“You’ll die, Longley, that’s a promise,” Danielle warned.
“Aw, come on. I saw how you just stood there, wouldn’t do nothing. You won’t shoot me, not really.”
“Ten dollars says he will,” Mysterious Dave Mather said, stepping inside the tent, his short-barreled Hood .38 caliber out of his shoulder harness and pointed at Danielle. “Of course I’ll kill ole Danny Duggin here as soon as he pulls that trigger on you, if that’s any consolation.”
Longley stared sideways at Dave Mather, thinking about it. Seeing the small Hood pistol, he let out a sigh, saying, “Damn it, Dave, why’d you draw that little cork-popper when you see he’s got a big Colt pinned to the side of my head?”
Dave Mather chuckled, dark and low. “Call it poor judgment, Bill. I dressed in a hurry this morning. What’re you going to do? I’m ready to back your play.”
“Well hell,” Bill Longley said, relenting, lowering his arm slowly and letting the brass knuckles drop from his fingers. “I hate somebody poking a pistol in my ear, Duggin. It’s cause to kill a man, I always say.”
“You just can’t turn nothing loose easy, can you, Bill?” Dave Mather said, stepping forward, his pistol still trained on Danielle. He bent down and picked up the brass knuckles. “Now let him up, Danny. Let’s all move slow and easy, keep from splattering brains all over the day drinkers, what do you say?”
“Sounds good to me if you really mean it,” said Danielle. “If this is a setup, we’re all going to die here.”
“It’s no setup, Danny Duggin,” said Dave Mather. “If I was going to shoot you, it wouldn’t matter whether or not you held a gun to Bill’s head. Show a little trust here.” He grinned.
When Danielle stepped back and relaxed her grip on her Colt, Bill Longley raised Duncan Grago to his feet and shoved him through the fly of the tent. “Here, don’t forget this.” He snatched Duncan’s pistol from the ground and pitched it out behind him.
“You might need it to go somewhere and blow your brains out.” He turned back to Danielle, dusting his hands together. “No hard feelings, Danny Duggin, but the next time you point a pistol at me, you better make sure it comes out smoking.” He smiled flatly and without expression. “Come on, Dave, before I change my mind and wipe this whole place out.”
“In a minute, Bill,” said Mather. He stood beside Danielle and watched until Bill Longley left the tent. Then Mather turned to Danielle, holstering his Hood pistol up under his arm. “Tell me, Danny Duggin, does this sort of thing happen everyplace you go?”
“Lately it seems like it,” said Danielle. She stepped back to the bar and slumped back against it. “Am I going to have to watch my back with Bill Longley around?”
“I doubt it. In his own way, he thought he was doing you a favor. He might challenge you in this shooting contest. Otherwise, like he said, no hard feelings.”
“That’s good to know,” Danielle said. “I’ve got enough trouble here as it is. I don’t need any more.”
No sooner than she’d spoken, Morgan Goss stuck his head inside the tent, announcing to the drinkers who were now getting back to the bar and the faro tables, “New riders coming in, boys. Looks like Arno Dunne brought a couple of shooters with him. Reckon we’ll be starting the contest again most any time.”
“Is there anybody else you recognize?” Danielle asked, hoping to hear some of the names on her list.
“Nope, just these three, Arno Dunne and couple of look-alikes on a pair of bay horses.”
Danielle stood stunned for a second, knowing it must be her brothers Jed and Tim.
“What’s wrong, Danny?” Dave Mather chuckled. “You look like you just fell down a long, dark hole.”
“It feels like it, Mather,” Danielle responded, and leveling her hat low on her forehead, she walked toward the tent fly.
Chapter 14
“Stick close to me, boys,” Arno Dunne told Jed and Tim Strange as they rode into the encampment, “and say no more than you have to.” The twins only nodded, looking all around at the grizzled faces, the tents, and the lay of the rugged land, in case they had to make a quick getaway. “None of these men know you, or how good you are with those Colts.” Arno laughed under his breath. “We want to keep it that way as long as we can. By the time they find out, we’ll have most of their money in our pockets.”
“We understand,” said Tim. He recalled the events of the morning as they rode along. They had met up with Newt Grago, Merlin Haas, and Chancy Burke along the trail. When Arno Dunne explained how he’d brought these two along to join the contest, Chancy Burke looked them up and down with a sneer, sizing them up as a couple of greenhorns fresh off of the farm. “What’s the story on those little deadman’s knots hanging from your saddle horns?” he’d asked, pointing at the two miniature nooses made from the window blind cord. Before either Jed or Tim could respond, Arno Dunne cut in.
“That’s a secret, Burke,” Dunne said. Then he looked away from Chancy Burke and at Merlin Haas and Newt Grago. “In fact, everything about these boys is a secret, except their names.” He nodded toward Jed and Tim. “This here’s the Faulkner twins, Tim and Jed. Anybody wants to know more about them will have to step up face-to-face and find out for themselves.”
“Are they any good with them Colts?” Burke asked. “You must think so or you wouldn’t have brought them here.”
Arno Dunne gave a playful wink to Newt Grago as he answered Chancy Burke. “Of course I think they’re good. The question is how good? And that’s the part that’ll cost you to find out.”
Newt Grago had caught the glint in Arno Dunne’s eyes, and knew he was up to something. That was fine with Newt, so long as there was a way for him and Haas to make their money as well. Arno Dunne had some crack shooters here, and Newt Grago knew it. He’d smiled and swept a hand back toward the encampment. “Any friends of Arno Dunne’s are friends of mine. Head on in, Arno, we’ll be back as soon as we check on the last guard position.”
That had been over an hour ago, and now, drawing closer to the encampment, the twins had prepared themselves for anything. “I hope we ain’t made a bad mistake here,” Jed Strange whispered to Tim, the two of them dropping their bays back a few feet behind Arno Dunne. Less than fifty yards ahead, men began to gather along the edge of the camp clearing. These were tough-looking men, Jed thought, men who stared at them with eyes like vultures. Thumbs hooked into gun belts as Dunne led them forward.
“Get on up here with me, boys,” Dunne said to Tim and Jed over his shoulder. “Don’t get bashful on me now. We’ve got some work cut out for us.”
Jed and Tim gigged their bays forward. “Notice how he keeps saying we, or us?” Jed asked under his breath. “He makes it sound like he’s the one going to be doing the shooting.”
“Yeah,” Tim replied. “If this thing goes wrong or he double-crosses us, he better be ready to do some shooting. I’ll kill him if it’s the last thing I do.”
At the line of gathered men, Arno Dunne sidled his horse the last few steps and said down to Cincinnati Carver, “Heard some shooting a while back. Have you started the contest before Newt and Haas get back?”
“Naw,” said Carver, “Newt would have a fit if we did something like that. All you heard was Dunc going crazy, shooting at an ole boy named Danny Duggin. They got into it last night, and Duggin cracked his head. Dunc’s acting like the world came to an end because of it. Hell, you know how Dunc is.” Cincinnati Carver looked the twins over, noting right away how young and inexperienced they looked. “Who’s your friends, Arno?”
Dunne spread a crafty smile, looking from Carver to the rest of the faces. Bloodshot eyes looked back at him. “Boys, this is the Faulkner twins, Tim and Jed. Newt met us along the trail and welcomed them in. I told him these two were about half good with a pistol. He said, bring them in and we’ll see what they can do.”
Carver said, “Dunne, this thing has gotten big. Bill Longley has shown up, claiming he’s going to make himself a thousand dollars her
e.”
“Bill Longley, huh?” Arno Dunne reined his horse back a step, looking over the heads of the men and toward the two big gambling tents.
A voice laughed amid the gathered men, calling out, “Does that change any plans you might have had, Dunne?”
Arno Dunne collected himself, took a cigar from his coat pocket, and stuck it into his mouth. “Hell no,” he said after a short pause, “the more the mer rier. “Come on, boys,” he said to Tim and Jed, jerking a nod toward the big tents, “let’s go cut some dust from our throats.”
The crowd of men parted and Arno Dunne and the twins stepped their horses through them. As the men dispersed behind them, Tim said to Jed, “Did you hear them mention Danny Duggin? I wonder if Danny is in on this shooting contest?”
Hearing Tim, Arno Dunne cut in, asking, “Who’s this Danny Duggin? Does he know how fast you boys are?”
“We met Danny along the trail, back before we rode to Mobeetie. He’s the one who gave us a tip on where to find work.”
“Okay, okay,” Dunne said impatiently, “but does he know how good you are with a gun? That’s what I need to know.”
“Not really,” Tim replied. “We only met him, shared a camp and coffee with him. He seemed like a good enough hombre. Never thought he’d be a part of something like this. He didn’t strike us as being an outlaw.”
“You’d be surprised who’s an outlaw and who ain’t. People can fool you,” Dunne replied.
“I don’t want to face Danny Duggin if he’s a part of this,” said Jed.
Dunne sighed in exasperation. “Boys, if he’s in the contest, and wants to face you, doesn’t that tell you something? If he’s willing to kill you, shouldn’t you be just as willing to kill him?”
Jed started to speak in protest, but Tim saw it was pointless and cut him off, saying, “Damn right, Dunne. Whoever’s facing me has just as much to think about as I do. So to hell with them. I’m out to win.” As he spoke, he cut Jed a guarded glance, letting him know he was just going along with Dunne.
“Tim,” Dunne said over his shoulder, drawing his horse to a halt outside the first large tent, “you are a joy to behold. I believe in time, you’ll have your mind straight and be as good an outlaw as ever outran a rope.” He reached a hand out and jiggled the miniature noose on Tim’s saddle horn as the twins stopped their horses beside him. “But you, deacon,” he added, looking at Jed, “I don’t know what we’ll ever make of you.”
“Never you mind about me, Dunne,” Jed said as the three of them swung down from their saddles, “I’ll handle whatever flies at me.”
Watching from beside the large tent, Danielle listened to the sound of her brothers’ voices. Hearing and seeing them gave her mixed feelings. She wanted to run out and fling her arms around them both. At the same time she felt like running out and cursing them and sending them packing. But no matter what she felt, this was no time for her to divert from her course. She would have to deal with her brothers being here, keeping out of their sight as much as possible and going on with her plans once the rest of her father’s killers arrived.
“Damn it, Jed and Tim,” she whispered to herself, seeing them spin their reins around a makeshift rail and step inside the tent, “why couldn’t you just be content to stay in St. Joe?” In saying it, she felt a little guilty, for they could have very well asked her the same question last year when she began her journey. Reminding herself of this fact caused her to take a deep breath and not judge her brothers too harshly.
When she’d first heard Morgan Goss mention Arno Dunne and a couple of look-alikes riding a pair of bays, she’d gone straightaway to where she’d hitched Sundown, and moved the mare back to where she’d left her last night. She couldn’t risk Jed and Tim seeing Sundown. That would destroy everything.
Now with the mare safely out of sight, all Danielle could do was wait. She moved quietly back alongside the tent, then cut away toward the shade of a white oak, where she planned to watch the camp for any sign of Newt Grago and Chancy Burke. As soon as the contest started, she wanted to get her shot at Burke and take him down. That would mark one more name off her list. Then she would find a way to stay off to herself and keep an eye on the trail leading in. She repeated the other three names on her list to herself, knowing them by heart now: Rufe Gaddis, Saul Delmano, Blade Hogue. Once these other killers rode in, she would no longer care about Jed and Tim recognizing her. Nothing else would matter then, as she’d gun them down, every one of them, and Newt Grago too. Or else she’d die trying.
It was high noon when Newt Grago, Merlin Haas, and Chancy Burke rode back into camp. By that time the outlaws had grown restless and eager for the shooting to begin. Several of the lesser gunmen had taken to drawing names among themselves, fearful of facing the likes of Chancy Burke or Bill Longley. A couple of fistfights and a knifing had broken out in the clearing of Lulu’s gambling tent, and shots had erupted over one of Lulu’s girls, leaving a Montana outlaw by the name of Herk Evans with a bullet in his thigh. Bill Longley had gotten a little drunker than he’d intended to, and he’d starting shooting beer mugs from atop one of the girls’ heads until Dave Mather came along and stopped him.
Now Mather and Longley stood at the center of the clearing, drinking strong coffee, the rest of the outlaws giving them wide berth as they watched Grago, Haas, and Burke ride into camp. “I don’t know about you,” Longley said, “but the more sober I get, the worse this pigsty starts looking to me.”
“You want to head out?” Mather asked, sounding astonished. “What about the thousand dollars you promised yourself?”
“Oh, I’ll stand a couple of rounds if they got anybody who’ll try me,” Longley said, stroking his goatee. “But I’ve been thinking. The only man here who’s game for all takers is Chancy Burke. If he kills this Danny Duggin, nobody else will be bold enough to face up to him, except me.” Longley shrugged. “Then, once I kill Burke, there won’t be a soul here who’ll face me. That means I can only make five hundred or seven hundred at the most.”
“That’s not bad money,” said Mather, “and who knows, when some of these others show up from Newt Grago’s old bunch, you might even get some other challengers.” A guarded smile came to Mather’s face. “Do me a favor, lay off of Danny Duggin if you can. There’s something I like about him.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” Longley asked.
“I can’t say,” Mather replied, looking away from Longley’s questioning gaze. Then as if dismissing the subject, he pointed at the group of outlaws who had drawn names among themselves and were getting itchy to start the contest. “You’ve also got to figure, some of them will get more bark on once they commence facing one another and winning. That’s just human nature.”
Bill Longley nodded, thinking about it. “Yeah, I reckon you’re right. We’ll just have to play this thing by ear for a while. Think you better get over to Merlin Haas right away, get us a few dollars bet on Danny Duggin?”
“Sure thing,” said Mather. He reached inside his coat, took out a stack of bills, and headed over to the shack where Newt Grago, Haas, and Burke had just stepped down from their horses.
At the shack, eight or ten outlaws had crowded around Newt Grago, each of them waving dollars in his face. “Hold it, boys!” Newt shouted, shoving them back from him. “One at a time.” Beside him, Chancy Burke butted a man back with his chest, keeping a hand on his pistol butt.
“You heard him, damn it!” Burke shouted. “Newt ain’t the one taking the bets, you need to get with Haas.” He nodded at Merlin Haas, who stood clasping his coat lapels, a black cigar standing straight out from his teeth.
“But he won’t take our bets unless Newt here okays it,” a man named Quince Matine said. “This ain’t about the regular pot. This is some matching a few of the boys have done on their own.”
“The hell are you talking about, Matine?” Newt Grago asked, looking around at the gathered men.
“Edwards here has challenged his cousin, Bennie, to a shoo
t-out.” He pointed around at the others. “Cotton Pate has challenged Anderson. Hell, we’ve got enough matches here to last into the night, if you’ll just give us the go-ahead.”
“No kidding?” Newt Grago chuckled. “So, some of you have gotten together and done a little figuring on your own, eh?” He looked at Merlin Haas and laughed. “What do you say, Haas? Want to cover some extra bets? Looks like we’re going to have a whole other level of shooters here. Everybody’s wanting to get into the action.”
“Bring ’em on,” Haas said, reaching into his coat and pulling out a pencil and paper. “We ain’t turning nothing away. Step over here and give me the information. Who’s fighting who?”
The men hurried over and surrounded Merlin Haas. Chancy Burke saw Dave Mather coming toward them, and he leaned close to Grago, saying,
“What about these two, Newt? What are we going to do about Longley wanting in on this shooting contest?”
“I told you last night not to worry about it when him and Mather rode in, didn’t I?” Newt Grago whispered, seeing Mather draw closer. “You’re starting to sound like you’re afraid of Longley.”
“Hell, Newt, I ain’t no damn fool,” Chancy Burke whispered in reply. “There ain’t a man here can beat Bill Longley.”
“Maybe not one man,” Newt said, “but I bet a few men can handle the job.” He winked at Burke, then stepped forward as Dave Mather arrived with the stack of dollar bills in his hand. Chancy Burke smiled and let out a breath of relief.
“Howdy, Mather, what can I do for you?” Newt Grago asked.
“I got five hundred dollars says the kid, Danny Duggin, is going to put your boy Burke here in the ground. No offense, Burke,” Mather added, casting Burke a glance. Chancy Burke’s face reddened, and he looked away without reply.
“You need to see Haas, Mather. He’s the one what handles the betting,” said Grago.
“Huh-uh.” Mather shook his head. “Merlin Haas has been known to disappear come pay-up time. I’d rather you hold the bet. It might keep me from chasing Haas down and putting a bullet in his eye.”
The Shadow of a Noose Page 19
