Incident at Gunn Point Page 6

  “I know it,” said Langler. “We will kill him, you can count on it.” He turned, walked back into the building, climbed the rickety ladder up to the lookout tower.

  Fallon stood waiting, watching Grayson return from the barn carrying a bound stack of cash in one hand, his other hand holding the bloody bandanna to the side of his head. This dirty son of a bitch…, Fallon said to himself.

  Grayson handed Fallon the stack of cash, saying, “Here, split it up. I was wrong about it being all hundreds. It’s all twenties.”

  Fallon just stared at him for a second; then he jerked the bound cash from his blood-caked fingers. Breaking the band holding the stack, he spread the bills into a fan, counting them quickly.

  “Yep, a thousand,” he said. He estimated a third of the cash, folded it along with the broken paper band and shoved it down into his shirt pocket. He patted the pocket. “That clears me up.” He handed the rest of the cash back and said, “You and Langler divide the rest between you.” He grinned. “Now, if you still want some whiskey, I’ll go get it for you.”

  “Oh yes, I still want it. Get four or even five bottles,” Grayson advised him. “I’m hurting like hell.” He held out an extra twenty. Fallon snatched it.

  “I heard there’s a doctor in Austin who can sew ears back on,” Fallon said.

  “That would be real good to know,” Grayson said with sarcasm, “if I was in Austin.”

  “I’m just saying, if he can do it, so can most anybody else,” Fallon offered.

  “How’s that whiskey run coming along?” Grayson asked dryly, his hand clasping the bandanna to his head.

  “I’m gone,” said Fallon, shoving the bill down into his trouser pocket. But before he could step away toward his horse, Langler stepped out of the building and walked right past them toward the horse barn, his rifle in hand.

  “Forget the whiskey,” he said. “Will Summers is leaving and Cherry Atmore is with him.”

  “Whoa!” said Fallon, falling in behind Langler, hurrying toward the barn. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “I’m thinking I smell a rat,” said Langler without looking around. “I’m wondering if Summers coming along when he did was an accident or just good planning.”

  “Damn it, what about my head, my ear?” Grayson said, hurrying along behind Fallon.

  “Stick a rag in it,” Langler said coldly. “We’re getting to the bottom of this.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” Grayson said pleadingly. “What if Summers had nothing to do with anything?”

  “He still killed Little Jackie,” said Langler without missing a step. “I’m betting it wouldn’t break old man Warren’s heart if we killed Will Summers for him.”

  “Yeah,” said Lewis Fallon, “it might also keep Big Jack from wanting to shoot our eyes out once he hears what happened to his son.”

  Darkness had set by the time Summers and the woman rode up a hill trail and stopped atop a cliff overlooking a closed mining operation that belonged to a defunct French investment company. Twice in the past half hour, Summers had looked back over his shoulder with a feeling someone was following quietly on their back trail. Even as they sat on the cliff, he felt the dapple gray tense a little and turn an ear toward the trail. That was good enough for him.

  “This is a good place to spend the night,” he said to Cherry Atmore, who sat smoking her third cigarette since they’d left Gunn Point. “What do you think?”

  “It’s beautiful here,” Cherry said dreamily, looking back and forth overhead across the deep starry sky.

  “Yes, it is,” Summers said.

  “Me too,” Cherry said quietly.

  Summers just looked at her for a moment, realizing her mind had drifted off somewhere. Rather than disturb her right then, he nudged his horse forward down along a steep trail toward a line of shacks built into the side of the rocky cliff. When they reached the thin trail running out in front of the row of shacks, he looked each deserted building over until he found the one that best suited his purpose.

  Every shack looked the same, battered tin roofs, no porch, weathered bare plank siding. A few had tin stovepipes still sticking upright from their roofs; some had pipes that had collapsed over onto their sides and hung on by guide-wires.

  “This one will do,” he said, veering over to a shack whose stovepipe still stood securely in place. On a peg beside the front door of the shack, a battered lantern hung by its wire handle. Summers stepped down from his saddle. He took the lantern from its peg, opened the front door and led the dapple gray and his three horses inside. Cherry stepped down, looked all around dreamily and, leading her paint horse, followed Summers into the shack.

  She watched as he shook the lantern and found its oil tank half-full.

  “Good deal,” he murmured.

  Lighting the lantern he walked over, opened the iron door of a short woodstove and looked around inside the stove’s soot-covered firebox.

  “Does it work?” Cherry asked.

  “These things always work,” Summers replied.

  He left the stove door hanging open and walked to a pile of dried kindling wood still lying stacked in a dusty corner. When he’d walked back with a small pile of kindling and stuck it inside the stove, Cherry turned to her paint and started to untie her roll from behind her saddle. But Summers stopped her.

  “Wait,” he said. “We won’t be sleeping here.” He hung the glowing lantern on a wall peg. A soft circle light surrounded them.

  “We won’t?” she said.

  “No,” said Summers, “we’ll boil some coffee and heat some food, but we’ll sleep in one of the others.”

  “We will?” She looked confused.

  Summers smiled to himself. “Take yourself a rest,” he said. “I’ll cook our dinner as soon as I take care of the horses.”

  Cherry looked around, found a short wooden stool and dragged it closer to the stove. She dusted it with her hand and sat down. She loosened a sash beneath her chin, took off her winter riding hat and held it on her crossed knees.

  She said, “So, Will Summers, what takes you to Whiskey Flats…the horses?” She glanced at the three-horse string standing huddled in the far corner.

  “Yep, it’s always about horses with me,” Summers said, striking a match he’d taken from his supplies and setting the kindling to blaze in the belly of the woodstove. “I have these three sold to a freight company.”

  “They don’t look like wagon horses,” Cherry said, giving the horses another look.

  “No, they’re not wagon horses,” Summers said. “The company buys them for other purposes, on-hand horses they call them.”

  “I see,” said Cherry. She took out her bag of fixings while they talked and rolled herself a smoke.

  Their conversation stopped as Cherry smoked and Summers poured water from his canteen into a small coffeepot. He set the pot atop the stove and took down his bag of supplies. He took out an air-tight of beans and the dried elk shank.

  “I hope you like beans,” he said.

  Cherry just gazed at him and took a deep draw on her cigarette.

  By the time the coffee had boiled and the aroma of it had mingled with the smell of the spiked tobacco, Summers had grained the horses. He’d loosened the cinch on his dapple gray and the paint horse, but he’d left their saddles on. Finished with the animals, he dusted the top of a battered table and dragged it over closer to the fire. He dragged two ladder-back wooden chairs and set them across from each other.

  “There,” he said, dusting his hands together, “just like being home.”

  The smell of the coffee and of beans heating in their open tin can caused Cherry to take an interest in getting the meal tabled and served. She had finished her cigarette; her face had taken on a satisfied glow.

  “All right, what can I do to help?” she said, standing up from the stool and laying her hat on the corner of the table.

  “There’s a couple of tin plates, cups and spoons in my saddlebags,” he s
aid. “You can get them for us.”

  “Certainly,” Cherry said.

  Summers watched as she walked over to his dapple gray and lifted the flap on his saddlebags.

  Cherry took out a small loaded revolver and turned it in her hands, examining it.

  Summers continued preparing the meal. He’d known the gun was there. This was as good a time as any to see if she was still thirsting for vengeance. Besides, he had his big Colt holstered on his hip; his rifle leaned against the wall within arm’s reach.

  Still, he felt a little relieved when she stuck the gun back into his saddlebags. He watched her rummage around inside the leather bags until she found the small tin plates and cups and pulled them out. He looked away as she walked back to the table and laid the plates and cups out in front of the two chairs.

  The area in front of the stove had warmed from the cook fire. Summers took off his coat and draped it on his chair back. He pulled his shirt cuff down over his hand and used it as a hot pad to pick up the can of beans from the top of the stove and stand it in the center of the table. He used his cuff in the same manner when he picked up the hot coffeepot and filled both of their tin cups.

  Cherry sat down and pulled her chair to the table. He eyes were glassy and relaxed.

  “Why is it we’re not sleeping here where it’s warm?” she asked.

  In a far corner stood a dusty bed frame without a mattress, only a thick rope woven back and forth for support.

  Summers stood beside her and carved slices of dried elk shank onto her plate.

  “Because I think we’re being followed,” he said calmly.

  Cherry stiffened and said in a hushed tone, “Followed? Why? By who?”

  “I don’t know,” Summers said calmly, “but we’re not going to let it spoil our dinner.”

  Chapter 7

  An hour later, after lagging back to keep from being heard on the trail, the three outlaws arrived on the cliff above the dark, abandoned mining camp. Looking down, they saw the glow of lantern light through a single front window of one of a dozen otherwise darkened shacks.

  “This is too damn good to be true,” Langler whispered with a grin.

  They backed their horses away a few steps, climbed down from their saddles and snuck forward in a crouch.

  Grayson whispered, “Do you think he heard us coming up over that rocky stretch of trail earlier?”

  “If his ears are that good,” said Langler, “we’ve got no business fooling with him.” He looked around Grayson at Fallon for agreement.

  “You’re a little fainthearted sometimes, Henry,” Fallon said to Grayson, teasing him.

  “Say it again, Lewis. I dare you,” Grayson growled in reply, testy and cross from leaving town without any whiskey to ease his pain.

  “Keep your damn voice down, Henry,” Langler warned him harshly.

  “Yeah, Henry, don’t get so upset. I was just riling you some,” said Fallon.

  “Riling me is not a good idea right now, Lewis,” Grayson said, rage swelling inside his head with each painful beat of his pulse. “A man hurts this bad, he don’t mind killing a son of a bitch for goading him.”

  “All right, I take your point, Henry. No offense,” Fallon whispered sincerely. “Speaking of ears, after we kill this horse trader, why don’t you slice off one of his ears and sew it onto yours?”

  “Are you being funny?” Grayson asked in an angry tone.

  “No,” said Fallon, “I’m dead serious. “I wasn’t joking about doctors sewing ears back on.”

  “For God’s sake,” Langler said in disgust, “do you two rubes ever listen to yourselves?”

  Grayson stared at him. “Do you suppose it’s true, Cole, what he’s saying?”

  “Oh yeah,” Langler said critically, “it’s bound to work. Just make sure you don’t sew it on upside down. Nothing you hear would make any sense.”

  Grayson looked puzzled, his hand still holding the wadded-up bandanna against the side of his blood-crusted head.

  “Follow me,” Langler said in disgust. He turned and walked back away from the edge of the cliff.

  “If I thought it would work…,” Grayson whispered to Fallon as the two followed Langler.

  “It’s worth a try,” said Fallon. “What’s the worst can happen? You’d have to cut it off and you’d be without an ear, the same as you are now.”

  “That makes sense,” said Grayson. “How bad is this anyway? I can’t see nothing.”

  “Take your hand away,” said Fallon.

  Grayson lowered the wadded-up bandanna.

  Fallon winced, examining the blue lower third of his ear still attached to the side of Grayson’s head.

  “Well?” said Grayson, expectantly.

  “It’s fierce looking,” said Fallon. “You need to cut the rest of it off, or get another one sewed on. You can’t go around looking like this. You’ll be scaring the hell out of women and children.”

  Grayson nodded and said, “All right, I’m doing it.”

  “That’s the spirit, Henry,” Fallon said.

  Back at their horses, Langler turned around to them and said, “Here’s the deal. We give them another hour, make sure they’re sound asleep, not expecting anything.”

  “What if they’re not asleep?” Fallon said. “What if they’re awake—”

  “Yeah,” said Grayson cutting him off, “if I was that horse trader, I wouldn’t be asleep right now. I’d be going at it like a fiddler in a reel.”

  “I don’t care what they’re doing, awake or asleep,” Langler said. “An hour from now we’re going in. We’re going to kill him—” He grinned and looked back and forth between the two of them. “And get Henry here a nice new ear for our trouble.”

  When Summers and the woman had finished eating, they left under the cover of darkness, leading the animals out through the side door and across fifteen feet of hard, loose shale that lay between each of the mining shacks. But instead of going inside the shack next door, they circled behind it and proceeded on to the next before going inside.

  As Summers led the horses to a corner, Cherry stood looking around in the dark light of a half-moon through the single front window. Except for a fire in the stove and a glowing lantern, everything in the shack was the same as the other.

  “Well, now, Will Summers,” she said, “you sure know how to confuse a gal. If I had just finished a smoke, I’d swear we’ve walked in a full circle.”

  “I wish it were warmer for you,” Summers said, “but it’ll have to do.”

  “I’m not complaining,” Cherry said. “I can stay warm in a blanket if it means not having somebody sneak in and kill us in our sleep.” She paused and said, “I wish I could have a smoke before turning in, though. But no chance, huh?”

  “Afraid not,” said Summers. “We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to hide ourselves. It would be a shame to give our position away because of a cigarette burning.” He stepped over to the dapple gray and loosened the cinch under its belly.

  “I understand,” she said with a sigh.

  Summers smiled to himself and watched her take the rolled blanket down from behind her saddle and walk to an empty bed frame just like the one in the first shack.

  “You can have my blanket too,” he said. “I’m going to sit up near the window and keep an eye on things.”

  “You’re not going to sleep?” said Cherry.

  “I’ll doze some, maybe,” Summers said. “I’ve done it before. I can get by on two hours for a while if I have to.”

  “Just like a horse?” Cherry said, stepping over toward him as he swung the saddle from the dapple gray’s back onto the floor.

  Summers loosened the rolled-up blanket from behind his saddle cantle.

  “Oh. You know a lot about horses, do you?” he said, holding the rolled blanket out to her.

  “Not a lot, but some,” Cherry said. “I know most times they can sleep standing up. But they need two hours of lay-down sleep a night to keep healthy. Right?” She
took the blanket from his hands.

  “Close enough,” Summers said quietly.

  “What’s wrong? Are you surprised I know something about horses?”

  “A little,” Summers said.

  “I don’t know why,” she said. “I’ve been around horses all my life.” She paused and said, “You’re not one of those men who thinks saloon gals don’t know anything, are you?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m not,” Summers replied. “In fact, I’m pleased to say that I know a woman who started out working as a saloon gal and became a doctor.”

  “A horse doctor?” Cherry asked.

  “No,” said Summers, “although that would have been good too. This woman became a regular medical doctor.”

  “Honest to God, you’re not joking?” Cherry asked.

  “I’m not joking,” said Summers.

  “And you knew her?” Cherry said.

  “I still do,” said Summers, “although I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  Cherry cocked her head slightly and looked at him in the shadowy darkness.

  “How well do you know this woman doctor?” she asked. “I mean, are you and her…?”

  “No, we’re not,” Summers said, catching her question. “We used to be, but we sort of went our own ways.”

  “A woman doctor, once a saloon gal…” Cherry considered the matter, then said, “A dove, like me?”

  “Yep, a dove,” Summers said. “She learned nursing from a town doctor. He saw promise in her and went on and taught her the profession.”

  “Look at me,” Cherry said, studying his eyes in the darkness. “You’re not one of those jakes who want to see a gal make something more of herself, are you? Because I hate those kind of do-gooders.”

  “No,” said Summers. “I never try to tell anybody what to do with themselves. I’m just a plain ol’ horse trader. I’ve got no right judging or advising…unless it’s about horseflesh,” he added.

  She stood holding both rolled blankets in her arms. Seeing a wisp of steam in his breath, she looked at the bed frame in the corner, then back at him.

  “You know what?” she said as if just stricken with a good idea. “There’s nobody home here. We can do as we please.”