Kid Palomino Page 8

  Kane was edgy. Sweat dripped from his chin as he watched the deadly Carson staring at the saloon’s hitching rail where they had tethered their mounts upon entering Dry Gulch and heading for the telegraph office. Kane had made no secret of the fact that he wanted to be paid his share of the proceeds and ride. Carson looked at the hefty bags secured to his mount and then looked at Kane.

  ‘You get them bags and tote them into the saloon,’ Carson ordered and then pointed a gloved finger at Peters. ‘And you help him, Poke.’

  There was no argument from either Peters or Kane. They stepped down into the blazing sun and started to undo the leather laces that kept the saddle-bags in place.

  As his men did what he had told them to do, Carson placed a hand on the swing doors of the Busted Wheel and entered. The saloon was a lot cooler than the street but the outlaw did not appear to notice.

  The half dozen souls within the weathered structure glanced at the tall figure as he strode across the sawdust-covered floor toward the bar counter.

  Hyram Smith had been a bartender for years and always recognized trouble when it raised its ugly head. He picked up a glass and started to feverishly polish it with his apron as Carson slowly approached. With every step that the outlaw took, the bartender’s heart pounded inside his chest. It was facing the Grim Reaper to watch Carson approach.

  ‘Howdy stranger,’ the terrified barkeep managed to say.

  Carson did not utter a word as he walked toward the bar counter. He placed his boot on the brass rail and then rested one hand on the damp surface of the counter as he plucked his cigar from his lips.

  ‘Whiskey,’ he drawled through a cloud of smoke. ‘A bottle of your best with an unbroken seal.’

  The bartender nervously nodded and swiftly lifted a bottle off the shelf behind his narrow shoulders and placed it down before the rugged Carson.

  ‘Is this brand to your liking?’ the nervous bartender asked, as he carefully took a thimble glass from a pyramid of identical vessels and set it beside the bottle. ‘This is the best in the house.’

  Carson studied the label and then looked up.

  ‘It’ll do for now.’

  Hyram Smith relaxed and continued to polish glasses as the swing doors were flung apart again. He stared at Kane and Peters as they entered toting the saddle-bags. The bartender felt his throat tighten again as he watched them.

  ‘Those bags sure look heavy,’ he commented innocently.

  A mere heartbeat later, Carson drew and pushed the barrel of his six-shooter under the chin of the bartender. Their eyes met as the leader of the greatly diminished band of outlaws stated to shake his head.

  ‘You ain’t seen no saddle-bags,’ Carson growled before turning to face the rest of the seated saloon customers. ‘None of you have seen no saddle-bags. Savvy?’

  Every man within the Busted Wheel nodded in agreement. Carson returned his attention to Smith and started to stroke the seven-inch steel barrel across the feeble man’s face.

  ‘You ain’t seen anything, have you?’ Carson repeated before adding, ‘You ain’t seen no swollen saddle-bags and you ain’t seen us. Remember that and you’ll live a whole lot longer but if you start recalling this, you’ll surely die.’

  ‘I ain’t seen nothing,’ Smith stammered.

  Carson smiled and holstered his gun. He glanced at Kane and Peters as they reached a table and placed the bags on its green baize surface.

  ‘Howdy, gents,’ the bartender greeted them.

  The attention of Carson went from the bartender to his men as they rubbed the sweat from their grimy faces and strolled to the bar counter.

  Suddenly the sound of giggling females above them on the landing attracted all their attention. The outlaws stared in amused disbelief at the sight of the elegantly attired man with his arms draped around the bargirl’s shoulders.

  ‘What in tarnation is that?’ Kane grinned in amusement by the sight above them.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s sure fancy,’ Peters chuckled.

  ‘It’s just a gambler,’ Carson dismissed the sight and broke the paper seal of the whiskey bottle. ‘Don’t pay him any heed, boys.’

  Danby Deacon stepped to the top of the staircase and cleared his throat. Every eye in the saloon glanced at the man who seemed to want the attention of the three outlaws.

  ‘What about me?’ he called out. The two powdered females continued to giggle as Deacon lowered his arms and adjusted his cuffs as he smiled down at Carson and his men. ‘I’ve seen the three of you desperados and those well-stuffed saddle-bags.’

  ‘You’d best forget or you’ll die, dude.’ Carson sucked on his cigar and stared at the unusual sight of the man he had never before met. When his lungs were full of smoke he removed the cigar and dropped it into a spittoon at his feet. A loud hiss echoed inside the brass vessel as Carson pushed his coat tails over his holstered weaponry.

  ‘Is that right, Bill?’ Deacon started to walk slowly down the steps toward the older of the outlaws. He kept on smiling as he tapped his cane on the boards. ‘You’d kill me just for having a good memory?’

  Carson glanced to either side at his equally dumbfounded men as the immaculate Deacon continued to descend the staircase toward the bar.

  ‘He called you by name, Bill,’ Kane said.

  ‘How does that dude know you?’ Peters wondered.

  Carson raised his thumb and scratched his chin. ‘I don’t know how that fancy hombre knows my name.’

  Deacon laughed, ‘We’re old pals, boys.’

  ‘Pals?’ Carson repeated the word. ‘I ain’t ever set eyes on you before. How could we be pals?’

  Deacon could see the hands of the notorious outlaw start to twitch as they hovered above his holstered guns. He kept smiling though.

  ‘We’ve known each other for years,’ the man who resembled a riverboat gambler announced. ‘Haven’t we, Bill?’

  Peters and Kane could not believe their eyes or their ears. They had never seen anybody face up to Carson before and it confused the pair.

  There was something about Deacon that made Carson focus hard on him. It was as if they already knew one another and yet the outlaw could not recall ever meeting this flamboyant figure before. Deacon was not the sort of man anyone ever forgot once they had encountered him.

  Carson gritted his teeth and squared up to the dandy who seemed totally unaware how dangerous it was to argue with obviously hardened outlaws.

  ‘You know who I am, dude?’ Carson raged.

  Deacon paused as he reached the bottom of the steps and looked at his questioner. ‘I certainly do. You’re the infamous Bill Carson if I’m not mistaken, and I seldom am mistaken.’

  Kane and Peters watched open-mouthed as Deacon defiantly strolled to the card table and then seated himself. He pulled out a silver case and opened its spring lid. He withdrew a cigar, bit off its tip and spat at the sawdust.

  ‘Sit down, Bill,’ Deacon said waving at the empty chairs and looking at the bags on the table before him. ‘We’ve business to discuss.’

  Carson glanced at his two cohorts and then dragged out a chair and sat down next to the fearless stranger.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Carson snarled like a rabid wolf at the smiling man as he watched the cigar being lit. ‘How’d you know my name? You wouldn’t happen to be a bounty hunter, would you?’

  Both Kane and Peters chuckled at the suggestion.

  Deacon blew the flame out and tossed the match at the sawdust floor. He inhaled deeply.

  ‘I’m no bounty hunter, Bill,’ he said wryly. ‘But I know you. We’ve worked together for quite a while.’

  The face of Bill Carson went blank as it slowly dawned on him who this man was. He dragged his chair closer to Deacon and studied him carefully.

  ‘You can’t be who I think you are,’ he said.

  Deacon raised an eyebrow, looked at the devilish outlaw and blew smoke at the saddle-bags. ‘I was meant to wire you but I had a little trouble back at Cherokee S
prings. So I caught a stage and came here personally.’

  Carson looked at the saddle-bags and then at Deacon.

  ‘Can you prove that you’re him?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, I’m the Deacon OK, Bill.’

  The statement was like a lightning bolt and caused Carson to sit back on his chair and stare in disbelief at the man before him. Deacon looked more like a harmless riverboat gambler than the man who had planned the outlaw’s most daring of robberies.

  ‘Hell,’ Carson cursed. ‘You are the Deacon.’

  Deacon raised his hand and indicated to the bartender. ‘Bring that bottle and four glasses over here, friend.’

  Hyram Smith did as instructed.

  The females cooed like doves up on the landing and waved down at Deacon. He smiled at them and watched as Smith placed the whiskey bottle and glasses down between Carson and himself.

  ‘Did it all go as I planned it, Bill?’ he asked as he pulled the cork from the bottle neck and filled the four glasses.

  Peters and Kane sat opposite the two men who were staring at one another intently. They accepted the two glasses of whiskey and made short work of them.

  Carson frowned. ‘Things went sour, Deacon.’

  For the first time since Deacon had made his unexpected appearance the smile faded from his face. The glass of whiskey was close to his lips but after Carson had spoken he placed the glass down and tapped cigar ash on to the floor.

  ‘What do you mean by that, Bill?’ he pressed. ‘My plans are always foolproof. How did they go sour?’

  The rugged Carson rubbed his jaw and then downed his whiskey in one swift throw. He rubbed his face and then refilled his glass.

  ‘Everything went exactly like you said it would, Deacon,’ he started. ‘Up until me and the boys left the banker’s house and started heading out of town.’

  Danby Deacon leaned forward. ‘What happened as you were leaving Fargo, Bill? What?’

  Carson exhaled and shook his head. ‘Star-packers. We run into three star-packers.’

  Danby Deacon stared in disbelief at Carson.

  ‘That can’t be.’ Deacon raised his eyebrows and sucked hard on his cigar. ‘The sheriff and his deputies were meant to be out of town. The only lawman in Fargo was that blind old coot who stands in for them when they ain’t there.’

  ‘There were three of them OK,’ Kane insisted as he poured more amber liquor into his glass. ‘They were star-packers and they made a real fight of it.’

  Deacon stared at the whiskey in his glass. ‘I just don’t understand it, boys. It must have been the deputies known as Kid Palomino and Red Rivers. They must have returned early for some damn reason.’

  A guilty hush fell over the four men. Then Deacon looked at the three figures and leaned against the back of his chair.

  ‘I thought you were taking four men with you on this job, Bill,’ he said as he glanced at Carson. ‘What happened?’

  Carson spat at the floor. ‘Both the Brand boys got killed by them bastards, Deacon. I lost two good men.’

  For the first time since his unexpected entrance, Danby Deacon looked troubled. He could not believe that his well-crafted plans had gone bad. He puffed on his cigar and then glanced at the three outlaws in turn.

  ‘My plan would have meant that you could have entered and left Fargo without anyone noticing,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘By the time anyone figured that anything had happened you would have been long gone, but now things are different. Now there’ll be a posse after you. They know what you’ve done and they’ll come hunting to avenge that wrong, Bill.’

  ‘I know, Deacon,’ Carson sighed. ‘What should we do?’

  ‘Damned if I know.’ Deacon shook his head, stood up and puffed frantically on his cigar as he looked down on the three men and the saddle-bags. ‘I’m taking the next stagecoach out of here and putting distance between myself and them rope-twirlers. You boys can split my share of the money between yourselves. I don’t want any part of it. I ain’t getting lynched for what’s in those saddle-bags.’

  Bill Carson stood beside Deacon. ‘There ain’t another stagecoach coming through here until after sundown, Deacon. You’re stuck here with me and the boys.’

  Upon hearing the unwelcome news, Deacon suddenly looked sickly. ‘We’ve got to get out of Dry Gulch before sunset, boys. We can’t afford to waste the next couple of hours sitting around here waiting for those star-packers to arrive.’

  ‘Our horses are spent, Deacon,’ Carson growled as he grabbed the bottle and drank from its neck. As liquor dripped down his shirt front he lowered it and looked at the elegant Deacon. ‘By the looks of it, you ain’t even got a horse.’

  ‘I didn’t think I’d need one.’ Deacon exhaled a line of smoke and pointed at Peters and Kane. ‘Go try and round up four fresh horses for us. Pay anything they ask but get us four fresh mounts.’

  Carson glared at them.

  ‘You heard him. Get going and buy or steal us four fresh horses,’ he raged. ‘And be quick about it.’

  Kane and Peters ran out into the brilliant sunshine leaving the two older men standing in the middle of the Busted Wheel.

  ‘Do you reckon they’ll find four fresh horses in this shrivelled-up town, Bill?’ Deacon asked the notorious Carson.

  Carson shook his head. ‘Nope, I sure don’t, Deacon.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Kid Palomino drew rein, stopped the high-shouldered stallion and rested his wrists on the horn of his saddle. The brilliant sunshine bathed Dry Gulch in a daunting glow, which alerted the young lawman that not everything was as it first appeared. The town seemed to be vacant of all life but Palomino knew that was not the case. Places near to the merciless desert harboured a different breed of people. They tended to shy away from venturing out into the rays of the cruel sun and waited for sundown before going about their business. Dry Gulch was similar to numerous others south of the border and the Kid was troubled by its apparent peacefulness. He stared thoughtfully at the small town from beneath the brim of his hat.

  Red brought his quarter horse to a halt beside his younger companion and squinted at the array of wooden structures. The tin and wooden shingle rooftops could be seen sparkling in the distance as the overhead sun bore down upon them. The telegraph lines hung from their poles as they made their way to and from the bleached office in the centre of Dry Gulch.

  ‘So that’s Dry Gulch,’ Red grunted as he steadied his thirsty mount. He was not impressed. ‘The damn place looks deserted, Kid. I’ve seen ghost towns that look better than that.’

  Palomino tilted his head and glanced at his sidekick.

  ‘Nope, it ain’t deserted, Red,’ Palomino disagreed as he spotted two figures searching for something neither of the deputies could fathom. ‘Do you see them galoots yonder?’

  Red nodded. ‘I see them.’

  The younger deputy glanced at his partner.

  ‘Now what do you figure them critters are doing running around in this heat, Red?’ Palomino wondered as he stroked the lathered-up neck of his stallion.

  ‘My bet is they’re looking for something,’ Red replied and checked the empty canteens hanging from his saddle horn. ‘You got any water left, Kid?’

  Palomino shook all of his canteens and then his head as he continued to focus on the fleeting glimpses of the outlaws as they crossed the town’s main street. ‘Sorry, pard. I’m clean out.’

  Both their horses could smell the fresh water within the boundaries of the settlement. They strained at their leathers as both expert horsemen fought to restrain them.

  ‘These nags know there’s water real close, Kid,’ Red said as he wrestled with his weary animal. ‘They can smell it.’

  Palomino nodded as his narrowed eyes kept watching the two distant men desperately continue their hunt. ‘What in tarnation do you reckon them fellas are looking for?’

  ‘Did you hear me?’ Red repeated. ‘These horses need water and we ain’t gonna be able to stop them for much longer.’


  ‘I hear you, Red,’ the Kid sighed. ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘We ain’t got no choice, Kid.’ Red straightened up on his saddle and pulled the brim of his hat down to shield his eyes from the dazzling sunlight. ‘We gotta ride in there to water these nags.’

  The Kid used every ounce of his remaining strength to hold the palomino stallion in check. ‘I don’t hanker riding straight in there and getting greeted by bullets, Red. I figure it might be smart on our part to circle the town and enter from behind them larger buildings yonder. We can use that gully to give us cover and get to water without being spotted by Carson and his cronies.’

  Red sighed heavily. ‘That’s gonna tag another ten minutes on to us getting to water, Kid.’

  ‘That’s a whole lot better than getting picked off by Carson and his gang, ain’t it?’ Palomino turned the head of the tall mount beneath his saddle and tapped his spurs. The handsome cream-coloured horse began to walk slowly down into the long depression that encircled the town. ‘C’mon. These animals got themselves a mighty big thirst.’

  Reluctantly, the older lawman knew that his pal was right to be cautious. He gritted his teeth and shrugged as his gloved hands gripped the reins tightly.

  ‘You’re right, Kid.’ Red allowed his horse to follow the younger horseman. They held their horses in check so that neither animal could bolt as the scent of the town’s wells grew stronger.

  As they journeyed along the sandy gully, they silently recalled the horrific sight that had brought them to this desolate place. Neither lawman had ever set eyes upon anything like the sickening outrage they had stumbled upon back in Fargo.

  Images of the innocent people lying in pools of their own blood haunted them and continued to spur them on. The banker and the womenfolk had been slaughtered as though they were mere livestock being readied for the butcher’s block.

  The unholy memory of innocent, unarmed bodies lying in crimson pools of gore was branded into their minds and was impossible for them to shake off. Those memories would remain embedded in their minds forever.