Shotgun (12 page)

“And I'm sure they got the facts right.”

“I'd say you're on the run now? Need some help?”

Bishop let Kate draw. “I don't have any gold. Nothing.”

Kate coughed. “Well, there's something going on that you're a part of, but maybe you don't know it. This isn't just about avenging your family.”

“It is for me. There's nothing else.”

The pipe made a slight hissing sound as Kate drew again. “Beaudine killed one of my girls. Had some kind of a fit, and wrung her neck, but that brain of his wouldn't let him recall it. I guess that's his blessing.”

“Where'd they go?”

“Oh, now we're back to business.”

“Where?”

“What's it worth?”

“Everything.”

“You claim your gold's a myth. I can find that out for myself, and you can bet I will. But if you swear you'll kill Beaudine, then that satisfies our negotiation. For now.”

“I've already sworn, but your information has to be real.”

“Here at Widow Kate's, we always guarantee satisfaction.”

Bishop lifted the shotgun away from his chest, and held it out for Kate. She smiled. “That's a hell of a thing. No wonder there's talk.” Then she looked to White Fox. “And how well does he use it?”

White Fox said, “Well.”

“You're building a reputation, Doctor. That's good, makes the men you're after nervous.” Kate took a sip of Napoleon, cooling her cough, and then: “Beaudine and three others rode for the Goodwill silver mine north of here, and they're damn excited at the prospect of seeing you.”

“Oh, we're expected, just not alone.”

“You changed their plans without their knowing? Good. Ready to change them some more?” Kate winced at some sudden pain, and Soiled Dove had the dragon at her lips. Kate eased, her words washing out of her mouth. “You and I, we beat death.”

“Nobody beats it.”

“There's a reason we're both still here, and it's bigger than that fever-brained son of a bitch. Let me ask, how many died in the War Between the States? Half the country?”

“There are a lot of graves.”

“Everywhere. You know, I've had blue and grey take off their boots, lie with my girls. The uniform didn't mean a thing; they were just men and boys, looking for comfort.”

“And I doctored a lot of them, and their insides are all the same. That was ten years ago. What's your point?”

Kate leaned forward in her wheelchair, focusing. “That these same men who're shooting at each other are working together on the Colorado Central, or working the mines, or building new towns. And so are their kids, all pushing west. That's a lot of customers and a lot of money going into my purse. That means girls and houses, maybe a hundred, and run 'em all from right here. Or maybe a palace in San Francisco.”

“Big plans.”

“Everybody has them. What about you, Doctor?”

“I'm thinking about right now.”

“It's eating you up. I can see it. Well, I like the future, and I'm not having some crazy toss all I want to do on the fire. Neither of us needs a wild card in the deck.”

Kate wheeled her chair around, her hand slipping before she took herself the few feet to a tapestry that covered one wall of her office in ornate red and gold.

“Kill Beaudine, and we'll both move on. How're you fixed?”

Bishop breached the rig, showing Kate the empty barrels.

Kate nodded. Soiled Dove pulled a sash cord that gathered the tapestry up from the floor, revealing a case built into the wall, stocked with pistols of all kinds, short and long rifles, knives, a few swords, and ammunition.

“He missed all this.” Kate fished a key from between her breasts, and opened the cases' intricately carved glass doors. “All left by customers, mostly in trade. Some clothes too. You're riding into an ambush, so take all you need. And honey, there's even a little something for you.”

Kate removed a long bow, hanging on a hook with a quiver of arrows, from the case. “I've heard tell you're damn good. A cavalry lieutenant wanted an extra fifteen minutes with Delia, and used up his pay. It's not from a Cheyenne, if that makes it easier. Maybe it doesn't.”

White Fox took the bow and pulled it taut, testing it for strength. It held tight. Kate shook her head. “If you ever think you want to go a different way, come see me. You'll be my star attraction.”

Kate looked to Bishop. “You hardly touched your brandy, Doctor. You've got hell's own ride ahead of you, and not many pleasures along the way. Right?”

Bishop threw back the rest of the Napoleon in one swallow, and smiled.

The insulator shattered as the handle of Fuller's Bowie struck it from the side, the pieces of glass carried away with the blowing snow, exposing the hot telegraph line. Fuller steadied himself on the top of the far-leaning pole, looking as if it was about to snap in half against the iron railhead that was next to it.

The pole shifted in the wind, and Fuller hung on, legs straining, as Hector tossed him a coil of thin wire that was attached to a Morse sending key and receiver on the ground below. Fuller closed his eyes against the freeze, while securing the wire to a bare contact on the pole's crossbar. His hands moved fast; then his fingers numbed.

The brass key spark-jumped. Hector called out, “We got it!”

Fuller shimmied down, dropping the last few feet as Hector settled on an old crosstie, and began tapping a message on the portable field telegraph that fit in his lap.

Fuller pressed his side to ease a jolt of pain and called out to Fat Gut, “You couldn't have done this?”

“I don't climbth!”

Creed and Gut sat their horses, taking shelter behind the sections of oak and rusting tracks stacked at this end of the Colorado Central narrow gauge line. On a siding, an open passenger car, riddled with bullet holes, filled with snow.

Fat Gut said, “I t'ain't never theen tracks this smaw.”

Fuller threw Gut a look as he wiped the blade of his knife. “It's the steam engine line that goes through the mountains to the mines. And this here's the only bit of telegraph line for a hundred miles.”

Creed said, “A real man knows his own country.”

“I knew all thath, too'd! I figgered thit!”

“I don't want to hear your mush! You getting anything, boy?”

Hector grinned back at Creed. “Yes, sir. What's your message?”

Creed ran his hands down Pride's neck, patting him as he considered his words. “No other way to say it. We failed. Tell them the prisoners escaped, and I will recapture, as ordered.”

Hector tapped the message on the brass key, then turned to Creed to say, “Anything else, sir?”

Creed cocked his head for a moment, listening through the wind for the quick Morse tones in response, but none came.

“They're not answering.”

Hector leaned into the receiver, almost pressing his ear against it. “No, sir. They're not.”

“But it went through?”

“Yes. Yes, sir. And I sent it exactly the way you said it, them words. I didn't want to mess up nothing again.”

“If you followed orders, you did fine. Let's move.”

Fuller yanked on the telegraph wires, but they stayed fast. He tapped Hector on the shoulder. “Give me a boost.”

Fat Gut laughed, “That's what yourth good at now, thniper! Monkey climbin'!”

Hector knelt by the pole. Fuller didn't take his boost. Instead, he walked to his horse and pulled the Morgan-James from its scabbard, being careful with the long sight. Fat Gut wiped his nose on his sleeve as Fuller faced him, while fitting a cap on the rifle's metal nipple and then thumbing the hammer to half-lock position.

The sniper smiled. “You don't be fretting, my real skills'll come back.”

Gut swallowed air right before Fuller turned sharply and fired at the train car two hundred yards down the narrow track, blowing a hole clean through the first
O
of C
OLORADO
C
ENTRAL
.

Hector whistled his admiration.

Fuller turned to Gut. “Start climbing.”

 

 

Miles away, in a stone room cramped with lockers of weapons and ammunition, a telegraph operator was hunched over a Patrick and Bunnell set, listening to the code it was receiving. Somewhere, water was dripping. He wrote by the flicker of a candle, and when the metallic tapping stopped, he took Captain Creed's message and the candle with him, leaving the room in darkness.

“You all watch where I'm pointing at. I don't want to say this twice.”

“Or Betsy'll bite?”

Chaney wasn't looking at Howard when he let the words slip, his head down, and hands deep in his pockets. They were all standing in the center of the Goodwill Mining Company making their battle plan, but Chaney was sick of the big man, and only looked up seconds before Howard charged at him, eyes wild-wide and giant fists tight.

Howard had taken a wild swing when the long-blade cleaver cut the air between him and Chaney before splitting the ice-hard ground at their feet. The handle wobbled as the blade sunk in.

“I could've taken off your foot, cut right through your boot.” Beaudine stepped in front of Howard, grabbing the cleaver and turning to Chaney. “Or your ear.”

He pulled the blade from the snow, and ran a finger tip lightly across it. “The edge should never touch the ground. You got this, Deadeye?”

Lem Wright's Colt in his right hand was a few inches from Chaney's temple, while the Smith and Wesson in his left was aimed directly at Howard's broad stomach. “Oh, I got them both.”

Beaudine wiped down the blade. “This personal hash isn't why we're here. It's the mission you have to remember.”

“What about his flannel mouth?”

Beaudine stepped close to Howard, holding the long cleaver with both hands like a medieval executioner. “That's all it is. He's playing you like you're in a poker game, keeping you riled, so you'll be a fool. That's right, isn't it Chaney?”

Lem brushed Chaney's neck with the barrel of the pistol. Chaney nodded, and let go of the Apache brass-knuckle pistol he had in his right front pocket. He pulled his hand out, and raised them both in mock surrender. “Right, right. Just playing.”

“And why did you do this, boy? Cause this commotion ?”

Chaney felt Lem's pistol brush his neck again. “Sorry. You've been handing me shit, and I got a bad habit of pushing back. Bad habit.”

Lem said, “You've got to be real careful about that.”

Chaney agreed with a nod, and then Beaudine said to the big man, “You a fool, Howard?”

“No, I ain't.”

“Because I don't need fools in my squad.”

“I said I ain't.”

Howard kept his fists tight and eyes on the gambler. Beaudine's voice never rose: “Then think about everything that preacher taught you at Rawlins. You said his words changed you. Got rid of your ill temper. You left the penitentiary a different man, a man who thinks a thing through.”

Howard said, “I was, damn it. I am.”

“I haven't seen it.”

“That's because you're making me forget it all, going right out of my head.”

Beaudine kept his voice level. “I know that confusion, but it'll pass. You're stronger than it is.”

“I set the dynamite, and I shouldn't have done it.” Howard's voice was frustrated shout. “This wasn't going to be my life no more! The gates of heaven were gonna open for me, and you're sending me down another road! Making me an outlaw again!”

“No, you're what you should be: a soldier in my army, and you got a mission.” Beaudine kept turning the blade. “Treasure in gold. Just keep saying that, like a prayer, over and over. Treasure in gold.” Then the cleaver was down at his side. “And you'll remember who you are. Not a paid-off deputy or a coffin builder making sixty cents a day, but a man with a mission. A solider.”

“No. Not a soldier.”

“A powder man.”

“With a damn short fuse?”

That did it. Howard cracked, maybe half a smile at Lem's bad joke, called him a one-eyed son of a bitch, and shook off some of his anger. Some. Everyone took a breath, and Lem flashed Chaney a look, reminding him how close he'd come to being beaten to death.

Beaudine stepped back from between his two men, wiping the smear of blood from the blade with his thumb. “You're calm now?”

Howard nodded. “Let's get to it.”

“Hold. Boy?”

Beaudine turned and smashed Chaney's jaw with the long-handle, dropping him into the snow, his mouth spurting blood.

Beaudine took some deep breaths, his head jerking from side to side to order his thoughts: “Now, I don't want no more damn foolishness! We've got a hell of a battle in front of us. There's a plan here. A plan and you need to follow it, to follow me! Brothers in arms, understand? I want to hear you say it!”

Lem helped Chaney to his feet, and they all said, “Brothers in arms.”

There were nods all around. Howard didn't look at Chaney as he started again. “We've got charges under the snow every twenty feet by my foot, so you best make it thirty. See how I got them in a circle? Them fuses are wrapped to stay dry, but you can see 'em. Each fuse sets off two bundles. The ones in them old sheds are bundled in threes, with short fuses, so light and run. That's what you wanted, right?”

Beaudine nodded. “There can't be a single place for anyone to hide.”

Howard spit. “We set all this off, there won't be nothing left. The sticks on this other side of the pit are just sittin' under the snow, so you have to set them off with another stick, I saved ten, toss one, it'll set off them buried ones. But you got to hit it.” Then, to Chaney: “No half-assed shots, no second chances.”

Lem said, “That's enought to blow a hole straight through to Hell.”

“I'm just doing what I'm told. That's what's going to get the gold, right?”

Beaudine was fixed on the mine shaft and its cross braces. “What about that?”

“You got two sticks on them four-by-fours.”

“Just so long as my head's out of the way.”

Beaudine turned to Lem as soon as he spoke. “That depends on where you're going to be, don't it?”

Lem pointed to the first small shack, one wall caved in. “Chaney'll be there. That's a good view of the trail in, and he'll be close if they open up. I'll be on top of the slag with a rifle, pick a few off, start some confusion before the first explosion.”

“But you don't touch Bishop.”

Lem spit, “I know Bishop's the money! But you don't know how many Creed's got with him. You said we could be facing an army. Well, let's get as many as we can, as fast as we can.”

Chaney flicked his gold tooth with his finger, then said, “Yeah, even up the odds. Maybe.”

Lem said, “Even if Bishop takes a slug, he can still tell us what we want to know. You got that all figured out, this time?”

Beaudine nodded, then smiled. “Two things we pay big money for: act out desires, and act out hates. I surely do.”

Howard pissed in the snow. “Sounds like horseshit to me.”

“This horseshit's going to make you the richest dynamiter in the country, so you better learn it like the gospel. He's got that girl?”

Chaney nodded, Beaudine continued: “After we wipe out Creed's misfits, you think Dr. Bishop won't strike a deal?” Beaudine chopped the air with the cleaver and grinned to himself. “To save her head, and get a chance at me? Hell yes, he will.”

Lem said, “I've only seen Bishop twice in my life. The second time was in his house, and the first time I was in my cell, right after I'd had the living shit kicked out of me. Remember Smythe?”

Howard snorted. “Wanted to kill that bastard every day.”

“He damn near killed me. Probably would have if Dr. Bishop hadn't forced him to put me in the prison hospital. Remember? He was standing at your cell, saying something to Dev, and you hung back. Dev gave him a letter, then he was walking out and saw me lying on my bunk, and said I needed to go to the hospital.”

Beaudine turned from Lem. “You're saying you owe him?”

“Nope. Just getting our history straight.”