Way of the Gun Page 4

  ‘Turn and face us when you die,’ Jethro barked out.

  Somebody scraped a chair at the back of the room, and it sounded like a cannon went off.

  At Provost’s table, Jake Cahill turned to his boss. ‘Should we try to stop this? That poor bastard is as good as dead.’

  Provost shook his head. ‘You can’t stop it now, Jake. It will have to play out.’

  Just at that moment, Sumner turned to openly face the three gunmen. ‘Jethro, you’re like a hog rooting in a bucket, looking for trouble you can’t handle. Your brother was a stone killer that I shot in a simple drawdown. He deserves to be where I put him. If you want to go to war over that, it’s your choice.’

  A drinker down the bar was emptying a bottle of rum all by himself. He had moved away from the action. ‘Kill him, boys! Put that money-for-murder bastard under six feet of good Montana dirt!’

  That seemed to fire the brothers up even more. Their faces were flushed. Jethro’s eyes were wild-glittery. ‘Go for your iron!’ Jethro gritted out.

  A couple of men at nearby tables belatedly rose and moved off. The room was otherwise collectively holding its breath. Then the threesome began drawing, all at the same moment.

  What happened next was hard to follow. By the time the first sidearm was in the hands of one of the brothers, Sumner’s Colt appeared magically in his hand and began a raucous firing that assaulted the ears of all present. One by one the chunks of hot lead struck the gunhands of his adversaries as their weapons cleared leather, and one by one the brothers cried out in pain as their sidearms went flying and they grabbed their gunhands in violent pain. Then a fourth explosion from the long Colt and the drinker who had called out for Sumner’s demise saw his rum bottle shatter before his eyes, and send liquid and glass shards onto him. The Peacemaker then barked out a last time, and the shot glass the bartender was holding disintegrated in his hand without touching him.

  All five shots had taken just six seconds. Gunsmoke hung thick in the air. Jethro was on the floor, holding his fractured hand and yelling. The other two brothers had staggered to the bar and were collapsed against it, holding their gunhands, both of which were shot. The drinker down the bar was looking at his shirt front with a curious expression, and the barman was staring at his empty fist where the glass had been. He turned slowly to regard Sumner in awe.

  Sumner twirled the Peacemaker over three times backward in his hand, then twice forward until it settled smoothly into its well oiled holster.

  Silence fell heavily back into the room, except for the moaning of Jethro Walcott. Provost and Cahill exchanged another, longer look.

  ‘Sonofabitch,’ somebody muttered from a dark corner.

  The bartender and the liquor-splashed drinker were both eyeing Sumner warily. Sumner spoke to the former. ‘Pour me a Planter’s Rye. Then get them out of here.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ In a muffled tone.

  Now a buzz started around the room, as Sumner received his drink and took a swallow of it, as if nothing had happened. The bartender guided the three subdued brothers outside, and directed them to a doctor down the street. The liquor-stained drinker followed them, making a wide circuit around Sumner.

  By the time the barman returned, still eyeing Sumner cautiously, Sumner was finished with his drink. He threw a couple of coins on to the bar.

  ‘Thanks for the hospitality,’ he said acidly. He turned to leave, and found Jake Cahill beside him.

  ‘Wait a minute, Sumner,’ Cahill said. ‘Mr Provost at that table over there would like to have a word with you, if you can spare the time.’

  Sumner glanced over at Provost and Corey Ross. ‘No,’ he said. He started around Cahill.

  ‘Please wait,’ Cahill urged him.

  Sumner stopped, and looked into his eyes. ‘What’s this all about?’

  ‘Provost likes what he saw there. He’s a rancher from Nebraska. He’s out here on a quest.’

  Sumner frowned. The room had returned to normal now. ‘A quest? What the hell does that have to do with me?’

  ‘Just let him buy you a drink,’ Cahill said.

  Sumner sighed. ‘Oh, hell. I’ll give you that long.’

  They walked over there together. When Provost saw him up close, he physically felt the proximity of this dangerous man. His mere presence filled the immediate area with a feeling of impending violence.

  Provost asked him to sit down, and he took a chair. Cahill sat near him. Sumner glanced diffidently at Ross as Provost called out an order for drinks all around.

  ‘I’m pleasured to meet you, Sumner,’ Provost told him. He introduced Ross. ‘And those men at the next table are my people too. They work on my ranch in Nebraska.’

  Sumner said nothing.

  ‘From what we heard, you’re a bounty hunter.’

  Sumner’s face fell into more sober lines. ‘And I guess you’ll have some thoughts about making a living that way. Is that what you brought me over here for?’

  Provost shook his head. ‘Not at all. I know all about the profession, and find no fault with it. I was particularly interested in the way you handled those three men. It was very impressive. You managed a bad situation well.’

  The drinks came, and Sumner took a swig of his. ‘Well, I don’t often receive any compliments for what I do. I appreciate it, and the drink. When I’m finished with it I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘We’re staying at that hotel across the street,’ Provost went on. ‘I was hoping you’d meet us there later for a serious talk.’

  Sumner was frowning again. ‘Talk? About what?’

  ‘I might have some work for you.’

  ‘I have work. And it keeps me pretty busy.’

  ‘I know. But this could save a girl’s life. And the pay would be substantial.’

  Sumner absorbed that. ‘It would have to be. I don’t work a bounty under five thousand.’

  ‘And you never take a man in alive,’ Provost said with a half-smile.

  ‘You hear a lot.’

  ‘I finally remembered your name. We know about you, even in Nebraska. But I never knew how good you are. Till I saw what just happened in here.’

  Sumner studied Provost’s face, and decided he could trust it. ‘I’m in the middle of something. A man named Jenkins. He was reported to be here in Billings, but he’s gone. I can’t just quit on him, and it could take a while now to track him down.’

  ‘I hear you’ll take six months to track a man down. That’s the kind of man I need for this. Look, let’s just talk some about it. But not here, with all this noise.’

  Sumner studied his face some more. ‘I’ll give you a half-hour,’ he finally told him. ‘And I’m not making any promises.’

  They all went to the hotel together, and Sumner reserved a room before he accompanied Provost and Cahill to a large suite on the second floor. They sat around the room in overstuffed chairs facing each other, with Provost’s and Cahill’s guns and holsters thrown on to the nearby bed. Sumner kept his on. He still wore the dark jacket over the shoulder holster bearing the one-shot Derringer, but neither of them even knew it existed, yet. He leaned back in his chair and removed his black Stetson, and placed it on his knee and Provost assessed what a handsome figure he presented. He did not look like a killer. Except when he was obliged to use the Peacemaker that still hung, ominous, on his gunbelt.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Your half-hour just started.’

  That made Provost a bit anxious, and irritated. ‘Mr Sumner. Have you ever heard of a man named Duke Latham?’

  Sumner looked at the ceiling, thinking. ‘When I first started all this, somebody by that name held up a stage not far from here. And he might have broken the law in Wyoming, too. But there was never enough of a bounty on him to get my attention.’

  Provost nodded. ‘Well, I didn’t know all that, and I hired him to work for me at my ranch. When I figured out he wasn’t the kind of man for us, I fired him. He apparently went crazy about the firing, and a few weeks ago he abducted
my sixteen-year-old daughter. There was no ransom demand. I think he intends to keep her.’ He paused, and stared at the floor for a moment.

  ‘He was always harassing Dulcie, at the ranch,’ Cahill cut in during the pause.

  ‘She’s just an innocent kid, Sumner,’ Provost went on. ‘And God knows what he’s doing with her, or intends to do. I’m hoping that if we find him, it won’t be too late.’

  ‘He sounds like a sonofabitch,’ Sumner conceded.

  ‘That’s an understatement,’ Cahill growled.

  ‘We thought we’d find him out here, where he came from,’ Provost went on. ‘But we’ve come up empty-handed.’

  ‘What makes you think I could find him?’ Sumner said.

  ‘You have the experience. At keeping after a man till you locate him. We’re novices at this.’ He caught Sumner’s eye. ‘We need you, Sumner. I need you. You might be my last chance to ever see her again.’

  Sumner sat quietly again. Then, finally: ‘I’d be out five thousand with Jenkins.’

  ‘Latham has two men with him. I’ll pay you five for each of them. And another ten for bringing Dulcie home to me.’

  Sumner narrowed his eyes on Provost. ‘That’s a lot of money.’

  ‘That’s how important she is to me. That would make up for Jenkins and quite a bit more. Of course, I’d want the three of them dead. But that shouldn’t be a problem for you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t consider it under any other conditions,’ Sumner told him.

  Provost smiled at that. Sumner got up and walked over to a dark window, and the two other men watched him.

  ‘I worked for Clay Allison for a short time on his ranch. That was after his day of the gun. I don’t see how anyone could do that, year after year. Ranching.’ He was still looking out the window.

  Provost and Cahill exchanged a smile. ‘I guess it has to be in a man’s blood,’ Provost offered. ‘How did you come by your profession?’

  Sumner didn’t turn from the window. There was silence for a moment. ‘A friend of mine was murdered. He was just a kid. He was beat to death by two federal marshals, down in the Territory. That was right ater I’d gotten out of a hellhole of a Texas state prison.’

  Provost and Cahill exchanged another look, but a sombre one. Sumner turned back from the window.

  ‘I went after the two marshals and killed both of them, but by that time they were both on the wrong side of the law themselves.’ He paused. ‘After that, I just kept on going after killers.’

  Provost studied that lean face. ‘I guess I have to ask this. What got you thrown into prison?’

  Sumner caught his eye. ‘Murder.’

  Provost furrowed his brow. ‘I see.’

  ‘When I was just your daughter’s age, and living with my aunt, three men came in one night and raped and murdered her. They beat me senseless and left me for dead. I later found them, one by one, and killed them. The law thought I ought to think about that behind bars for a few years.’

  Provost blew his cheeks out. ‘Sounds like you’re a man that takes matters into his own hands. None of that bothers me, Sumner. Will you go get my daughter for me?’

  Sumner resumed his seat in the chair. He took a deep breath in. ‘I wouldn’t tolerate any interference. And I wouldn’t want any assistance. I work entirely alone.’

  ‘Done,’ Provost said, sitting forward on his chair.

  ‘And I’m not a miracle worker. If you can’t find her, I may not be able to.’

  ‘I have great confidence in you, Sumner,’ Provost told him.

  Sumner made a sound in his throat. ‘I won’t take anything for your daughter, if I’m successful. You never know what shape she’ll be in, anyway.’

  ‘Well, I’d like to. . . .’

  ‘Is there anything about Latham’s background I should know?’

  ‘He never talked much about his past,’ Provost answered.

  ‘I just remembered,’ Cahill said. ‘He talked to a drifter once that was high on some town in the southwest. Texas or the Territory. Latham was saying how excited this drifter was about the place. When you mentioned the Indian Territory I remembered. But this must have been almost a year ago.’

  ‘I never heard that,’ Provost offered.

  ‘I didn’t think it was important,’ Cahill responded. ‘But hell. Maybe he went south or southwest, Maynard, instead of west.’

  ‘If I wanted to go where nobody would ever find me,’ Sumner said, ‘I’d head for the Territory. That’s where everybody goes that’s running from something.’

  ‘Damn!’ Provost muttered. ‘We’ve been looking in the wrong places.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Sumner mused. ‘You could just have missed him here in Montana. Or he could be in Canada.’

  ‘But you’ll start on this for me? Tomorrow?’

  Sumner hesitated, then nodded. ‘I won’t want any payment until I bring her home to you.’ He rose and settled the Stetson back on to his head. ‘Where’s the ranch?’

  ‘Not far outside Ogallala. Anybody there can direct you out to the ranch.’

  ‘There won’t be any reporting. You won’t hear from me again until I show up with her or I give it up as a lost cause.’

  Provost and Cahill rose, too. Provost extended his hand. ‘I appreciate this, Sumner.’

  Sumner took it, and Provost was surprised by the iron in the grip. ‘Don’t thank me. I’ve done nothing. But I’ll put all my time and energy on it. I wish you well, Provost.’

  ‘God speed, Mr Sumner,’ Provost replied soberly.

  In a sleazy little saloon in Pawnee Junction, down in Indian Territory, One Ear Weeks sat at a table with another man whom he had just met, and they had been drinking heavily. Weeks was supposed to be watching Dulcie at the old house they had rented, a couple of miles from town, while Latham and Sloan were off to a neighbouring village, looking into robbery possibilities. But Weeks figured an hour away could cause no harm since there was no way, really, for Dulcie to run. He had intended to be back in an hour, but he had been there almost two.

  The place was quiet early that afternoon, with just a few other patrons scattered about the beer-odorous room.

  ‘Yeah, we got this place not far from town,’ Weeks was saying in his high, and now slurred, voice. ‘It works fine for a headquarters. And you ought to see what we got out there.’

  The other fellow was a tall, stringy man with wrinkled clothing and straw-like hair, and was a drifter just passing through. He had bought most of the drinks. ‘Yeah? You got a stash of rum out there? I ain’t had none of that for a goddam year.’

  ‘No, no. Something better than that. We got this sweet little filly out there. Stole her from up north. A hot tamale.’

  ‘A girl?’

  ‘Yes, a girl, pea-brain. Just a kid, but you ought to see her. She makes a man’s tongue hang out.’ A conspiratorial grin.

  His companion returned the grin. ‘So. That’s how you spend your time at night.’

  The grin evaporated from Weeks’ narrow face. ‘Naw. We got this partner. He thinks she belongs to him. It’s hands off for the rest of us. And even he ain’t tasted that yet. It’s a goddam waste. She’s ripe as a low-hanging fruit.’

  ‘That don’t seem right.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ He looked around himself conspiratorially. ‘Listen. Buy the next round and I’ll show her to you.’

  ‘Really? Hell, yes. I’m in!’

  Less than an hour later Weeks and his new friend arrived at the house.

  It was a run-down Victorian place with the paint gone and a broken porch railing. Weeds grew up high around the yard, where Weeks and the other man, who called himself Seger, hitched their mounts to a short rail. They climbed up to the porch and Weeks unlocked the front door. Latham and Sloan were not due back until much later, and in Weeks’ inebriated state he had no fear of entertaining his companion briefly before sending the fellow on his way.

  When they stepped inside they were in a wide parlour cluttered with old, weat
hered furniture, including a long sofa that was losing its stuffing. There was an archway to a kitchen, from which Dulcie now emerged.

  She was wearing a low-cut blouse and floor-length skirt that Latham had bought for her in town. Her auburn hair had fallen down on to the sides of her face from some work in the other room. She held a dish towel in one hand, and now brushed at her hair with the other.

  ‘Oh. It’s you,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re lucky you got back before Duke.’

  Seger took one look at Dulcie, and uttered a low whistle. ‘Woo-ee! You wasn’t lying to me, partner! She’s a honey!’

  Weeks’ face showed the pride of showing off a prize possession. ‘Ain’t she something? Dulcie girl, this is my new friend Seger. He just wanted to meet you and jaw a little.’

  ‘Duke won’t like this,’ she warned him. ‘Now, please excuse me. He’ll beat me if those dishes aren’t washed.’

  Seger walked over to her. ‘No, wait, honey. Let me get a good look. We ain’t hardly met.’

  ‘I’m not interested in meeting you,’ she told him in a hard voice. ‘I recommend you leave while you can.’

  Seger was leering at her cleavage. ‘I have to admit. You got it all, honey. I’d like to see you with that shirt off.’ A crooked grin. She could smell the liquor on his breath.

  ‘Damn you, Weeks!’ she said angrily. She turned to leave, but Seger caught her arm, making her drop the dishcloth. She gasped as he turned her to face him.

  ‘We can talk a minute, can’t we?’ Seger said thickly, his breath coming a little short now.

  Weeks suddenly looked sober. ‘I . . . wouldn’t do that, Seger,’ he managed in an uncertain voice.

  ‘We come out here to see her, didn’t we?’ Seger argued. ‘I’d like to see more of her!’

  When Seger reached down to unbutton the top button of her blouse, several things happened very quickly. Dulcie yelled in protest, and then slapped him hard across his face. While Weeks began laughing at that, the front door opened and Duke Latham walked in.

  Ira Sloan came in just behind him.

  Latham stopped just inside the room and stared hard at the threesome over by the doorway to the kitchen. He had heard Dulcie yell.