Authors: Kerry Newcomb
The din was horrible to hear. Horses with broken legs struggled to free themselves from the trenches and pits. Men with shattered arms and legs cried out to be rescued while others lay still, their faces contorted, their necks broken. Pacer’s gun clicked on an empty chamber. He broke the revolver apart and began to replace the cylinder with a fresh load. One of the Knights he had assumed was dead suddenly sprang up. It was Sawyer Truett. He locked eyes with his intended target and slowly leveled his Colt at the Choctaw Kid.
Jesse saw Truett and trained his rifle on the man and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. Pacer, unarmed, dove for the ground as a revolver blasted close to his right ear. Sawyer Truett groaned, pitched forward, and fired into the sod. Pacer looked up to see Lorelei with a Navy Colt in her hand. She winked at him and blew smoke from the barrel.
A ragged line of attackers loosed a final volley at the barricade. One of the field hands groaned and dropped, clutching his shoulder. Jesse ducked behind the wagon and saw another of the defenders whirl about and sink to his knees. Jesse recognized T. Alan Booth, a neat black bullethole right between his eyes. The man was already dead. He fell over on his side. Jesse cursed, and shouted for the defenders to pour fire into Tullock’s men. All along the barricade, guns blazed anew, avenging Booth’s death fivefold.
The Knights melted away under the onslaught, leaving the dead and wounded behind. Gunfire trailed off as targets became scarce. Soon there was nothing to shoot at but the darkness. Jesse climbed over the barricade and walked out into the pass. The townspeople began to show themselves, scarcely daring to believe the melee had ended. Si Reaves climbed onto a wagon bed and raised his rifled musket over his head. Battle lust burned in his eyes. He stood tall and proud and free.
“Cap! Cap Featherstone!” Jesse’s voice reverberated through the pass. He picked his way through the gap. Wounded men moaned for help. As he pressed on, avoiding the pits, the stench of blood and gunsmoke stung his nostrils and burned his lungs, yet he steeled himself to the carnage he had wrought and continued to challenge Cap Featherstone to show himself.
“Not…here,” a voice weakly called to him.
Jesse whirled and pointed his gun at the man who had answered in the night. It was Tullock Roberts. The man was battered and bruised and without a weapon.
“They rode me down. My own men. Knocked my gun somewhere.” He had captured a horse and had been attempting to pull himself up in the saddle when he spied Jesse. “I think my ankle’s broke. I know my arm is.”
Jesse noticed the man’s left arm was tucked inside his shirt.
“Where’s Cap?”
“He didn’t think I saw him, but I did. He drifted back and took off with his men. Maybe he showed good sense.” Tullock grimaced and braced himself for the gunshot from Jesse’s gun. To his astonishment, Jesse holstered his revolver and helped him into the saddle.
“I don’t understand…” Tullock said after the first wave of pain subsided. He had to will himself upright in the saddle.
“Go home, Tullock. You’re all Arbitha has. And pitiful as you are, I won’t be a party to causing her more grief.”
Jesse slapped the horse’s rump and the animal trotted off into the night. The Union officer heard the plod of horses behind him and glanced over his shoulder to spy Pacer and Lorelei coming toward him. The Choctaw Kid led two horses across the trampled ground. Lorelei held the reins of her own mount. Pacer jabbed a thumb toward the abolitionists. “Carmichael said they’ll do what they can for the injured. She was darn near civil to me.”
“Miracles never cease,” Jesse said with a wag of his head. He swung up astride the gray.
Pacer indicated the girl at his side. “Lorelei wanted to come along and see about Grandmother Raven.”
Lorelei blushed and nervously added, “Pacer said I could stay on with Raven. For as long as I want.”
“I think that’s a fine idea,” Jesse replied.
Lorelei flashed a smile. It came awkwardly to her. Good things in her life had been few and far between. She might even be able to tame the Choctaw Kid. She brushed a lock of auburn hair away from her eyes and gave Pacer a knowing smile. He gulped and avoided meeting her gaze.
“Just see you keep Raven from following me to town,” Jesse added.
“You going after Cap?” Pacer asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Jesse studied his determined younger brother. There was no denying him. The McQueens would stand or fall—together.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
T
HE RATTLESNAKE LUNGED AT
the hand on the jar and Dobie jerked away as the reptile slapped its fangs against the glass and left a smear of venom on the inside wall of its prison.
Enos Clem, standing behind the bar, glanced up from the cards he was dealing himself and chuckled at the young gunman’s expense. Dobie scowled and gave the gambler a warning look. Clem shrugged and returned to his cards. He was playing against himself, five-card stud. Cap Featherstone was seated at a large round table set near the rear of the saloon. Shug Jones was standing in a narrow alcove near the piano.
“Don’t take it so hard,” Cap told the younger man. “I haven’t met the man who could hold his hand to the jar and not pull away.” Cap had lit only the lights near the front of the saloon, but the light from the lanterns filtered to the rear of the Medicine Wagon, leaving part of the room in shadow and part bathed in a feeble amber glow. Cap had dispatched the girls and given them the run of the hotel until further notice. That Chahta Creek had been reduced to virtually a ghost town did not bother him in the slightest. There’d be enterprising neutrals and Southern sympathizers anxious to fill the void left by the departing storekeepers. This was his town and he would see it grow to meet his own specific needs. He would shape it. Nurture it along. One day commerce would return. People would be leaving the embattled South and come looking for a place to begin anew. And Cap would be ready, with land and town property.
He looked over at Dobie. “You’re certain it was Jesse and Pacer that came riding out of the valley.”
Dobie had remained behind in a grove of red oaks where Buffalo Creek flowed into the Kimishi River. It had been his task to bring word to Cap of what had transpired in Buffalo Gap.
“Seen ’em clear in the moonlight, what with that spyglass you give me,” Dobie said. “First there came Tullock’s men, riding scared, like they’d seen the devil himself. They looked a sorry sight. Then after a while, Jesse and that turncoat brother of his. The Choctaw Kid, hell. I aim to take his measure. I would have dropped him right there, only you told me to come on.” Dobie had worn out his horse, racing to bring word to Cap Featherstone.
The burly man at the table nodded and poured himself a glass of milk. He glared at Tandy Matlock. The white-haired, old piano player stiffened. Cap had the evil eye tonight and Tandy was loath to get in the big man’s way.
“I pay you to play,” Cap growled.
“What you want to hear?”
Cap thought a minute, then laughed softly. “Play ‘Dixie.’”
The former slave turned his back to the saloon and began to dance his fingers upon the keys. The familiar tune of the Confederacy merrily shattered the silence and eased the tensions in the room.
Cap Featherstone tapped his foot while finishing his milk. He’d have Snug fix a plate of eggs and sausage a little later on. Just as soon as he had finished with Ben McQueen’s young pups.
Jesse and Pacer dismounted and tethered their mounts to the hitching rail in front of the saloon. Jesse studied the night-shrouded town. Buildings looked as empty as open graves. The Medicine Wagon offered some semblance of life, however ominous. Lantern-light streamed over and around and beneath the batwing doors. Strains of “Dixie” drifted into the street.
“Sounds like Cap’s having a party,” Pacer said.
“And we’re the guests of honor,” Jesse replied.
“How do you want to do this?”
“Straight on,” Jesse said. He drew his revolver from his holster and held it down at his side.
Pacer Wolf noticed his brother’s empty holster. “You’ve already cleared leather. That’s not fair,” Pacer was confident of his own quickness with a gun.
Jesse gave his brother a stony look. “I didn’t come here to be fair.” He started up the steps. Pacer caught him by the arm.
“Jesse?” Pacer struggled to find the words while his older brother waited. How to say what was in his heart? “I just wanted…uh…you to know…”
Jesse smiled, and clapped his brother on the shoulder.
“Yeah. Me, too.”
He heard a flutter of wings and caught a glimpse of movement in the shadows. There in the corner of the roof overhanging the porch, a raven perched on a knob of wood and studied the brothers. The bird left its perch and landed on the back of a chair. The raven preened its obsidian feathers and then cocked its head and studied the men with eyes of fire. In a rush of motion the bird took to the air again, launching itself between the McQueens and sailing off into the night sky. Jesse and Pacer looked at one another, and then as if with a single mind they turned and stepped through the doors.
Tandy Matlock quit playing and turned around on his stool. His hands were trembling now. There was death in the air and he wanted to be as far from the saloon as possible.
“Please, Mr. Featherstone…can I go now?”
“Go on,” Cap muttered, and waved his hand toward the back door. The front of the room was occupied by Jesse and Pacer Wolf McQueen.
“Thankee,” Tandy said, and scrambled away from the piano and hurried past Cap and Dobie and out through the back door. Enos Clem continued to deal himself cards at the bar. Dobie faced the McQueens, his arm limber and ready to sweep the revolver from his holster. Hud Pardee had left a mighty big void, but Dobie figured he was the man to fill it. He ignored Jesse and rooted his attention on the Choctaw Kid. He was confident Pacer was in for a rude surprise.
“I had an unpleasant visit with Rose Minley,” Cap said. “It appears my trust in Lucius was misplaced.”
“I’d say so,” Jesse said, easing further from the door. He did not want to be too close to Pacer when trouble came. He checked Shug by the piano. The man was dangerous but not an immediate threat. Dobie looked fast and skittish as a colt. He was amazed the young tough hadn’t already started the gunplay. Cap and the gambler were the real threats here. “Lucius left a letter with Carmichael. It explained a lot of things.”
“I shall have to get that back.”
“It won’t be easy,” Pacer spoke up.
“I wish you lads hadn’t pushed this. I’ve enough of your family’s blood on my hands,” Cap said, and finished his milk. White droplets clung to his mustache.
“My father is alive,” Jesse said. He took pleasure in the startled expression that came to Cap’s face. His bushy eyebrows raised and he licked his lips. “Major Abbot hid him outside of town.”
“Ah—that sounds like Peter,” Cap said. “I’m hurt that he chose not to confide in me.” Cap glanced around at the three men on his side of the wide, long gambling parlor.
“I’m dealing you a hand, McQueen,” Enos said, shuffling the cards. He slapped down a pair of cards face-up. “Ace of spades for you. Trey of hearts for me. A nine for you. A king for me. Another ace, for you. Pair of aces. Not bad. A five for me. Here’s a ten for your aces and for me a trey of diamonds. Pair of treys aren’t good enough. Last card. Six of diamonds to you. And for me…” He tossed the last card down. “Trey of clubs. Three of a kind beats your aces. See—what did I tell you? My luck’s changed.” He lowered his hands below the bar.
“Cap. You were my father’s friend,” Jesse said. “Why?”
“I have to be grateful to Abbot,” Cap replied. “That raid in Georgia with Major Andrews’ bunch taught me one thing.” The owner of the Medicine Wagon cleared his throat. “You have to look out for yourself. I’m the only cause I’ll fight for. That makes things a helluva lot simpler.” Cap looked from Shug to Dobie and then to Enos. Jesse caught the motion and tensed. “It was for the money, boy,” Cap explained. “And the power. You did well with Tullock Roberts. But you’re on my ground now. And I am no goddamn gentleman farmer. Neither of you are leaving here alive.”
“Talk-talk-talk,” Pacer said. “You aim to bury us in words?”
“You got a smart mouth,” Dobie Johnson said to the Choctaw Kid. “But cross me and you’ve crossed the wrong man.” He was handsome and reckless and eager. Dobie was living life in the flash of an instant. He was riding high and heading for a fall.
“Well, Jesse, I suppose you better make your pretty speech, tell me I’m under arrest, and order me to tag along quietly to the jail,” Cap said.
Jesse reached up with his left hand and unpinned the ranger’s badge from his buckskin shirt. “You’ve got me all wrong, Cap. I didn’t come here for the law.” With utter contempt for Featherstone, Jesse tossed the badge onto the floor in front of Cap’s table.
“Just who do you think you are?” Cap scowled, the anger in him rising to the boiling point.
“Justice,” came the reply. Jesse McQueen snapped up his Colt and fired at Cap. Blood spurted from the big man’s shoulder and he fell over backward in his chair. He overturned the table to provide himself some cover.
Dobie reached for his gun. He had never moved faster. But his Navy Colt had just cleared leather when Pacer shot him twice in the chest. The second bullet found his lungs and spun him around. His outstretched arm knocked the snake in the bottle off the bar and sent it crashing to the floor.
“Shotgun!” Pacer shouted as Enos brought up a scattergun from a rack close to his hands. Pacer hurled a chair at the gambler. The twin barrels boomed with deafening volume. The chair exploded as Jesse and Pacer hit the floor. Pacer staggered to the front wall and, bracing himself, fired at Clem, who ducked out of sight.
Dobie tried to cling to the bar. “Oh, sweet Jesus. Cap…Cap, it hurts.” His voice faded.
“Take it like a man,” Cap told him. Dobie slid to the floor and lay facedown on the whiskey-stained wood.
Shug darted from the alcove by the piano and bolted for the stairs. The high ground would give him an advantage. He fired twice at Jesse and then took the steps two at a time. Jesse rose up, sighted on the man, and squeezed off a round, chancing a bullet from Cap or the gambler. Cap’s aim was off, though only by a little. Jesse caught a faceful of splinters before he crouched low.