Death In Helltown (4 page)

Edith had remained in Clay Center, so when Bloodworth returned to Dodge, he checked his shotgun in with the stage office and headed for the Marshal’s office.

Redmon looked up, and nodded. “Glad you could stop by,” he said dryly.

“Had nothin’ better to do,” Bloodworth answered in kind. “Besides, you asked me so kindly to come callin’ when I had the chance.”

“Cut the shit, Bloodworth.”

The bounty hunter nodded.

“How was your run?”

“Uneventful, which is just the way I like it.”

“Sounds strange comin’ from a man like you.”

“What’s that mean? A man like me?”

“A man hunter. Ain’t that what you are?”

“I am. And what does that make me in your eyes?”

“A killer.”

Bloodworth half smiled. “I’ve killed men before. More’n I like to remember. But I don’t do it unless I have to. And I sure as hell don’t enjoy it.”

Redmon sat quietly for a bit, working through his surprise. Then he nodded. “Tell me about that Carter feller and the others.”

“Nothin’ much to tell beyond what I did a few weeks ago. I was sittin’ at my campfire when I heard men approachin’. A man like me,” added sarcastically, “don’t put much trust in people comin’ up on his camp in the night. So I stepped back out of the firelight and told them to move on when they asked for coffee and vittles. One of ’em up and shot me in the back.” He shook his head. He still couldn’t believe he had been caught so easily.

“And then?”

“Then they took my money, what little I had of it, my guns and my horse and rode off, leaving me there, figurin’ I was either dead or would be soon enough. I didn’t know anything else till I come to at Miz Wickline’s.”

“So you hunted ’em down in my town?”

“Didn’t do no huntin’. I walked into that saloon and saw Carter at the bar.”

“You had no idea they were there?”

“How the hell would I know that? And If I was huntin’ ’em, I would’ve taken ’em down somewhere else with a hell of a lot less trouble.”

Redmon thought that over for a bit. “Reckon that takes care of it, then.”

“Almost.”

Redmon gave him a quizzical look.

“I sure those scum have paper out on ’em. I figure I ought to collect what’s owed on the two I put under. Might not be worth as much as Carter but should be something. And, now that I reflect on it, that’s another reason why you can be sure I didn’t go huntin’ ’em. If I did, all four of ’em be dead or in your jail and I’d be collectin’ more cash.”

Redmon didn’t look happy, but he could not argue with Bloodworth’s logic. “Let me check the handbills.” He made a great show of it.

Bloodworth waited about ten seconds, then said, “Come on, Marshal. You know right where they are. I wager you looked up Carter and the others as soon as you got back here from the saloon that day.”

Redmon shot him an annoyed glance. “Ah, here they are. Looks like fifty on that the one that went by Dougie, last name Cobb, and a hundred on the other, name’s Tom Starks.”

Bloodworth nodded. “I’ll be back tomorrow mornin’ to collect.”

“It’ll take longer than that to check it out and have the money wired from Wichita.”

“Like hell. You could have it in ten minutes should I press you on it. But tomorrow’s good enough.” Bloodworth saw the look on Redmon’s face and he smiled without humor. “A good lawman like you wouldn’t even think of keepin’ some of that money for himself, am I right, Marshal?”

“Get,” Redmon snapped.

Bloodworth walked out and crossed the divide between Dodge and Helltown. With a shrug, he walked back into the Pecos.

As he was sipping on a beer, a young woman sidled up beside him. “Howdy,” she said sweetly.

He looked her over. She seemed familiar, as if he had seen her before. “Howdy.”

“Buy me a drink, mister?”

“Reckon I can do that.”

When she had her whiskey, or what passed for whiskey, Bloodworth thought, she looked him up and down. “I’ve seen you in here before. Some weeks ago, I think it was.”

“I expect you might be right. But you see enough men, why would you remember me after so long?”

“You turned me down,” she said with a grin. “Ain’t many a man who does that.”

Bloodworth smiled. “Reckon I wouldn’t do so again. What’s your name?”

“It don’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

She looked up at him, surprised. “They call me Dirty Bird.” She sounded almost embarrassed.

“Your real name.”

She still looked at him, trying to decide if he was making fun of her. She decided he wasn’t. “Sally,” she said.

“That’s a right pretty name. I do believe I’ll use it for however long we’ll keep each other’s company this fine evening.”

“You’re an odd fellow, Mr. …’

“No ‘Mr.’ Just call me Harlan.”

“All right, Harlan. Pay the man behind the bar and we’ll mosey on upstairs.”

Bloodworth called the bartender. “All night,” he said. When the barkeep told him the price, Bloodworth handed some coins over. “Shall we?” he asked, turning to face Sally.

She hesitated, suddenly unsure of herself, and she did not know why. “But you’re sure you want the whole night?” 

“I am,” he echoed. He held out his arm, bent at the elbow.

A moment later, she slipped her hand through the space, and they marched off toward the stairs, Sally rather sprightly, Bloodworth with his limp.

In the room, Sally turned and began trying to unbutton his shirt. He grabbed her arms, gently. “Whoa there, girl,” he said evenly.

She looked up, puzzled.

He grinned. “I ain’t one of those in and out and be done fellas. We got us all night. No reason to rush.”

She looked up at him and then smiled. “Yep, you sure are a strange man, Harlan. Well, at least let me unhook your gun belt.” She did, then stepped back. She shucked her simple dress, and stood there naked for a few moments. Then she hopped on the bed, and lie there, propped on one elbow, a saucy smile on her face.

Bloodworth kicked off his boots, quickly unbuttoned his shirt and then started to shuck his pants.

“You sure seem to be in a hurry now.”

He grinned. “Just because we got all night don’t mean we have to wait all night,” he said huskily.

She rolled onto her back and waited, legs slightly parted, her breasts firm and enticing. He tore off his socks and joined her.

Much later, when they had calmed down, still lying on top of the covers, Sally looked over Bloodworth’s body, much as Edith Wickline had done. “You been through some hard times, ain’t you, Harlan?”

“I have,” he allowed. “Reckon no more than you, though.”

“I ain’t had it so bad as you. ’Least I don’t have bullet holes and such all over me.”

He was sober for some minutes, then grinned. “Well, if you’re so all fired offended by my tore up old body, I can just up and leave.”

“Like hell you will,” Sally said, rolling on top of him. He ran his hands along her back and across her smooth, firm bottom. Soon enough they were together again.

**  **  **  **  **

Sally was still sleeping when Bloodworth quietly arose and dressed. He headed downstairs and out. Crossing back to Dodge, he stopped at Sorenson’s for a breakfast of fresh hen’s eggs, bacon, biscuits and coffee. After a cigar and more coffee, he walked to Redmon’s office. The marshal was just arriving and was in no hurry, taking his time unlocking the door. He was, Bloodworth knew, trying to put Bloodworth in his place, but the bounty hunter let it pass. Though he wouldn’t countenance such things for long.

Finally the door was open and they went inside. Redmon opened the curtains to let some light into the place. “Make yourself to home,” he said to Bloodworth, “I got to go see how my prisoners are.”

Annoyed, Bloodworth paced a bit, then stopped when a tall, skinny man tried to open the door. Bloodworth went and did so, and the man almost fell inside, spilling the tray he carried.

“Sorry,” Bloodworth said. “I was tryin’ to help.”

“Well, you almost made a mess,” the man snapped, his voice nasally. “I been doin’ this every mornin’ for a long time, sonny.”

“Well, don’t let me stand in your way, friend,” Bloodworth said with more than a touch of amusement.

The old man scurried toward the cells in back, carrying his tray of breakfasts for the prisoners. Minutes later, he came out and with a glare at Bloodworth, left. Redmon was right behind him.

“Well, now, let’s see, what were you due? I got it around here somewhere.”

“Marshal, I’ve had just about enough of your bullshit. It’s no surprise that you don’t like me, nor have any respect the way I’ve paid my way through life these many years, but I’ll be damned if I’ll stand here and let you make me feel like some steppin’ boy.”

“I ain’t …”

“Like hell you ain’t. Now you owe me a hundred and fifty dollars. I want it and I want it now. I do not need you to pretend to have to look for it or remember where it is or any other of your horseshit. Now hand it over and I’ll be out of your way.”

“You’ll be leavin’ town,” Redmon said, trying to make it sound like an order.

“Ain’t likely any time soon.”

“Then you’ll have to check your pistols while you’re in town.”

“I will not.”

“You’ll be fined for it every day,” Redmon said rather smugly. “Probably a hundred and fifty bucks over the next week or so.”

Bloodworth nodded. “Tell you what, Marshal, let’s you and me go on over to the judge and see what he thinks about it. He might listen to you. At first. But once he hears how poorly you do your job at times, he might consider different.”

Redmon glared.

Bloodworth sighed. “Look, Marshal, I been tryin’ not to be a thorn in your side, and I don’t plan for you to be one in mine. Now I ain’t caused any trouble ’cept for that fracas a few days ago. And what I did then was to kill a couple of outlaws and let you drive off a couple others. I’m on the trail with the stage more often than not. And I don’t plan to stir up any more trouble unless it’s forced on me. So you got no call to give me grief.”

Redmon glared up at him a little longer, then nodded. “Reckon you’re right. I would be obliged though if you was to keep out of trouble.”

“I have every intention of doing so.”

Redmon handed Bloodworth a small stack of paper money. Without counting it, Bloodworth shoved it into a shirt pocket.

“When’s your next run?” Redmon asked as Bloodworth turned for the door.

“Day after tomorrow.” He stepped into the street and shut the door behind him.

After another night in the company of Sally, Bloodworth climbed aboard the Carleton Stage Company wagon next to Gil Adcock. “Looks like we might be in for some weather,” he noted.

Adcock glanced at the leaden-gray sky.

“Damned if it don’t look like rain.” He shook his head. “Ain’t much worse this time of year than a frog strangler on the flats. ’Cept, of course, those wind twisters. Damn if they ain’t a sight to scare a man enough to soil his britches.”

“Seen one from far off once. A ways far off, and that was more than close enough.”

“I reckon it was.”

“And there’s always Injuns this time of year, but there ain’t as many as there used to be,” Adcock said as he got the stage moving. “And the ones you do see is pretty poor off. If they hadn’t been so devilish along ago, I’d almost feel sorry for ’em.”

“What do you do during the winter what with the weather bein’ so bad.”

“Hit and miss I guess you could say. As long as there ain’t much snow, we’ll get through. ’Course, it’s colder’n a witch’s tit, ’specially settin’ up here. Good thing the company provides some nice, thick buff’lo robes. If not, we’d be froze to death time we got to the first stop at Wilson’s place.”

“I might have to mosey on before that time comes,” Bloodworth said with a chuckle.

**  **  **  **  **

When they got to Clay Center, Bloodworth was glad to see Edith. He hadn’t realized that he had missed her until now. She seemed pleased that he was there. Though she thought it unseemly to have him spend the night at her hotel, they did partake of a fine repast after Bloodworth had a bath and shave.

The next morning, Bloodworth helped Edith onto the stage with a bit less fanfare than he had in Dodge, and when he clambered up onto the seat beside Adcock, the driver grinned. “Might happy to see that gal, ain’t you.”

“You just mind your own damn business,” Bloodworth said gruffly. Then he laughed. “But I reckon you’re right.”

“Thought so.” He grinned again. “C’mon, horses, let’s git ahead.”

**  **  **  **  **

They seemed to come out of nowhere. Three of them, the lower half of their faces covered in bandannas, materialized from behind a clump of cottonwoods.

“Damn. Shit and damn!” Adcock muttered as he jerked on the reins.

Bloodworth cocked the two hammers of the shotgun. But before he could bring the weapon the bear, the three men separated. Two went around to the right side of the carriage. One dismounted and headed for the coach. The other stayed on his horse, pistol held loosely in his hand, not pointing at anyone.

“Toss that scattergun down there, pal,” the one who remained in front said. “The pistol, too.”

Bloodworth considered that for a moment, but Adcock whispered, “Don’t. It ain’t worth getting’ us killed for. And you sure as hell don’t want that lady of yours catchin’ a bullet.”

Bloodworth sighed, pointed the shotgun’s muzzle skyward, and eased the hammers down. He pitched the weapon to the ground, then slid his pistol carefully out and threw it over the side as well.

“Now hand over the box you’re carryin’.”

Behind him Bloodworth could hear the passengers filing out of the coach, and the unmounted outlaw demanding their valuables. As he bent to retrieve the strongbox carrying mail and a few hundred dollars from a bank in St. Joe to pay some local cowhands, Bloodworth noticed a fourth man. This one was off to the left, just on the edge of the trees along the river, watching.

Bloodworth considered grabbing the pistol he kept on the wagon floor, but then decided it would not be wise.

“Let’s not take all the day, pal,” the outlaw warned.

Bloodworth grabbed the box and tossed it onto the ground. Then he heard one of the female passengers say, “No, you can’t have that. My husband…”

“Just hand it over, lady,” the outlaw there said.

“Take your hands off her, you bastard,” one of the male passengers said.

Then there was a gunshot. As Bloodworth reached down and grabbed the pistol, two more shots rang out, and a woman screamed. He whirled and shot the man in front, once in the chin and once in the stomach. He jumped off the coach, cursing with the jolt to his bad leg, and fired. He hit the mounted outlaw, who was trying to flee, in the back. The man slumped forward as the horse raced off across the prairie.

A shot whizzed by Bloodworth’s head and he dropped to one knee. The outlaw who was robbing the passengers let loose another shot that just missed and thudded into the side of the coach.

Behind Bloodworth, Adcock was fighting to hold the frightened, wildly whinnying horses in check. Bloodworth snapped off the final three shots in his pistol, the bullets driving the outlaw backward a few steps as they punched holes in his chest.

Another shot came from behind him and he whirled in time to see Adcock slump to the side. “Son of a…”

The horses bolted. Bloodworth jammed the empty pistol into his holster and took off running, cursing his lame leg. But he managed to grab hold of the boot and after being dragged along several yards, was able to haul himself up by the strength of his arms.

Sweating, he crawled across the top of the wildly lurching wagon. He finally gained the box. Adcock was slumped on the floor of the box, and Bloodworth had to strain to push him out of the way a little. He was surprised when Adcock moaned and made a small effort to help. Bloodworth breathed a sigh of thanks that the reins were still loosely wrapped around the brake handle. He grabbed them and pulled hard on them, straining, feet braced against the box front. After a few minutes, he had slowed the horses enough to where he could control them somewhat with one hand, while yanking on the brake with the other.

He finally managed to bring the animals to a halt. Breathing heavily, he sat for a moment, then began the slow arduous process of turning the stage around. “You all right?” he asked, looking down at Adcock.

The driver’s face was pale and screwed up in pain. “No, dammit.”

“Hang on.” Though the horses were lathered, he slapped the reins on them and got them running again, and once more had trouble bringing them to a stop, but he did so not far from where the passengers were huddled around a couple of bodies. With barely a glance at Adcock, Bloodworth hurriedly climbed down and limped over to the group, which parted for him, silent and stunned.

“Ah, lord,” he whispered. “Goddamn, son of a bitch.” He knelt at Edith’s side, and took one of her limp hands in his. Her chest was covered in blood. He slid a hand across her eyes, closing them. Rage held back his tears.

He pushed himself slowly to his feet. “How did this happen?” he asked tightly, looking from face to face. All turned their heads away from him. “How the hell did this happen?” he roared.

One of them women looked at him, her face covered in dirt and tears. “I…I…I wanted to keep the necklace my late husband gave me. And, well, Mr. Judd there, he tried to stop that man from…”

Bloodworth whirled. “So you pulled a pocket gun?” Bloodworth demanded, his voice tight with rage. He stepped up and grabbed the man from the front of his frock coat and jerked him forward. “Is that what you did, you stupid son of a bitch?” he screamed, face inches from Judd’s, so close that spittle landed on the man’s face.

Judd blanched, terror springing into his eyes. “I was just…just…trying to…”

“You got her killed, you dumb bastard!” He shoved Judd away and then smashed a fist into his face. Judd staggered back, then fell. Bloodworth pounded Judd. He grabbed Judd’s shirtfront again and pulled him up a foot or so and continued to hammer Judd, who tried to cover himself up with little success.

“Harlan!” someone yelled, but Bloodworth ignored him. “Harlan!”

Two passengers struggled to pull Bloodworth away, but it was only Adcock’s third bellow of Bloodworth’s name that finally got him to stop. He turned, eyes beginning to focus again. “I thought you was dead, Gil,” he said, breath coming hard to him.

“Damn near.” He lurched forward, and put a hand on Bloodworth’s shoulder. “There’s work to be done, Harlan. We need to get Miz Wickline back to Dodge to be taken care of.” He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. “And I need tendin’.”

Jaw clenched in fury still, Bloodworth gave a short nod. He knelt and easily lifted Edith. “Somebody get the coach door,” he ordered.

The woman who had spoken, pale and still teary, rushed over and did so. Bloodworth gently laid Edith’s body on one of the bench seats.

“You’ll have to drive, Harlan,” Adcock said.

“Can you get up in the box?”

“Ain’t likely. It took all I got to get down. I sure as hell ain’t got the strength to climb up there.”

“Then get on in here,” he said, indicating the coach. “The rest of you can fit in where you will, the three ladies on the seats. You,” he pointed at one man, a young fellow, who had the appearance of a workman, “can ride on top. And you,” he pointed to another, one wearing a threadbare suit, “can ride up in the box with me.”

“What about Mr. Judd?” the same woman asked.

“What about him?” His face betrayed no sympathy.

“But he’s injured and…”

“He brought his misfortune on himself.” There was no sympathy in his voice either.

“But, Mr. Bloodworth…”

He glared, but then said, “A couple of you men want to stuff him in the coach on the floor, that’s your concern. But first, jam those outlaws’ bodies in the boot. Toss whatever luggage you need to up top. You got five minutes and then I’ll be off.”

He limped away, tiredness beginning to take the edge off his rage. He picked his own pistol as well as the shotgun. He holstered the former after tossing his box gun up under the seat. The latter soon followed. He walked around the other side of the coach as the two men who were to ride above climbed up.

“You see who shot you, Gil?” Bloodworth asked though the window.

“Fellah over near the trees.”

“I saw him, just a glance, though.”

“I looked over at him when the ruckus began. He waited only a few seconds, then fired at me.”

“You get a good look at him?”

“Nope. He was masked, like the others. He wore a high-crowned brown hat and was riding a palomino.”

Bloodworth nodded. He turned and in a moment was in the box. Not caring whether everyone was in the coach or not, he got the team moving. He stopped at Wilson’s just long enough for the horses to be changed. The passengers had barely enough time to take care of business and grab some bread and jerky to bring along before they were on their way again. Not sparing the horses, they arrived in Dodge just before midnight.