Bucking the Tiger (4 page)

Lottie walked with a bounce in her step and a smile on her face as she made her way through the saloon. Several of the men glanced at her to trade a few quick words, and several more glanced at her just to catch a glimpse of one of the prettiest faces in the place. She played up to every last one of them, expertly keeping at least a few people watching her as she led the way to one of the back rooms.

If Boyer noticed any of the attention she was getting, he made no indication. He was aware enough to know when nobody else was able to see her because that's precisely when he made a move of his own.

Lottie had just stepped into a small hallway that led to two doors facing each other in a cramped space. Positioning himself so he filled up most of the end of the hall, Boyer moved forward while dropping his hand to the gun at his side. Before he could clear leather, the woman in front of him wheeled around and raised a small gun of her own.

“You must truly think I'm stupid,” Lottie said as she held the derringer at just above hip level. “And that, more than anything, truly pisses me off.”

Boyer's hand didn't waver from its position. His expression didn't change. He didn't even stop moving forward as he said, “I don't think you're stupid. I do think you're a bit too confident for your own good. Otherwise, you would have accepted the more than generous offers you've already been given.”

“Generous offers? Is that what you call them? And here I thought I was being threatened and pushed out of my business.”

“Gambling isn't your business around here. If you don't know that by now, then maybe you are stupid.”

“You're the stupid one if you think half of these men would drop half of the money they do if it was someone else but me dealing those cards,” Lottie said.

“Which is why you were offered nearly twice the amount given to the other dealers in this town.”

“If I'm gone, those gamblers will find somewhere else to go. Also, it's not like you can just kill me and dump me somewhere. I've got protection of my own, you know.”

Boyer instantly picked up on the shift in Lottie's tone as well as the flicker of her eyes as she took a split second to look at something behind him. In a sudden burst of motion, he swiveled at the hip and grabbed hold of the man who'd just stepped into the hall.

With that grab, Boyer got hold of Earl's sleeve. It wasn't the best way to control another man, but Boyer tightened his grip and put enough muscle behind his movement to nearly take Earl off his feet and shove him toward one of the nearby doors. Earl's shoulder slammed hard enough against the door to force it open, revealing a cluttered supply closet filled with brooms, buckets, and extra chairs.

Even though Earl was shocked by how quickly he was pulled off balance, he managed to regain his composure just as fast. The knife he'd been carrying was almost knocked loose on impact, but he cinched his grip around it and made a quick slash with the blade.

Boyer leaned back just enough to dodge the swipe, while wearing a look on his face that barely seemed concerned with the weapon he'd so narrowly avoided. Once Earl's hand flew by, Boyer reached out and grabbed hold of the man's shirt, pulled him forward, and then followed up with a swift knee below the belt.

Earl let out a wheezing gasp and thanked his lucky stars Boyer's knee had landed just north of his groin. Even so, the impact was enough to drive most of the wind from his lungs and cause his vision to fade for a second or two.

With everything happening so quickly, Lottie was barely able to move toward the storage closet before Earl was dropped to the floor. Standing in the doorway, she lifted her derringer to take a shot. Unfortunately, that was the very moment that Earl got enough breath to straighten up and lunge at Boyer like a charging bull.

Taking half a step back, Boyer tensed his stomach and was more than prepared to catch Earl on his way in. One arm snaked under Earl's arm while his other snagged the knife from Earl's hand. Boyer viciously pounded his knee into Earl's chin and chest again and again, until he was the only thing holding Earl up.

“I warned you, too, asshole,” Boyer whispered. “Is that pussy worth dying for?” With that, Boyer flipped the blade in his hand so he could drive it into Earl's belly. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the blade through Earl's flesh until it snagged against the bottom of the man's rib cage.

Lottie stood in the doorway with her gun in hand and her jaw hanging open. When she saw the blood pour from Earl's wound to soak into the floor, she could barely keep from fainting dead away. When she saw Boyer set Earl down and then turn around to look at her, she knew she was about to experience her last moments on this earth.

A rough hand clamped down on her shoulder and nearly pulled her off her feet, but Lottie wasn't pulled into the blade that had just ended one man's life. Instead, she was pulled out of the doorway and into the hall until her shoulders knocked against the opposite door.

“Get the hell out of here,” Caleb said.

That was all Lottie needed to hear. She bounced off the door and turned toward the saloon's main room. Some of the men looked away from their drinks or women long enough to show her a concerned glance, but none of them seemed to realize what had happened. Rather than explain it to them, Lottie headed for the front door.

Caleb watched her just long enough to know she was out of harm's way. From there, he was able to twist all the way back in order to clear the path for the blade that was coming straight at him.

Lunging forward to extend his arm as if his shoulder were spring-loaded, Boyer gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath the instant he realized he'd missed his target. Even before his lunge was completed, he was tensing for another strike.

Using his own momentum, Caleb continued to step back until he was able to turn and pivot all the way around. He then snapped his arm out and down like a cracking whip to make contact with Boyer's elbow. The move didn't do much damage, but it was able to wedge the incoming knife into the door right next to him.

Boyer tried once to pull the blade free, which was more than enough to realize it wasn't going anywhere. By the time he swung around to get a look at what Caleb was doing, he was just in time to see a set of rough knuckles coming straight at him.

Caleb punched Boyer in the face so hard that he knocked the frown right off him. “Jesus,” he grunted while trying to shake out some of the pain that immediately flooded his hand.

After recovering from the punch, Boyer snapped his head forward to butt it against the bridge of Caleb's nose. That impact filled both men's heads with a dull roar. Boyer shook off the effects, while Caleb staggered back as though the entire floor was being tilted beneath his feet

Just as he was about to right himself, Caleb was pulled from the hall by a rough set of hands.

“That'll be enough of that!” said the burly man who was practically dragging Caleb out by the scruff of his neck. “Take this shit outside, both of you.”

When he heard that last part, Caleb knew the fight wasn't over. Sure enough, a few seconds after he was tossed out the front door, Boyer came out after him. Nobody seemed to be dragging Boyer, however. The frowning man was charging out on his own steam.

Still reeling from the knock he'd taken to his nose, Caleb started to take another swing at Boyer and was cut off by a short jab to the chin. While the first shot to the nose had dimmed his lights, the punch to the chin made Caleb see nothing but red.

When Caleb reared an arm back and balled up his fist, he had every intention of taking Boyer's head off. He was so intent on that purpose that he didn't even react to the fact that Boyer had already drawn his gun. Caleb went right ahead and threw his punch. The stupidity of that move worked in his favor, since Boyer was too shocked to see it coming,

Caleb's fist slammed against Boyer's face and twisted his head around as far as it could go. He followed that up with another punch to the ribs. When that second fist landed, he felt at least one bone break against his knuckles.

Despite the pain that accompanied every breath, Boyer remained in position to deliver a definitive killing shot when he lifted his gun and pointed it directly at Caleb's midsection.

A shot cracked through the air, which made Caleb hop back and reflexively grab at his stomach. He'd seen the gun in Boyer's hand and could guess where it was aimed. There was no pain in his gut, however, and no blood on his hands when he took a quick look down. When he looked up again, he saw the redhead standing in the street with a smoking derringer in her grasp.

“Drop the gun, Boyer,” Lottie said forcefully as she lowered the gun to make it clear the next shot wouldn't be aimed at the sky.

Turning so he could keep both Lottie and Caleb in his field of vision, Boyer said, “You only got one more bullet in that derringer.”

“And it's got your name on it. You want it now or should I save it for later?”

Slowly, Boyer let out a breath and lowered his gun. As he shifted his eyes to get a better look at Caleb, Boyer found him squared off and staring right back at him with blood trickling from his nose.

The men regarded each other for a few seconds before Caleb's hand flashed to his holster and took his gun from its resting place. Boyer responded with a quick move of his own before they were both startled by another shot. This shot made the previous one from the derringer sound more like a champagne cork.

“Get the hell away from my place,” the barkeep said as he brought down the shotgun he'd just fired in both Caleb and Boyer's direction. “That goes for both of you!”

Boyer nodded slowly and holstered his gun. Even though he could see Caleb's pistol was still in his hand, Boyer didn't seem to care too much about it. “You'll be hearing back from us, Lottie. Don't you worry about that.”

Lottie watched Boyer turn his back to her and walk away. Just when her eyes narrowed and her finger started tensing around her trigger, Boyer turned a corner and shoved his way into a milling crowd of people.

Reaching out with one hand, Caleb eased her derringer down until it pointed at the ground. “Easy now.”

She looked over at him with a fierceness in her eyes and dropped the derringer into a pocket that was completely hidden by a fold in her dress. “That animal is a killer.”

“I know, but we can't do anything about it if we're in jail. We can do even less if that shotgun goes off right about now.”

Lottie let out the breath she'd been holding and took another look at the barkeep. It seemed as if she'd just realized he was standing there. Seeing the smoking shotgun in his hand was even more of a shock to her system. “You're right,” she whispered. To the barkeep, she said, “Check your storage room when you get a chance. Then come and talk to me about who should have been run out of here.”

The barkeep didn't seem interested in any of it, so Caleb put his arm around Lottie's shoulders and led her in the other direction. Once they got a certain distance from the saloon, everyone else who'd been standing around lost interest in them.

“Earl might not even be found for a while,” Lottie said. “Those assholes will be so busy drinking that they won't even bother to look. They didn't even bother looking in on the fight until—”

“He'll be seen to,” Caleb said. “Even if I have to do it myself.”

She looked into his eyes and managed a weak smile. “You shouldn't have gotten tangled up in this.”

“I don't mind. Faro's not really my game.”

“No, I'm serious. It was a great thing to do and I appreciate it, but the smartest thing would be for you to just forget you ever saw me.”

“Way too late for that.”

“Obviously you don't know who that was.”

“You mean the rat who started this whole mess?”

She nodded. “If you did, you would have known better than to cross his path the way you did. Hell, I should have known better.”

“If that wasn't about someone being a really sore loser, then what was it about?”

They were walking along a busy street and headed for an even busier one. The boards under their feet ranged from new and placed perfectly together to rotten and crooked. Lottie kept her head down as if she was watching every one of her steps, while Caleb tried to keep from falling on his face in front of her. People moved along on either side of them, chatting among themselves and generally adding to the bitter stench in the air.

“I hope you don't think I'm rude,” Lottie finally said, “but telling you any more would just pull you in even further. After seeing what happened to the last man who tried to protect me, I'd rather just fend for myself.”

“I can make my own—” Caleb started to say, but it was too late.

Lottie gave him a quick kiss and then allowed herself to be swept into a flow of people crossing the street.

It didn't take much for Caleb to realize that Griffin Avenue was the main street as far as saloons and entertainments were concerned. There, all manner of diversions could be found, ranging from women and gambling to anything else that would make a man's toes curl. As he made his way from one saloon to another, Caleb wondered if he would ever be able to find Doc again. He'd already given up on looking for Lottie.

Fort Griffin seemed to attract every kind of rowdiness, from some of the roughest characters Caleb had seen. And that was saying a lot considering how long he'd owned his own saloon back in Dallas. Before leaving that place, he'd heard more than a few things about Fort Griffin. Apparently, more of those stories were true than he would have guessed.

As Caleb stuck his head into more and more doors along Griffin Avenue, his blood started to cool off and the pain in his face started to fade. Then, he began seeing Fort Griffin through new eyes. Rather than seeing it as a giant, noisy haystack in which he'd lost a few needles, Caleb looked at the town from a businessman's perspective.

For a man in the saloon business, Fort Griffin was a gold mine.

It took a while for the shine to wear off, but eventually Caleb recalled one name from when he'd been tending to his own place back in Dallas: the Beehive. More than once, he'd heard that name tossed around as one of the places a man had to go if he was in Fort Griffin. At the time, Caleb had ignored those comments. Things had changed, however, and in ways he never would have guessed.

Rather than reflect on all the different turns he'd taken over the last few months, Caleb asked around until he got directions to the Beehive. All he needed to do was continue down Griffin Avenue until he found one of the rowdiest places on that main street.

While looking through the Beehive's front door, Caleb felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“…dead man found in a saloon,” said a voice from somewhere not far from where Caleb was standing. Although he wasn't able to catch every word of the conversation, a few phrases most definitely caught Caleb's ear.

“…still looking for the killer” was one.

“…string him up” was another.

Without turning to see who was talking, Caleb walked calmly into the Beehive and headed for the first table he could find that allowed him to circle around and get a look at the door without being too obvious. The saloon was crowded enough to cover his tracks until he was certain that nobody had followed him inside. Only then was he able to take a breath and get a look at where he was.

As far as saloons went, it was pretty standard fare. There was a small raised stage in the back with a pair of girls doing a dance routine being accompanied by a man playing guitar. The bar wasn't huge, but it did take up a good portion of the room. Scattered throughout the front half of the room were card tables as well as a roulette wheel and a few faro setups.

“Hell of a place, wouldn't you say?” Doc asked as he walked up to stand beside Caleb at the bar.

Caleb turned and reflexively balled his fist. “Don't sneak up on me like that, Doc.”

“I was about to ask why you're so high-strung, but then I got a look at you. What on earth did you get yourself into? We've only been in town a short while. You need to pace yourself.”

“I need to pace myself?” Caleb asked in disbelief. “I'm not the one who tore off like some kid at the county fair.”

Doc smirked and leaned against the bar. In his hand was a cup that was big enough to hold a generous amount of drinking water. It didn't take a genius to deduce that it wasn't water inside that cup. The smell of whiskey hung around Doc's head like a fog, but it didn't affect him in any other way. In fact, he stood up a little straighter and talked with a bit more refinement than he had the last time Caleb had seen him on the street.

“I was a bit anxious, I admit,” Doc said. “But you've been able to see some things around here. Haven't you felt your blood moving a bit faster just being in the middle of all this? Speaking of which, what happened to your nose?”

Caleb let out a sigh and reached up to tentatively feel the spot where he'd been hit. His hand came back bloody, so Caleb quickly cleaned himself off. “Got into a scrape over at another saloon.”

“Which one?”

“I don't even know the name of the place. It was the one closest to where we were dropped off.”

“Oh, that's right. You should have asked me about that place before going in there. They don't host any poker games, but I do hear that Lottie Deno runs a faro game in there.”

“She does. I met her.”

“I hear she's a beaut.”

Smirking as he thought back to Lottie, Caleb was distracted enough from the rest of it that the pain in his nose faded for a bit. “Yeah. She sure is.”

“You didn't play at her game, did you? I've told you that bucking the tiger is a sucker's bet.”

“There was another man there, Doc. His name was Boyer. Ever hear of him?”

Doc's brow furrowed and he mulled that over. Finally, he shook his head and replied, “No, but it may come to me later. Why?”

“He was at her game. He killed a man in the back of that saloon. I saw it.”

Suddenly patting the bar and shaking his head, Doc looked around at the other people nearby. “Don't advertise, Caleb. That is, unless you'd rather spend your first night here in a jail cell rather than a hotel room.”

Since he didn't have much of an answer to that, Caleb shrugged. Suddenly, he blinked and said, “Wait a second. First night here? What about Denver?”

Doc waved that off dismissively. “There's plenty of action right here. I can feel it. Besides, Denver isn't going anywhere.”

“A man's dead, Doc. Pardon me if I'm not thinking about playing cards right now.”

“Who was he?”

“The lookout at Lottie's table.”

“And he was killed by this Boyer person?” Doc asked.

Caleb nodded. “Stabbed. I stepped in and Boyer tried to take me out as well. We tussled and it was split up outside the place.”

“Hopefully, he looks worse than you do right about now.”

“This may be a joke to you, Doc, but I saw that man die and there wasn't anything funny about it.”

Shaking his head, Doc said, “I don't think it's funny either. But if you want to do something about it, you can pin a badge to your chest, become some sort of vigilante, or look into it to the best of your abilities. Either way, we'll have to stay here. I won't mind lending you a hand if you need one, but a man's still got to eat. Can't you ply your new trade and fight the good fight as well?”

“I suppose so.”

Doc closed his eyes and pulled in a long breath. The deeper he inhaled, the wider his smile became. When he opened his eyes again, he said, “This place reeks of opportunity. It reeks of other things as well, but it's the opportunity that interests me.”

Caleb couldn't help but chuckle.

“Remember that friend I mentioned?” Doc asked.

“Oh…wasn't it Donaldson or something?”

“Donnelly,” Doc corrected. “Owen Donnelly and he's standing right behind you.”

When Caleb turned around, he saw a man of slightly more than average height and slightly heavier than average weight. Most of that weight seemed to be packed in layers around a solid frame, making it difficult to distinguish the muscle from the rest of it. The friendly nature of the man's smile was unmistakable as he gripped Caleb's hand and shook it painfully.

“Pleased to meet ya,” Donnelly said.

Doing his best not to wince, Caleb said, “Likewise.”

“So you're a friend of John's?”

“We've stirred up some trouble here and there,” Caleb said.

That caused Donnelly's smile to grow and his handshake to speed up a bit. “He's good for that, if nothing else. I hear some of that trouble was in Dallas.”

“No need to bring that up so quickly,” Doc said with a definite edge in his voice.

“Can't hardly deny what I've been hearing lately.”

“And what did you hear?” Caleb asked once he got his hand back and was shaking some of the blood flow back into his fingers.

“I heard John killed a man in cold blood,” Donnelly said as he took a glass from under the bar, filled it with beer, and set it in front of Caleb. “But I don't believe that. At least, not the cold blood part.”

“What's the matter, Owen?” Doc asked. “You don't think I can handle myself?”

“Courage was never a problem with you, John. Or should I call you Doc?”

Doc shrugged and sipped his whiskey.

“I heard there were shots thrown all over some saloon,” Donnelly continued, “as well as a posse that chased you halfway across Texas and back.”

For a moment, Doc and Caleb merely glanced at each other. Then, they started laughing.

“How big was this posse supposed to be?” Caleb asked.

“A dozen men.”

“Why stop there? Why not make it an army?”

“So it ain't true?”

“No,” Doc said. “There was no posse. That is, unless it was chasing behind the stagecoach I took from Dallas. Did you see a posse, Caleb?”

“Not as such.”

“What about the man you killed in Dallas?” When he asked that question, there was a subtle shift in Donnelly's eyes. He was studying Doc carefully, as if sizing him up for the first time.

Doc didn't so much as twitch under the scrutiny. Instead, he swirled the whiskey around in his glass and said, “I'd rather not discuss such matters at length. I've already stood trial for the disruption and beat the charges, so I'd rather not push what little luck I have. I will say that there is some truth to the rumors you've heard.”

“Just like them black fellas you killed around that watering hole back home, huh?”

Caleb started to laugh at that, but saw that Doc was nowhere close to laughing. The smile he already had on his face was stale as month-old bread, but was tapered and controlled so it didn't give away much of anything on the subject at hand.

“I'd rather not talk about that, either,” Doc said.

Whether or not he picked up on Doc's sudden discomfort, Donnelly moved on to the next subject without skipping a beat. “Speaking of back home, how's Mattie?”

“I don't really talk much to the family any longer.” Glancing up from his whiskey, Doc fixed a stare on his face that would have split a boulder in half. “And I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about them, either.”

“Just trying to catch up, John,” Donnelly said as he raised his hands. “Maybe you should let me know what you do want to talk about.”

Doc nodded and slipped right back into his normal, easygoing mannerisms. “To put any other rumors to rest, I'm still sick as hell and fiercely averse to the evil temptations of the flesh. Now let's talk about more current matters.”

Looking at the whiskey in Doc's hand and the natural way he fit into the atmosphere of the saloon, Donnelly slapped the top of the bar and began laughing boisterously. “You always were a hoot, John. Tell you what, I'll call you Doc just as soon as you help me with this pain I got in the back of my jaw.”

“And I'll fix you up for no charge whatsoever if you allow me to set up a faro table in this saloon.”

Donnelly blinked and cocked his head to one side. “You sure you want to do that? It can be pretty rough sometimes.”

“I realize that. It was fairly rough in Dallas, as well.”

“True. Still, I'd rather not have any killings in my place if you can help it.”

“I can handle myself, Owen. Right now, I just need to get a start in my new profession.”

“No more pulling teeth?” Donnelly asked.

“Only on special occasions.” When he saw that his joking tone was no longer bringing a smile to Donnelly's face, Doc added, “I'm a sporting man now. Just give me some time at my own game and I'll start turning a profit for you.”

“I don't run no crooked games here.”

Doc scowled enough to make the barkeep start to squirm.

“Well…you know what I mean,” Donnelly amended.

“Yes, I do. And any complaints you get in that regard will be handled by me and will not put a smudge upon this establishment.”

Pulling in a breath, Donnelly rubbed his chin and grumbled to himself. “We go back a little ways, John. I'd hate to have you get hurt on account of this. Especially since you're not in the best condition. No offense or nothing.”

The look on Doc's face showed that he took plenty of offense from the inference that had just been made.

“Then again,” Donnelly said, “if you had your own security, I might reconsider the offer.”

Before Doc could say anything, Caleb nodded and said, “He's got it.”