Ritchie smiled looking at Castro seated across the fire. Castro spoke for both brothers. “We’ve got a few tricks up our sleeve, Sir,” he said. “If you and Franklin here need to get inside, we’ll see to it that you get inside.”
“We’ve got dynamite,” Curtis said. “Ain’t nothing ever stood in our way when we use that stuff?”
“That’s good,” Castro said, in a low voice that sent a shiver up Curtis’s spine. “And so are those Peacemakers and Navy Colts.” He paused, his eyes drawing into narrow slits as looked at both Bardwell and Curtis. “But we’ve got a couple of things packed away that will set those boys back on their heels some.”
Better than dynamite and a trusty Colt pistol, Curtis wondered. What in the hell, have these fellas got packed in those green boxes?
“I guarantee that you will be allowed inside, Sir,” Castro said, looking over at Curtis seated in the dirt next to him.
“Now what have you gentlemen heard of flying ships and such?” Bardwell asked, steering the conversation in a slightly different direction. “Franklin and I have run up against a couple of those in the past.”
“Helicopters,” Castro said. “We’ve heard about your run in down in the desert last year, Broken Hill.”
“The damned things are evil,” Curtis said, drawing on the stub of a cigar.” If you ask me and I know that you didn’t?”
“They can be,” Ritchie said. “But they can be very useful also when used for the right reasons.” The young lawman took a drink and handed the bottle back to his brother before continuing. “These aren’t the helicopters or flying craft that you’ve seen before. Red Owl Mining has been reported to use a lighter-than-air craft. Zeppelins—dirigible airships—they call them.”
“Zeppelins,” Curtis asked, thinking over his childhood history lessons. “You mean, Blimps?”
“Right on the money, Sir,” Castro said. “Word is that they may be using as many as three of the gas giants?”
“So what is the objective here?” Curtis asked. “Are we down here to arrest Butterfield and his bunch or take out the flying machines?”
Ritchie cleared his throat. “The mission is strictly hit and run. We give no quarter and destroy as much of their facility as we can under the cover of darkness.”
Curtis smiled looking at Bardwell. “So our reputation precedes us?”
“Yes, Sir,” Castro said nodding.
“Gentlemen,” Ritchie said. “As far as Sacramento is concerned, we don’t exist. We’ve never met and both my brother and I will deny that we ever have, to any that would ask.”
“Huh,” Curtis said, to no one in particular. “I’ve been right all along. All these years you’ve been blowing shit up and I knew it. They use us to do the dirty work.”
Bardwell nodded but didn’t reply to his partner sitting across from him. He spit in the fire and then looked back to Ritchie.
“You’re right, Sir,” Ritchie answered. “Officer Bardwell here was trained by one of the best to complete seek and destroy missions as a young man much like the three of us, my brother and I and of course you. Since the day that you were paired with officer Bardwell, you have been operating in a vague or gray area of the law.”
“I fucking knew it,” Curtis said, spitting in the fire. “I’ve fucking known it all along.” He looked at Bardwell. “How many times have you heard me say it, huh? How many times have I said it?”
Bardwell smiled. There were still a few things ahead of the boy that he would have to learn, but in time he would. Franklin Curtis was a good lawman.
“And what about the two of you,” Curtis asked. “If you are brothers…?”
Castro laughed. “I assure you, Franklin, we are brothers.”
Bardwell nodded. “They are.”
“We,” Ritchie started. “We are the heavy hitters, Sir. Just as you and officer Bardwell operate within the parameters set before you, we have a set of parameters. We provide the muscle that an ordinary lawman wouldn’t have access to.”
Curtis looked puzzled tossing the stub of his cigar into the fire. Castro bit off a chew and placed a few sticks on the dying fire.
“Have you ever noticed how few of the men you really bring back, Sir?” Castro asked.
“Hey,” Curtis said, again to no one in particular. “We don’t take a lot of these outlaws back with us?”
“Right,” Castro said, nodding his head in agreement. “Like my brother said, you two operate one way and we another.”
“So how many are there like us?” Curtis asked.
“There are one hundred and fifty-two officers sworn to protect the law of Sacramento,” Ritchie said. “Most are ordinary lawmen patrolling a designated territory. Domestic violence, unlawful discharge of a firearm, drug possession,” Ritchie added. “Little things, mostly, right?”
“And a lot of paperwork,” Castro said.
“There are two of you,” Ritchie continued. “And then there’s the two of us.”
“I like it,” Curtis said, smiling. “The black, fucking sheep of the tin star…?” Curtis raised the bottle. “To the black fucking sheep of Sacramento boys,” he added.
The other three smiled but said nothing. Castro did take the bottle from Curtis and had a drink himself.
“Wait,” Curtis asked. “What if something happens to one of you or fuck…” He paused, “One of us?”
Castro spoke in the low voice again that sent a shiver through Curtis. “They replace us.”
“That’s it,” Curtis asked. “They simply replace us?”
It was Bardwell’s turn to speak. His partner seemed to be falling apart the more of the truth that he heard spoken around the tiny fire.
“You asked and I’ve told you of my partner Bob James,” Bardwell started.
Castro made the sign of the cross on his head and chest. “God rest his soul,” he said closing his eyes.
“When Dead Eye Bob found himself looking up from a pine box,” Bardwell continued. “I was left to my own devices for a time. That is…”
“That is till I was assigned to ride along with you,” Curtis said, finishing his superior’s sentence for him.
“Right,” Bardwell said. “Just like James had ridden with a fellow by the name of Massey and I, in turn, rode with him, you now ride with me, Son. When my turn comes, they’ll assign a young fellow to you. Just like I’ve taught you the ways of the law, you will hand down the lessons learned by the great lawmen of the tin star, Massey, James and…”
“And you,” Curtis said. “It will be up to me to teach the lessons that I’ve learned riding with you.”
“Yes,” Bardwell said. “And in turn, that young lawman will hand down the wisdom of Franklin Curtis, one of the greatest lawmen to ever ride out of Sacramento.”
“Here, here,” Castro said.
“So if,” Curtis asked. “We’re expected to bring the balls, what is it that you two bring to the table?”
Castro smiled. “Firepower, Sir,” he said. “My brother Silas can take out a man from a mile or better…”
“A mile,” Curtis asked. “You’ve got to be shitting me? There ain’t anyone can hit a man from a mile out?”
“Silas here can and will,” Castro said. “You’ll be able to see it for yourself in a few days’ time.”
“So he’s a sharpshooter?” Curtis asked.
“A sniper,” Ritchie added.
“What the hell are you shooting, a cannon?” Curtis asked laughing.
“Barrett, fifty caliber,” Ritchie said.
“Okay, okay,” Curtis said. “Maybe you can take out a man from distance, but we’re going to need a lot more than that if I understand what you three have been talking about.”
Castro spoke up now. “In our gear, we’ve got Composition C, rockets, and I’ve even packed a mortar.”
“Composition C?” Curtis asked.
“It’s a lot like the dynamite that you’re used to,” Castro said. “But more efficient.”
“More effi
cient than dynamite,” Curtis asked, rubbing his chin. Curtis fished out another cigar and put it to the flame.
“Yes,” Castro said. “You light the fuse and throw it at one of the iron gates surrounding this fortress that we’ll soon be up against. It will make a lot of noise and it may blow the gate, but it may not.”
“Okay?”
“Composition C,” Castro continued. “It will open the gate. I have no doubt. The rockets are shoulder fired and will allow us to do a good deal of damage from a distance. The mortars will be used in the same fashion.”
“So we’re really going to do this,” Curtis asked. “The four of us are going to take out a fortified military installation? What if the flying ships are not there?”
“The complex was once used by the elders as a maximum security prison,” Ritchie said. “Ironwood, they called it then.”
“And the Zeppelins,” Castro added. “They should be there, but if not we know where they’ll be.”
“Where is that,” Curtis asked.
“There’s an abandoned airfield seventy rods north of here,” Ritchie said. “It’s near the old mission of Palo Alto. If we don’t find them here, we ride north to finish the job.”
“Palo Alto,” Curtis asked. “That’s just south and west of home?”
Bardwell nodded.
“Yes,” Castro said. “If something should happen that would require us to ride north, we again separate to travel our separate paths. We’d meet up in ten days and make ready to complete the mission, but we’ll talk of this when and only when required.”
“Damn,” Curtis said, looking across the dark night.
“That should be about it for the night, gentlemen,” Bardwell said. “We can talk more on the morrow, but as the night is getting late and we still have some distance to travel, I think that we should put this away for now.”
“Yes, Sir,” Ritchie said.
Curtis and Castro agreed, stretching out on their blankets for the remainder of the nighttime hours.
Franklin Curtis closed his eyes like the others, but sleep did not come easily for the young lawman. No, he found out a little more of the truth about the nature of the profession that he chose to pursue tonight and his mind was busy sorting it through.
He was nothing more than a boy when that chance meeting between he and Dan Bardwell set him on the path following. Was it fate somehow or Divine Intervention?
The way the lawman stood behind the tin star pinned to his chest against five known outlaws had cinched the deal as far as Curtis was concerned, he knew it from that moment on that he wanted to follow in the man’s footsteps and now here he was.
It had seemed to Curtis all along that Bardwell was something different. Instructors had spoken well of the old lawman but had chosen their words carefully when talking of Bardwell. Upon graduation, he was asked for the thirtieth time if riding with Bardwell was something that he really wanted to go forward with.
“Yeah,” Curtis had said. “I like the old dude. He’s got balls.”
“Then, so be it,” The Chancellor had said, patting him on the shoulder. “Godspeed, Son…?”
I wonder if those crazy old fuckers weren’t trying to tell me something. Curtis wondered, hoping for peaceful slumber to arrive.
Riding with the old man is nothing more than a suicide mission, his overactive mind thought, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. No, Sir.
Tired after a long day, hell, a long week, sleep finally consumed the lad lying next to the fire. His mind drifted to the pair of brothers and their dissimilar appearance.
***
Sunup found Bardwell stoking the small fire and fixing to boil a can of coffee. He too thought of the job ahead. In his long and storied lifetime of chasing outlaws, he’d never been up against one like this. These boys will play for keeps he would have said if anyone had bothered to ask.
“Good morning, Sir,” Castro said, rousing from his blanket.
“Morning, Son,” Bardwell said. “You like some coffee?”
“Please,” Castro said, in a low voice trying not to wake the others.
Bardwell poured the bitter brew into the boy’s dented tin cup and handed it across the fire to a waiting hand.
“It’s cold this morning,” Castro said, wrapping in the blanket.
Bardwell nodded, adding a few sticks to the fire, “The seasons changing mighty fast.” He looked up to the gray morning sky. “Winter will be on us before we know it?”
Castro nodded his agreement. “Is he going to be okay, Sir?” he asked, nodding at Curtis lying half under his blanket.
“Who, Franklin,” Bardwell asked. “He might be one of the best lawmen that I’ve had the pleasure of riding with, Son. Franklin may not look it, but he’s definitely one of the best there is.”
Castro’s face was screwed up hearing the comment. “Seemed a little runout last night listening to what my brother and I had to say?”
“You’re probably right, Son,” Bardwell replied. “I’m sure that’s the first he’s heard of some of it?”
“So he didn’t know?”
“What, about the suicide mission that I’ve been on for thirty years?” Bardwell asked. “No, Son he didn’t know.”
“You never told him?”
“No,” Bardwell said. “I think that he had figured most of it out by himself? He’s been talking about it since the first time we rode out of Sacramento.”
Ritchie stirred from under his blanket also.
“Morning, Brother,” Castro said, reaching for another tin cup, “It’s good of you to join us.”
Ritchie smiled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He reached out and hit his brother in the leg. “Fuck you,” he said.
“We’re burning daylight,” Bardwell said to Curtis who had remained awake, hours after the others had drifted off to sleep.
“Mom,” Curtis said, from somewhere under his old wool blanket. “I don’t want to go to school today.”
“He’s a little unorthodox,” Bardwell said smiling. “But he is a good lawman.”
The brothers laughed.
After a light meal of hard bread and coffee, the four lawmen broke camp and saddled their mounts for another day on horseback.
“How far do you reckon Tulare is from here, Sir?” Curtis asked.
“We should be in there by mid-afternoon,” Bardwell said, leading the way as the deadly foursome traveled south.
Curtis slid back along the trail to ride alongside Castro bringing up the rear with the packhorse.
“Said we should be in town not long after supper,” Curtis said, slowing along the trail
Castro nodded. “He’s a good man,” he said. “And you should count yourself lucky to be assigned to such as him.”
“It’s funny, you know,” Curtis said. “He’s about the closest thing to a father that I’ve ever had. I didn’t know my real dad.”
Castro nodded. “That happens.”
“I was raised by my mother till she died,” he added. “An old fellow in town gave me a job at the livery and let me live in the barn with the horses.”
“And then a tin star lawman rode into town?” Castro said, finishing the story.
“Yeah,” Curtis said. “How’d you know?”
Castro smiled. “You’re five years older than me, Sir,” he said. “By the time my brother and I started at the academy, your name was already infamous around the school. Everyone wanted to get the opportunity that Franklin Curtis had gotten.”
“I guess that’s funny when you stop to think about it,” Curtis said. “Some poor black boy graduates at the top of his class and gets to pick his mentor?”
“And fuck did you pick a mentor,” Castro said, reaching out a twist of tobacco. He bit off a mouthful and handed it across.
“I can’t stand that shit,” Curtis said, fumbling for another cigar. “You ever smoke?”
“No,” Castro said. “My old grandad used to chew and I guess it was in the cards for me to follow suit?”
“You, ever been to Tulare?” Curtis asked.
“Come to think of it,” Castro replied. “No. My brother and I have been all over this country, but I’ve never been there.”
“You’ll like it, man,” Curtis said. “They got a couple of saloons, although you’ll want to stay away from Skinny Dick’s and even got a whorehouse.” He smiled, “Man, I can’t wait to take me a good hot bath and start chasing me some gal up them stairs.”
“I take it that you’re not a family man?” Castro asked.
“No,” Curtis said. “I guess I’m afraid that I’ll turn out like my old man and up and run off someday? I wouldn’t want some kid to have to go through that.”
Castro nodded his agreement.
“What about you and your brother Silas?” Curtis asked. “You got family?”
“No,” Castro said. “Not in this line of work. Being the only two doing what we do, we live on the road most of the year; take a room in the city when we’re not.”
Curtis nodded. He understood well what the young man was saying.
“Your boss there,” Castro said. “He was married once. Back when he started into this profession.”
“Yeah,” Curtis said. “You know the story?”
Castro nodded. “His wife was thrown from a horse killing her and the child that she carried.”
“I’ve heard that she was mad at him,” Curtis added. “For the life that he had chosen, she was running back into town to live with her folks?”
“That’s too bad,” Castro said.
“It is man,” Curtis said. “But we all know that shit happens. Me, I just chase whatever happens to smell nice when we ride into town.”
Both boys bringing up the rear laughed. It was still a long way into town from where they were and a never-ending daystar clung to the sky high overhead.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sun glinted off the tin roofs of Tulare as the foursome neared. Off to the east, the majestic Sierra Nevada mountain range could be made out through the smoke and haze.
Bardwell reined in on a low-rise overlooking the border township. The boys did also spread out six horses abreast. No one said a word. The four tin star lawmen gazed down upon the orderly little desert settlement. Behind was law and order, just a few rods to the south was the chaotic no man’s land they called the borderlands.
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