Kid Palomino Page 4

  ‘What have you done?’ The banker shouted at the satisfied pair. ‘What have you done?’

  The outlaws glared at the banker as they tucked their shirts back into their belts and then started to laugh at the outraged man.

  ‘Quit belly-aching,’ Brand spat at the stunned banker in amusement. ‘We give them what they needed.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Beth,’ Hardwick called to his spouse.

  Carson leaned over the shorter man and hissed like a rattler into Hardwick’s ear. ‘She can’t hear you, Stan. Neither of your ladies can hear nothing but the sound of harps now.’

  ‘They’re not dead,’ the banker vainly insisted. ‘They can’t be dead.’

  ‘They’re dead OK.’ Brand laughed as he moved toward the colourless face of the banker. ‘Me and Kane seen to that after them gals obliged us.’

  ‘You filthy animals!’ The banker went to rush at the mocking pair when he felt the full force of Carson’s gun hit the back of his head. Suddenly his eyes only saw a white flashing light. He stumbled and then toppled on to the boards. His face crashed into the floor as he sank into a bottomless pit of total oblivion.

  Carson holstered his gun. The infamous outlaw shook his head in anger and glared at Kane and Brand. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, boys. Them females were screaming fit to burst when we showed up.’

  Kane adjusted his gun-belt. ‘We couldn’t kill them before we had our fun, could we?’

  ‘Why not?’ Carson spat and paced around the room and looked out from behind the heavily draped window. ‘You’re lucky by the looks of it. It don’t seem that their howling woke up the neighbours.’

  ‘What if they did wake anybody up?’ Brand snarled.

  Carson glanced at Brand and pointed a finger at the outlaw.

  ‘Screaming women might have brought unwanted attention here. That weren’t in my plans.’

  Peters nodded in agreement. ‘Bill’s right. We need to ride out of Fargo without anybody even knowing we were ever here in the first place. Ain’t that right, Bill?’

  ‘Yep, that’s right, Poke,’ Carson agreed.

  Carson stepped over the unconscious banker and looked at the sight of his two hired men as they buttoned up their pants and shirts. His icy stare wiped the satisfied smirks from their rugged faces.

  Peters cleared his throat. ‘Ain’t it time for us to be headed out of here, Bill? We got as much money as we can carry and if we high-tail it now, we’ll be long gone before anybody figures that anything’s wrong.’

  Carson spat as he helped himself to a handful of the banker’s cigars, pocketed all but one and struck a match. As its flame ignited the fine Havana he nodded at Peters.

  ‘You’re right, Poke,’ he answered before pulling his knife from its scabbard and staring at the three figures scattered around the living room.

  Slowly Carson removed the heavy saddle-bag from his shoulder and rested the swollen satchels on the edge of the couch. Without uttering a word the merciless leader of the gang stepped to where the bodies of the women were draped and then slid the honed blade across their bruised throats. He then straightened up and wiped the gore from the gleaming blade as he walked across the room to where both Kane and Brand stood.

  ‘Why’d you do that, Bill?’ Kane asked. ‘They were both dead. They didn’t need their throats cut.’

  Faster than either of the rugged outlaws had ever seen anyone move before, Carson ran the deadly Bowie knife under their chins. They gulped in terror.

  ‘I was just making sure they were dead and not just play-acting, boys,’ Carson laughed as he looked down at the unconscious banker.

  Then from behind his wide shoulders he heard the voice of the other Brand brother.

  ‘Quit waving that cutlass around, Bill,’ he said.

  Carson paused and stared at the nervy outlaw. ‘You talking to me, boy?’

  ‘I sure am,’ the younger Brand dragged the saddle-bags from his shoulder and rested his hand on his holstered gun. ‘You better not be thinking of sticking my brother with that blade. I’ll kill you if you do.’

  The half-closed eyes of Carson fixed on Brand’s sibling and shook his head. ‘Don’t even think about drawing that hog-leg, boy.’

  ‘If you stick my brother with that cutlass I’ll draw, Bill,’ Brand warned. ‘Don’t make me draw.’

  Bill Carson smiled. It was the sickly smile of a man who knew exactly how fast he was and feared no one. He shook his head and exhaled a long line of grey smoke.

  ‘Easy, I ain’t gonna kill your brother, boy.’ Carson muttered a fraction of a heartbeat before he stepped away from the pair and loomed over Hardwick’s prostrate body. His eyes darted between the banker and the riled Brand brother. ‘Now quit threatening me before I forget whose side you’re on.’

  The outlaw relaxed and glanced back at Peters. He shrugged and then rubbed his rugged features. ‘That was close.’

  ‘You don’t know how close, Brand.’ Peters agreed as he watched Carson look down at the stunned banker as he quietly knelt over Hardwick.

  With another swift slash of the knife, Carson ruthlessly dispatched the banker. He stood and looked at the blood spilling out over the floor and smiled. Then he wiped the bloody blade on his sleeve, and stepped back over the corpse and moved to his saddle-bags. He plucked them up and tossed them into the hands of Peters.

  ‘Now we’re ready to depart this damn town,’ he grunted as his cruel eyes surveyed the outrage. ‘We’re done here.’

  The outlaws gathered around their leader as he savoured the expensive cigar between his teeth. None of the band could figure out Carson. He was like a stick of dynamite with its fuse lit. The trouble was they had no idea how long his fuse actually was.

  ‘Was you figuring on bedding either of them females, Bill?’ Kane wondered as he pulled on his dust coat again.

  ‘Nope.’ Carson waved the fine Havana around and said dryly, ‘I have my fun when the killing and robbing is done and dusted. You should do the same if’n you intend staying alive long enough to spend your share of the loot.’

  Peters looked anxious to leave. ‘Let’s get out of here, Bill. I got me a real bad feeling about this town.’

  ‘OK,’ Carson blew smoke into Brand’s face before turning and staring at Kane. ‘Ready the horses, boy.’

  Kane did not argue. He ran from the room and headed out into the back yard.

  There was no talking in the large living room for a few moments as Carson walked thoughtfully around the banker. He stared down at the gash across the back of Hardwick’s scalp and the pool of blood which now encircled the head.

  ‘You, Luke and Amos take the saddle-bags out to the horses,’ he told Poke Peters through cigar smoke. ‘Tie all three of the saddle-bags to my horse, Poke. Two to the cantle and one across the saddle horn.’

  ‘You want me to laden your horse down with all of the saddle-bags, Bill?’ Peters checked as he picked the hefty bags off the floor and the Brand siblings did the same. ‘These bags are a real load for one horse.’

  ‘You heard me, Poke,’ he drawled before eyeing them all in turn and then striding toward the back door. ‘Strap all three of them saddle-bags to my horse.’

  The outlaws trailed Carson out into the bright yard.

  ‘Have you checked the cinch straps?’ Carson asked Kane.

  Kane nodded. ‘Yep, I checked them all.’

  Bill Carson tightened his gloves over his knuckles and then pulled the cigar from his lips. He tossed the spent smoke aside, grabbed his long leathers and poked his boot into the stirrup.

  ‘Mount up, boys,’ he hissed as he looped his leg over the saddle and then gathered up his reins. ‘We’ll be long gone before anyone knows we were ever here.’

  ‘Where we headed, Bill?’ Peters asked as he mounted his high-shouldered gelding.

  ‘We’re off to a place call Dry Gulch, Poke,’ Carson replied before backing his mount away from the large house.

  ‘Dry Gulch?’ Amos Brand repeated. ‘Wh
at in tarnation are we headed there for? That’s in the middle of the desert, ain’t it?’

  Carson nodded and then pulled the brim of his Stetson down to shield his eyes. ‘Yep, it sure is.’

  ‘But how come we’re going there?’ Kane wondered as he swung his horse around.

  ‘Coz the Deacon told me to go there,’ Carson answered dryly. ‘And I always listen to the Deacon.’

  ‘How come?’ Kane asked. ‘Is he the boss?’

  ‘Nope, he’s the brains,’ Carson corrected.

  The five horsemen steered their mounts out from the yard into the blazing sunlight.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The shadows were getting shorter with every beat of Kid Palomino’s heart as he led Red and Charlie across the wide main street and up an alley. It was hot as the bowels of hell and getting hotter. The young deputy knew that the winding alley cut through the numerous wooden and brick structures and led to the side street. Shafts of blinding sunlight burned down on to the exposed confines with a merciless determination that Palomino had grown used to in this part of Fargo.

  He pulled the brim of his hat down to shield his face from the hot rays he knew could strip skin from bone. The heat within the alley grew more intense. Sweat ran freely from every pore in his tall frame. He was soaked as though he had been caught in a downpour of rain. Yet no rain tasted like the beads of sweat that negotiated his chiselled features and found his lips.

  Palomino licked the salty residue from his lips and glanced back to his fellow lawmen as they tried to keep pace with his long, lean legs.

  The Kid rested against a brick wall at the end of the alley, cocked the Winchester and stared out into the blazing street.

  By his calculations Hardwick and his three heavily laden companions would have to pass this way in a few moments. As he waited Red and the old timer caught up with him.

  ‘Why’d you stop, Palomino?’ Charlie asked as he bent double and sucked in air. ‘The way you was moving I figured you wouldn’t stop until you got the drop on them fellas.’

  Palomino dried his face with his shirt sleeve and screwed up his eyes against the sun which reflected off the white sand at their feet.

  ‘I seen old Hardwick and them strangers turn the corner near the bank,’ the Kid sighed heavily. ‘I figured they were headed this way.’

  ‘You reckoning on stopping them hombres in their tracks, Kid?’ Red said as he clutched the repeating rifle to his chest in readiness.

  Palomino nodded. ‘Yep.’

  Old Charlie edged out from the corner and squinted hard into the quiet thoroughfare.

  ‘Are you sure this is the way they was headed, Palomino?’ he asked. ‘I sure can’t see or hear them.’

  The face of the young deputy looked long and hard at the old lawman and then pulled him back into the alley. Palomino poked his head around the corner and cautiously stared into the street himself.

  Charlie was right. None of the four men they hoped to get the drop on were anywhere to be seen. The Kid returned to the alley and frowned.

  ‘Charlie’s right, Red,’ the Kid muttered.

  ‘What you talking about?’ Red asked Palomino. He had seen the totally baffled look on Palomino’s face many times before and it troubled him. He moved closer to his pal. ‘You look like a dog that’s just lost a bone.’

  ‘I’ve lost four bones, Red,’ Palomino mumbled as he stroked the rifle in his hands thoughtfully. ‘Take a look if you don’t believe me. They’re gone.’

  ‘I mean them galoots ain’t there,’ Palomino added.

  ‘I told you they weren’t there,’ Charlie nodded. ‘They’ve up and vanished, Red.’

  ‘They can’t be gone.’ It seemed impossible to Red as he brushed both his companions aside and carefully peeked around the corner wall into the street. His jaw dropped in utter bewilderment. ‘Hell, they are gone.’

  ‘I told you that already,’ Charlie nodded.

  ‘Where in tarnation are they?’ Red blurted.

  Palomino glanced at the sturdy deputy. ‘Damned if I know where they are, Red. All I know is that they ain’t where they should be.’

  Red stared blankly into Palomino’s baffled face. ‘How could they just disappear like that, Kid? That ain’t natural.’

  Palomino rubbed the sweat off his mouth.

  ‘I thought I knew this town like the back of my hand but them varmints with old Stan have just up and vanished into thin air,’ the Kid said in disbelief. ‘That ain’t possible.’

  ‘Are you boys sure that you seen old Stan and them tall gun-toting varmints leaving the bank, Kid?’ Charlie asked his younger companion.

  ‘What in tarnation are you gabby about?’ Red leaned over the skinny star-packer. ‘You seen them too, Charlie. We all seen them.’

  The ancient lawman shook his head and waved his finger under the nose of the deputy. ‘I didn’t see ’em.’

  ‘You must have,’ Palomino looked at the feisty old timer. ‘You was standing right next to us. I seen them and so did Red. You must have seen them, Charlie.’

  ‘Hell, I couldn’t even see the bank from the sheriff’s porch, boy,’ Charlie admitted, pointing to his eyes. ‘Not with these peepers. All I saw was a blur. All I ever see lately is damn blurs.’

  Palomino rested his hand on Red’s shoulder. ‘I know what I saw and I saw Hardwick and three heavily armed galoots toting saddle-bags.’

  Red nodded. ‘I seen them too, Kid.’

  Kid Palomino bit his lip as his mind raced in search of an answer to the puzzle it was wrestling with. ‘They headed this way. That’s why I chose to use this alleyway as a shortcut. I figured on getting ahead of them.’

  Red rubbed his neck and stepped out into the quiet street as his eyes vainly searched every dwelling and store front for a clue as to where the three unknown men and Hardwick might have gone. Finally he shook his head and rested the Winchester barrel against his temple.

  ‘This is plumb loco,’ he growled. ‘There ain’t no stores along this street that open at this ungodly hour, Kid. Them hombres must have gone someplace else with Stan.’

  ‘But where did they go, Red?’ Palomino wondered as he tucked his rifle under his arm.

  Charlie Summers shook his head and started to turn. ‘I’m headed back to the office and get me some shuteye, boys. You figure it out and then come and wake me.’

  Palomino grabbed the scrawny shoulder of the veteran lawman and pulled him back. ‘You ain’t going nowhere, Charlie. Not until we find them critters and ask them what they was doing in the bank.’

  Charlie looked at the tall deputy. ‘Sheriff Lomax will be back soon, Kid. I gotta go and tidy the office before he rides in. That critter is damn fussy, you know.’

  Palomino and Red looked at one another and then at the far smaller man. They grinned at the cantankerous old timer.

  ‘You’re gonna tidy the office?’ Red repeated his words. ‘Exactly how are you gonna do that, Charlie?’

  Charlie thought for a moment and then wryly smiled. ‘I’m gonna mosey on back and dust the office. The sheriff is partial to a good dusting.’

  ‘Sure he is,’ Red chuckled.

  Palomino released his grip. ‘Go on then, Charlie. Go dust the office while me and Red start looking for Stan and them hombres.’

  Charlie was about to do as he was told when they all three of them heard the muffled sound of hoofs. Palomino glanced at his two pals and looked around them.

  ‘Do you hear that, boys?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘I heard that, Charlie,’ Red confirmed as he stepped to the corner and glanced around the empty street. ‘I hear horses but where in tarnation are they?’

  Kid Palomino bit his lower lip and rested his knuckles on his gun grips. ‘Where’d you figure they are?’

  The veteran lawman ambled between his two younger companions and squinted hard. Although his eyes could no longer see as they had once done, his hearing was still as sharp as ever. He squinted hard at the mass of trees fifty feet from where
they stood. He raised a scrawny finger and pointed.

  ‘Them horses are somewhere over yonder, boys,’ he told the deputies. ‘I can hear about three or maybe more horses. Can you see them yet?’

  Palomino pulled his hat brim down to shield his eyes.

  ‘I reckon you’re right, Charlie. It sure sounds like horses walking beyond them trees,’ he agreed.

  Red shook his head. ‘I can’t see a thing.’

  Palomino frowned.

  ‘Charlie’s right, Red,’ he said. ‘Them horses we can hear are halfway down the street someplace.’

  Red slapped his thigh in frustration with himself. ‘Damn it all. That’s where they built a few real fancy houses for the rich folks, Kid. I plumb forgot about it.’

  Before either Palomino or Charlie could reply, Bill Carson led his four hired gunmen out from the confines of the well-hidden alleyway into the side street. As the infamous outlaw turned his head he saw the three star-packers and pulled back on his long leathers. His mount stopped as his four fellow outlaws trailed him into the bright sunshine.

  ‘What you looking at, Bill?’ Peters asked as he halted his own horse beside Carson’s tall mount.

  Carson did not speak. He simply raised a finger and pointed at the three lawmen watching them. The outlaws sat in their saddles and gazed through the shimmering heat haze to where Palomino and his pals were standing.

  ‘Them’s lawmen,’ Luke Brand spat.

  ‘They’re packing repeating rifles, Bill,’ Kane added.

  ‘You said they were out of town.’ Amos Brand steadied his nervous mount.

  Bill Carson shook his head.

  ‘They’re meant to be out of town, boys,’ he hissed.

  Kid Palomino stepped forward. His eyes narrowed as they focused on the lead rider. Carson pulled his reins to his belly and stared along the street at them. The ruthless outlaw had never seen any of the three standing men before but it was not their faces that had drawn his interest.

  It was the tin stars pinned to their chests that Carson was looking at. They were gleaming like precious gems across the distance between them. Carson looped the reins around his saddle horn and then slowly placed his hands on his pair of pearl-handled Remingtons.