by Dan Arnold
Tommy nodded.
“Yeah, seems like they struck up a friendship with Ian McGregger. He owns the place. I don’t interfere in his business. When I went over there to see about those men and take their guns, Ian waved me off.”
“You let them keep their guns because this guy, McGregger, said so?”
Tommy nodded again.
“My men carry guns; he has men with guns. We need um to keep people honest. You probably want to keep your guns, right?”
Bob looked disgusted.
“How many armed men does McGregger have over there, Tommy?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“Maybe a couple of men working security for him. He has a lookout with a shotgun sitting up on the landing. He can see the whole saloon from there.”
I looked at Bob for confirmation.
“That is correct. He was the only lookout I observed. I believe there are other armed men in the saloon, I was unable to see their weapons.”
“Tommy, we’re going to need your help. Can you get a deputy or one of your men to join us?”
Tommy shook his head.
“Uh, uh. You’ve got no friends in this town. I won’t mix in. You’ll have to skin your own cats.”
“What kind of sheriff are you?” Wes asked.
“I live here, and I’m part of the business community. I can’t take sides in something like this. I’ll do you the same courtesy. I won’t back you, and I won’t back them none either.”
Wes, Bob, and I looked at each other.
“Tommy, you’re some piece of work. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if you’d been elected instead of me.” I said.
“Things would be better for everybody. If you get into a fight with McGregger and he wins, I win. If you beat him, that’s good for me too. Hell, I stand to win either way. With any luck, you’ll get yourself killed tonight. That would solve a bunch of my problems.”
I chuckled at that.
“You should be so lucky, Tommy. I’ll tell you this, if you don’t have my back in this, you’re no lawman.”
“I’m all the law we need in North Fork.”
“Maybe,” Bob started, “but you’d better keep your mouth closed. If I see your face on the wrong side tonight, Turner, this town will be short one sheriff.”
Tommy looked at him and back peddled for the door.
“Now, hold on. I told you I would stay out of it, and I will. I sure will.”
“Go find a hole to hide in Tommy,” I said, as he quickly disappeared from sight.
“Now what will we do?” Wes asked.
“Nothing’s changed. I didn’t really expect any help from our friend, Sheriff Turner. I was just hoping he was a better man—my mistake. At least now we know where two of the Thorndykes are. Bob, I want you to go over to the Oxbow and have a look around. See if Homer and Russel are over there.”
“Certainly; however, if they are in that location we have a problem. We can’t afford to divide our forces, and we cannot be in two places at the same time.”
I nodded.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
33.
Bob came back with a negative report. The missing men were not at the Oxbow.
“Okay, we have to decide whether to wait for Russel and Homer to show up, or take Henry and Harvey right now, since we know where they are. I’m open to suggestions.”
“I suggest we formulate a plan of attack and take those two while we can. The other two won’t be nearly as much of a threat as having all four of them gunning for you,” Bob said.
“Agreed; it’s better to get two than none. We need to have a plan in place in the event the other two show up unexpectedly. We need to figure out how best to neutralize the shotgun lookout and get the drop on Harvey and Henry. Our timing has to be perfect.”
Bob nodded.
“I checked out the Gold Dust pretty thoroughly. That guy with the shotgun is focused on the gamblers down on the main floor. He’s sitting in a chair on the landing between the saloon and the hotel rooms. There is some traffic going up and down those stairs. I can get into the hotel by climbing up the back stairs on the outside of the building. I’ll come down the hall and approach the lookout from behind him. He won’t expect to be attacked at all. I’ll take him out and be in a position to see the whole ground floor. The Thorndyke boys are in a poker game with Martin Pogue, at a table very near the staircase. I’ll be right above them.”
That was a good plan.
“Excellent! Our odds of success are greatly improved by the fact there are only two of them in there. Again though, timing is everything. We both need to brace them at the same time, you from above them and me from the ground floor.”
“I can help with that,” Wes interjected, holding up his watch. “It’s almost eight fifteen now; let’s plan to hit them at eight forty five. We’ll go up to the Gold Dust together, but I’ll be the only one to go inside. I’ll walk in the front and take a quick look around. If everything is still the way Bob described it, I’ll stay inside somewhere where I can be seen from the door. If something has changed, I’ll come right back outside and we’ll go somewhere and re-evaluate. If I do stay inside, Bob you’ll need to go get into position to take out the lookout. I’ll be watching for you. The minute you move to hit him, I’ll signal John to come on in.”
Having Wes with us was a real advantage.
“I like it. I’ll stay on the porch right outside those swinging doors. There’s plenty of light there, so my eyes won’t have to adjust to a sudden change when I come through the doors. I’ll be able to see some of the room before I come in,” I said.
“Reverend, you don’t want to go walking in there with your handgun showing. That will attract too much attention,” Bob said.
“Actually, I’ll be wearing my slicker, so it won’t show. I’ll look pretty much the same as anybody else coming in out of the weather. I intend to attract some attention though, right when you go to hit the lookout. When I move, it will distract the lookout and be the signal for John to come in.”
Bob grinned.
“This tactic has an excellent chance of being successful. It’s early on a rainy, Monday night. It’s certain no one will be expecting this kind of drama. We can approach under cover of darkness and hide our shotguns under our slickers. We’ll hit them fast and from two different directions, catching them sitting down. They won’t know whether to fiddle or fart. Yes, I like it as well.”
***
We reached the Gold Dust without incident. Bob went down the side of the building to wait for my signal. Wes walked straight in the swinging doors. I watched him from outside as he stopped for a moment and gave the room a quick scan. Just like anyone would do. Several people gave him a look and then went back to minding their own business. Wes nodded slightly and headed toward the bar. I moved to where I could just barely see him. He was speaking to the bartender. After a minute or so, I saw the bartender hand him a beer. I signaled for Bob to go up the back stairs.
I looked at my watch. It was eight forty.
From where I was on the porch, I could see the lookout sitting in his chair on the landing. I thought I could also see where the Thorndyke’s were sitting. Wes had stayed over near the bar. That hadn’t been the original plan, but Wes understood I could see the lookout from where I was. Wes was actually in a better place, being by the bar, because whatever he was planning to do to get attention would distract the lookout from seeing me coming through the doors.
I wasn’t happy with the number of people milling about in the saloon. There were three or four scantily clad women flirting with customers. Some men were throwing dice over in a corner and another group were at a roulette wheel. Those people were all standing.
There were at least three tables with people playing poker, faro, or some other card game. All together there were now about thirty customers in the building and some of them were moving about.
A waiter delivered drinks from the ba
r. The piano player was busy making his idea of music, and the conversation level was strident as people tried to talk loud enough to be heard over the piano and the general din of noise.
Bob appeared at the top of the stairs.
As he came down the stairs, he brought the double barreled shotgun out from under his slicker.
“Nobody move!” Wes yelled, sweeping his slicker aside and revealing his tied down gun. Heads whipped around to look at him, including the lookout, but everybody froze for just a second.
Bob slammed the butt of his shotgun into the side of the lookout’s head, as I came in fast through the swinging doors with my lever action shotgun up and sweeping the room. “Sheriff’s department—this is an arrest!” I yelled.
The lookout tumbled down the stairs as Bob leaned over the railing, pointing his shotgun down at a table. I noticed there was now complete silence in the room. My view was partly obscured by a woman, but I saw the Thorndyke boys, Henry and Harvey, sitting at a table with a big red haired man and two others. They all started to stand up, reaching for their guns.
“Throw your hands up!” Bob yelled.
Everyone was either trying to look up at Bob, or look over at me, or maybe Wes, all at the same time.
I focused my aim on Henry Thorndyke’s fancy vest.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw some movement over at the end of the bar. I turned my head just in time to see Wes draw and fire his .45.
A women screamed. That sound was lost in the sound of gunfire.
Half a dozen guns were all firing at once.
I turned my head back to see all the men at that table pulling their own guns, some had already drawn. Bob and I fired at the same time. I saw the muzzle flashes and stabs of flame from a couple of other places in the room. Henry Thorndyke took my first shot in the side of his chest, and his gun went flying toward the ceiling. My second shot turned another man’s head into stew meat. He was firing at me just as his head came apart.
Bob unloaded both barrels into Harvey Thorndyke from about five feet above him. The black powder smoke was obscuring my vision and I found myself moving to my right, toward the bar. I saw a man on my left with a gun pointed at me, and I shot him as he fired. My shot caught him in the crotch, and knocked his legs out from under him, slamming him face first into the floor. I was levering a new shell into the chamber, but I slipped and lost my balance. I saw the big red-headed man firing at me, but as I swung toward him, my shotgun snagged on an overturned table leg. I dropped it and dived for the floor, pulling my .45. There was a continual roar of gunfire.
Then silence.
34.
I found myself half kneeling, as I fed new shells into my .45.
I became aware of crying, whimpering, and an occasional groan. I could sort of see Bob still standing on the stairs, with his .45 in one hand, and a pocket pistol in the other.
The room was filled with a bluish haze of gun smoke. Tables and chairs lay turned over in pools of blood mixed with liquor, from the spilled bottles and drinks. Everyone in the room was down on the floor, except for Wes who still stood with his feet wide apart.
He was holstering his gun. He missed the holster the first time he tried.
For a moment I thought all of those people on the floor in the room had been shot. Some of them had been, but most of them had simply tried to get down out of the line of fire.
People began to get up slowly and carefully. At first, only one or two at a time got up, keeping their hands where we could see them. Most of the women were crying, but one was clearly in shock and unable to speak or focus her eyes. A friend helped her up and led her out of the building through the front door.
Then there was a sudden mass rush for the doors, and I let them all go.
I noticed a trail of blood spatters left behind. Evidently some of them were wounded. I figured most likely some, or all of the wounded, had been shooting at me a moment or so ago.
I discovered the reason I was half kneeling was because I’d been shot through the outside of my right calf. It was bleeding profusely. I must’ve slipped on the blood. There was also a burning sensation at the base of my neck where it joined the shoulder on the left side. I was bleeding there, too.
Wes walked over to a man who was down, but leaning against the bar. A quick head count told me there were eight men down, in all.
Bob started down the stairs. He helped the lookout man up to his feet and after pulling the man’s revolver from the holster, he pushed him toward the door.
Now, only seven men down. Two of them were Thorndykes. I had no idea who the other five dead men were. An unknown number had been wounded.
I limped over to where Wes had kneeled down next to the man leaning against the bar. Bob joined us. I recognized the man now. He looked different, with different clothes, and he had shaved off his beard, but I knew him.
“Howdy, Wes. Never thought you could beat me,” the man said weakly. He was shot to pieces.
“Howdy, Andrew, I’m sure sorry I had to. You shouldn’t have gone for your gun. I was some surprised to see you here.”
“Small world,” Andrew mumbled. He was fading.
“Andrew, I’m afraid I’ve killed you—are you sure you’re going to heaven?” Wes asked him.
Bob gave Wes a startled look.
“Hell, I fear is where I’m headed. Always was, Wes. I guess you know that.”
“Do you want to go to heaven, Andrew?”
“Oh yes, Wes. I do. I sure do, if it ain’t too late.”
Wes leaned down close to him and said some words the wounded man repeated.
“You’ll soon be with Jesus, Andrew,” Wes said.
“Oh! I swear, Wes, I think I see Him . . . .”
The man died.
***
After a moment, I spoke up. “Wes, I heard you call him Andrew, but this man was Tom Russel,” I said.
“Maybe that was the name he was using, but he was known all over Kansas, Missouri, Minnesota, and the Dakotas, as Andy ‘Point Blank’ Peterson.
For the last few years he’s been traveling with a man by the name of Snooker Watson. They were bad outlaws. Watson didn’t start off bad, but he threw in with Andrew here, and it ruined him. I don’t know where Watson is but if Andrew is here, Watson is somewhere close by.”
I shook my head.
“No, Watson was killed by my deputy Charlie Owens. I’ve heard of ‘Point Blank’ Peterson. I have paper on him in my office. The reward from Wells Fargo alone is five thousand dollars. How did you know him?”
“He was my half-brother. He killed my father, and ran off to fight in the war. He never stopped robbing and killing after that.”
“He was wanted all over the country,” I observed.
“Not anymore,” Wes said, as he tried to stand.
And then Wes collapsed to the floor. A quick examination showed he’d been shot in the right shoulder and he was bleeding badly. The wound had been hidden from sight under his slicker. He’d fainted from trauma and loss of blood.
“Here, I’ll take care of Wes. You need to take care of yourself, John. You’ve been shot too, you know,” Bob said.
I realized my shirt was sticking to me and my right boot was filled with blood. I pulled my tie off and used the tie as a bandage around my calf. I reached up and felt the wound at the base of my neck. It wasn’t too bad, just a flesh wound, but it had bled enough to stain my nice white shirt almost completely red. It probably looked worse than it was.
There was movement at the door.
Bob and I both had our guns on Sheriff Tommy Turner as he walked into the room with his hands held high.
“Don’t shoot me, please don’t shoot. I’ve come to help,” Tommy said.
“Too late, get a mop.” Bob said.
“Yeah, you’ve made a hell of a mess,” Tommy observed.
“Tommy, go get a doctor!” I spat.
“We ain’t got one. The nearest thing to a doctor we had was the bartender here, but I se
e you’ve killed him, too.”
I knew I hadn’t. I looked at Bob, who shook his head. He hadn’t shot the bartender either. It must’ve been Wes or a loose shot fired by someone else. I looked at the man as he lay sprawled on the floor at the end of the bar. He had a sawed off double-barreled shotgun in his left hand.
“It was me. I shot that man,” Wes groaned. He was awake again.
“Damned good thing you did—if he had opened up on us with that thing, one or more of us would be dead for sure,” Bob said.
Wes shook his head weakly.
“Tommy, we need some help in here. Where can we get help for the wounded?” I asked.
“There’s a woman over at Aphrodite’s Bower. She was a nurse in the war. I hear she’s pretty good with wounds,” Tommy said.
“Well, go fetch her, NOW!” I yelled.
He took off at a run.
I looked at my watch.
It was just now eight forty five.
***
Shortly later, Mrs. Poole and Nancy came bustling into the building in the company of Max.
“Wes, I hear you’ve managed to get yourself shot again!” Mrs. Poole exclaimed. “Nancy, please have a look at him, while I see to the Sheriff here.”
She looked first at my neck wound and indicated it wasn’t serious but needed cleaning. She’d just begun to undo the makeshift bandage on my leg when Nancy interrupted.
“We need to get Mr. Spradlin to the house quickly, Emma. He needs more help than I can give him here. He has a bullet in him that has to come out.”
“Ah’ll take him, Miz Emma,” Max volunteered.
“Thank you, Max. Please hurry,” Mrs. Poole said.
Max scooped Wes up off the floor and cradled him in his arms like a baby. He and Nancy hurried out the door.
Mrs. Poole surveyed the room looking for other injured people. She confirmed everyone still on the floor was indeed dead. She asked Bob if he was hurt. He just shook his head.
“I don’t know how even one of you could have survived this,” she said sadly.
“I never wanted it to go this way. I intended to make an arrest of just two people, and it turned into a blood bath,” I said.
