Blood Dance (7 page)

“I don’t want any trouble from you,” I said.

The little man started to stoop and recover his revolver, but I pushed his head up with the Winchester. “No you don’t,” I said.

“No one does Jack McCall that way,” he snarled.

“I just did.”

He swallowed.

“Now hide out, and leave the .44.”

“You’ll pay for this,” McCall said, and he went away, still staggering.

“I’ll spend the night trembling,” I callemat,” I d after him.

I picked up the .44 and stuck it in my belt. I found a hitching rack and tied up my horse. I took my saddlebags and both rifles with me. They would be too inviting just hanging there.

On down the street I came across a redheaded whore outside a miner tent. She was plying her trade, smiling and yelling at the miners as they passed. She was fat, with filthy skirts and the complexion of a dead fish belly.

“Lonely, mister?” she said.

“No. Actually, I’m right tuckered out and I’m looking for a place to bunk out. Can you direct me?”

“A girl’s got to live.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

She laughed. “Well, a girl does, you know?”

She was long past being any girl, but I didn’t want to disillusion her.

“How about I trade you this .44 for some information?”

“Do I look like a pistoleer?”

“You look like a pretty girl,” I said. I could lie when I had to. “You can sell or trade it.”

“Well, that’s true enough.”

I took McCall’s revolver and gave it to her. She looked at it in a familiar manner, and I guessed that she might be more of a pistoleer than she let on.

“Sure you wouldn’t like to sow some seed?” she said.

“I’m worn to the bone. I just need a place to sleep and I need to find a place for my horse.”

“All right. You go down the street till you come to a big clapboard building. It’ll be the biggest around. You can find a place for the night there. Tell old Moses that Big Butt Molly sent you.”

“I’ll do that.”

I walked for a spell, sidestepping piles of dung and passed-out drunks before coming to the place Molly had told me about. There was a man standing outside of it urinating in the street. Somewhere I could hear a street Bible thumper yelling about Deadwood Gulch being the Sodom and Gomorra of today. I could hear the drunks better.

I went into the clapboard building. It was dark and as stinky as the inside of a buffalo’s guts in there.

Men in camps of this sort, women too, were not prone to regular bathing. I realized that I was a bit overripe myself. I thought the odor was going to take my guns away from me and shoot me in the foot.

There was a plank counter on the left made up of boards stretched over whisky barrels. A lantern sitting on the left-hand side of the board was the only light. A man on a stool behind the plank and barrels had a scatter gun in his lap. He eyed me like a bad case of the piles.

“Hep ya?” he said.

“Woman name of Big Butt Molly said I could find a place tolapd a pla bunk here.”

“Cost ya two bits. Ya don’t look to have two bits.”

“You Moses?”

“Yeah.”

“What can I trade you for a place to sleep?”

“Howsabout two bits?”

“How about my revolver?”

“Handguns is right cheap in a place like this, sonny.”

I knew that was a lie. King Colt, no matter what the iron population was, was always welcome.

“That’s what I got to offer,” I said. “I figure that’s good for one night’s sleep and enough change left over to put my horse up.”

Moses got up. “Let’s see’er.” He cradled the sawed-off shotgun in his arms and looked at me.

I laid my Colt on the plank.

Moses examined it.

“Alrighty, here’s two bits change.” He dug it out of a dirty pocket and tossed it on the plank and I pocketed it. Moses picked up the lantern. Carrying it in one hand, the shotgun in another, he came from behind the plank and barrels and led the way.

There was a blanket drawn over a doorway, and using the shotgun to push it aside, I followed him into a long, narrow room with rows of dirty socks sticking in the throughway.

“There’s a place down at the far end on the right side. Blanket up against the wall.”

“This is it?”

“You was expectin’ champagne and flowers? This ain’t back east.”

“I’ve never been east. But this sure ain’t much.”

“A Colt Revolver don’t buy much, Mr. Hoity-Toity.”

I sighed. “All right. Can you hold my spot until I’ve taken care of some business?”

“I suppose. Lay out yer blanket to mark yer place.”

I went down there between those stinky miner feet and pulled a blanket out from the wall, unfolded it. It smelled like something dead had been wrapped in it.

Snores echoed all around as I walked back to Moses.

“Pleasant sleeping companions,” I said.

“Ain’t they?” Moses said.

I carried the rifles, one in either hand, up the street. I hadn’t gone twenty feet when I stopped to watch an old man leading a horse. The horse looked familiar. It should have. It was the one Johnston had taken from the Indian and given me.

I walked toward the old man, said, “That’s a nice horse you got there.”

I got rock-bottom price for my horse, even with the saddle and bridle thrown in. The blacksmith who bought him made a big point about how it was an Indian pony and the saddle was badly worn.

I made the point that the horse was well fed and in good shape, and that it was bridle-trained, Indian pony or not.

He still gave me the same price. I kept my blanket and saddlebags, and on the way over to the flophouse, Honest Roy told me that the price I got for the horse was what the blacksmith paid for all horses, except dead ones. And then he still got a good profit there, seeing how his wife, Pickle Nose Annie, ran a restaurant.

I made a note to mind what I ate in Deadwood Gulch.

I stowed the gear at the flophouse and went with Honest Roy to a saloon. Roy had promised to buy me a drink. The stuff tasted bad. It did not have the color of honest whisky.

“You want another, Red Spot?” Honest Roy asked me.

“This will hold me, Roy.”

There weren’t any tables, so we leaned against the wall. A few miners had some stumps pulled up around barrels and they were playing cards on those.

“Well,” Honest Roy said “if you won’t have a drink, that’s good. More for me.” He laughed at his own joke and went back to the bar.

When he got back, I said, “I’ve had it in here. I’m going to get me some fresh air.”

“Ain’t much fresher in the street,” Honest Roy said. “What say you and me find us a card game?”

“Go ahead. Somehow I don’t think there’d be much of an honest deal in here.”

“Not an honest game in the Gulch,” Roy said, “But I cheat.” He patted the .36 Navy on his hip. “And if
they
cheat…”

“I’ll just go out for some air, Roy. Good night.”

“Have it your way, Red Spot.”

Like most of the me/dist of tn in the saloon, I had carried my weapon in with me. So, I left out of there with my Winchester. I had stowed my saddlebags and the Sharps back at the flophouse and I wanted to get back there before Moses decided to sell them.

Out in the street, swinging his way along on the other side, I spied a familiar face. I recognized all three men. One of them was a Crow Indian in cowboy dress. The other was Taggart. And the man leading them was none other than my old friend, Mix Miller.

I felt a hot flush. Suddenly I thought of Bucklaw falling from his horse, his face half blown away.

I swung-cocked the Winchester and started across the street.

“Mix!” I yelled.

Mix stopped, turned, and looked at me. He didn’t seem to recognize me. Which was understandable. My clothes looked worse for wear and my hat was drooped down in my face. I had a thick beard and mustache as well.

“I know you?” Mix asked. The Crow and Taggart had stopped in their tracks behind him. They were really putting the eyeball to me.

“Yeah.”

“Well, can’t say as I recall the face.” His hand drifted down to touch the butt of his revolver even as he smiled.

“We met in Custer.”

“I met a lot of people in Custer. Sorry, don’t remember you.”

“Sure you do. We robbed a train. Got a hatful of watches and some change.”

Mix’s eyes narrowed. “Melgrhue?”

“Melgrhue,” I said, and jerked the Winchester up even with Mix’s chest.

He was fast, but not fast enough. My shot caught him in the chest and shattered his breastbone. He twisted on his heel as if it were nailed to the ground, and wound down to the ground.

His two companions drew down on me. A shot sent my hat spinning. I dropped and cocked two quick shots at them. One knocked the Crow’s right eye out but the other missed Taggart.

Taggart’s revolver was right on me. I knew Taggart had a bullet with my name on it, but suddenly the side of his head went to pieces and he went sideways into the street.

I wheeled to my right. Honest Roy was holstering his .36 Navy.

“Figured I owed you one,” he said. “‘Sides, I was losin’, and it was a fair game.”

“Glad to see you.”

“I think one of them’s still alive.”

The streets had been half full a moment ago, but when the gunplay started it had cleared out. Pedestrians poked their heads out from behind barrels and saloon doors now. They went back about their business, not even curious. They had seen this plenty of times before.

Roy and I walked over to the trio, and I saw that Mix was still alive, but in a very bad way.

“Want me to finish him?” Honest Roy said.

“He’s finished enough.” I squatted down. “Where’s Carson?”

He opened his mouth and tried to spit on me, but all he managed was a gurgle of blood on his chin. I grabbed his hair and lifted up his head. “Where’s Carson,” I repeated. But Mix was dead.

I stood up. “There a sheriff in this town?”

“No. Old Man Williams will bury them for the change in their pockets. Leave them.” Roy reached down and took Mix’s hat, tossed his own on the ground. He placed it on his head. “Fits,” he said.

“Tell me, Red Spot,” said Honest Roy as we walked over to the flophouse. “What did you have against them fellers?”

“They killed a friend of mine. Tried to kill me. Double-crossed me on a deal.”

“Reckon that’s reason enough,” Honest Roy admitted. “But if you don’t like double-dealin’, you’re in the wrong place, son. And it’s gonna get worse. When this gold fever gets spread good, every debtor, gambler, hardcase and two-bit double-crosser in the country will be here.”

“Horse thieves, too,” I said.

Honest Roy slapped his knee. “Hell, son, they’re already here.”

Inside the flophouse, I reclaimed my gear and Honest Roy got a place for the night. He paid Moses.

“Don’t stink up my blanket,” Moses warned him.

“Shut up, puss-belly,” Roy snapped.

We went on back to the sleeping quarters. I said to Roy, “He sure is a cantankerous sonofabitch.”

“Guess it runs in the blood,” Honest Roy said, spitting his chaw on the floor. “He’s just like the rest of my brothers. For that matter, all my kin.”

“Moses is your
brother?
I don’t believe it.”

“Don’t like it much myself,” Roy said. “But don’t make it no less true.”

I lay wide awake to the sound of snoring and twisting and belching. The place stank too much to sleep. My mind was too full.
A sort of strangeness had crept up on me like an Indian.