasses flying into the fire. Bishop grabbed Creed’s blue lapel. “You’re talking in circles! Tell me what the hell your intentions are!”
Creed smiled, his scarred-over eyes meeting Bishop’s. “Only give the enemy enough information to confuse.”
The barrel of Fuller’s rifle was sudden, and steady, over Creed’s shoulder, pointing right in the center of Bishop’s forehead.
One of the guns shouted out, “Problem, Creed?”
Fuller said, “No problem, go back to your bourbon.” Then, to Bishop, “Know why I like the Morgan-James, Doc? It’s lighter than a Sharps, and balances easy. I still have to load every shot, but that just means I can’t waste any. So you let go of the captain, and fetch his glasses.”
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