Drifter 5 Page 4

  The doctor told him that he was one of the luckiest men alive. Two bullets had entered his body and neither one had hit anything vital. He’d just lost a lot of blood.

  He’d been found by the hotel owner after Breen and his hired gun had left. The doctor had some men carry him to the surgery where Brown had patched him up. Savage was unconscious for three days before he woke up.

  After learning that Breen and Trent had taken the Longhorns, along with Mavis Porter, the Drifter decided immediately that he would find the woman, rescue her, and take the herd north. Killing Breen, though, would have to be done first.

  Savage tried on the red shirt. Again, it fit him like a glove.

  ‘Do you plan on going after them alone?’ Brown asked, referring to Breen.

  Savage shook his head. ‘Nope. I’m going to scrape together a crew before I go anywhere.’

  ‘Where, pray tell, do you propose to get one of them?’

  ‘I was hoping you could tell me.’

  The doctor shook his head and then realized Savage wasn’t joking. ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘I figured you would know. I’ll need fellers with experience who ain’t afraid to fight.’

  ‘There’s only one place in Deadman you’ll find men like that.’

  ‘Where?’

  Brown’s voice was a low growl when he next spoke. ‘At the Long Trail Saloon.’

  Savage frowned. ‘I didn’t know there was a third saloon in town.’

  ‘It ain’t a saloon as such. It’s a watering hole for crooks, thieves, and murderers. You’ll find who you’re looking for all right, but be careful.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They’re all bad, to a man. Every single one of them. Ain’t no decent townsfolk set foot in the place. Even the sheriff stayed away from it.’

  ‘It’s a wonder Breen didn’t take it over.’

  ‘Even he had more sense than to try. I pity the poor person who tries to clean it up.’

  ‘Is there anyone special I should keep an eye out for?’ Savage asked as he strapped his gun belt around his waist.

  Brown sighed. ‘There’s going to be no talking you out of it, is there?’

  ‘Nope.’

  The doctor gave a resigned nod and rubbed his tired eyes. ‘The barkeep is the owner. His name is Ike. If he takes a dislike to you, he’ll try to shoot you. If he bends down behind the bar, watch out. He’s got a sawn-off scattergun there. The second one is Johnny Hanson. Young feller who’s pure mean. He likes killing just for the hell of it. You’ll know him right off. The third feller is the rope that ties all of them together. His name is Mike Bannister. He’s an ex-Confederate officer. He’s tough.’

  Savage finished putting his boots on and walked over to the corner to pick up the Yellow Boy Winchester. ‘So am I, Doc. Now, where will I find this Long Trail Saloon?’

  The Long Trail Saloon was on a back street one block off main. It was a low, single-storey affair with a false-front that had seen better days. One of the batwings hung freely as it had lost the top hinge, the paint on the sign had faded, and the bridging rail to which horses would normally be hitched, had fallen upon the ground.

  Savage paused outside the entrance and gathered himself. There wasn’t a lot of noise coming from within but there was some. Not surprising considering it was just after noon. The scent of cigar smoke, stale alcohol, and an aroma of unwashed bodies filtered through the opening.

  When the Drifter entered, stern gazes focused on him. He stopped a few paces inside to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. There were maybe twenty people inside. His estimate included a couple of scantily-clad whores who looked as though they’d been dragged through some briar patch. Their corsets were torn, and their hair stuck out at odd angles.

  One of them sensed fresh meat and hurried across to him and gave her best gap-toothed smile. She thrust out her ample chest, the ripped garment only covering one of her large, pale breasts.

  ‘Hi there, handsome, buy me a drink? I could sure use one.’

  ‘You could use a lot of things, but a drink ain’t one of them.’

  She pulled a face at him and then poked out her tongue. ‘Screw you, asshole.’

  ‘Not in this lifetime,’ Savage said and walked further into the room.

  Behind the Drifter’s back, the whore made a signal to the man behind the bar. He nodded and moved a short distance along it.

  When Savage stood before him he asked, ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Whiskey.’

  The barkeep nodded and turned away to get a bottle off the shelf behind him. Above his head was a long mirror in which Savage was able to observe some of the movement behind him.

  Johnny Hanson was easy enough to pick out. A baby-faced young man with no more than peach fuzz adorning his cheeks. He wore twin six-guns about his hips. He also seemed to carry an air of confidence. From what the Drifter could see, maybe too much.

  Hanson stared openly at Savage’s back and knew it would only be a matter of time before he started something with the stranger.

  The barkeep let the half-full bottle thump onto the battered bar-top, and placed a not-so-clean glass beside it. He looked Savage over and said, ‘Kinda customary around here to buy one of my girls a drink.’

  The Drifter looked him in the eye. So this was Ike. He said, ‘Kinda customary from where I come from, for them to have a bath every now and then, too.’

  Ike’s brows knitted together. ‘Talk like that will get a feller into trouble around here.’

  Savage ignored him. ‘I’m looking for a feller named Bannister. I was told I could find him here.’

  Ike stared at him and then nodded. ‘Uh huh.’

  The saloon owner bent down below the bar.

  ‘ … watch out.’

  The Drifter moved with lightning speed as Ike started to come erect. The Yellow Boy came up and streaked across the bar, butt first and the brass plate smashed into the ’keep’s forehead, rendering him useless.

  The man’s eyes rolled back in his head, and blood began to trickle from a nasty cut that had opened where the gun had struck him. He went limp and fell to the floor. Although Savage didn’t see the shotgun, he heard it rattle to the floor.

  Without missing a beat, the Winchester came back around and settled on the young gunman. The kid froze, guns halfway out of their holsters.

  Savage shook his head. ‘You don’t want to die this day, son.’

  Hanson clenched his jaw, fire in his eyes as he realized Savage had bested him.

  ‘Unbuckle the belt and let it drop,’ the Drifter ordered.

  Hanson glanced at a table to his left where two men sat. One of them was a big man with a trim beard flecked with gray. His face was a walnut-brown and his hair, dark. Was this Bannister? His nod was almost imperceptible.

  Savage shifted his gaze back to the kid who finished with his buckle. But the gun belt never fell to the floor at his feet. Instead, he did something foolish and flung it at the Drifter.

  The bearded man’s chair scraped back as he lurched to his feet. The distraction was pitiful and telegraphed. The Yellow Boy in Savage’s hands bucked and roared. The slug caught the man in the throat before his six-gun could even come level. Blood sprayed hot and tacky over the other man at the table before he could move.

  The bearded man clawed at the ghastly wound, eyes wide. Then he toppled to the left and crashed to the floor.

  The Winchester shifted a touch left. As it moved, Savage worked the lever and jacked another round into the breech. It roared once more, and the man covered with his dead friend’s blood, cried out and grabbed at his shoulder where the .44 Henry slug had smashed it.

  Another round was rammed home into the chamber and the Drifter looked for another target in the stunned room.

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ the kid snarled.

  The Yellow Boy’s still-smoking barrel came back to rest on the kid’s chest. ‘Live and learn kid. Don’t make a move until you know your enemy.’


  ‘Spoken like a soldier,’ a voice to the Drifter’s right, said.

  Savage caught the movement of a man coming out of his seat. He swiveled the Winchester and it snapped into line with the man’s midriff. The newcomer raised his hands and said, ‘Easy, General Sherman. I ain’t looking to cause you any grief. Besides, I heard you tell Ike you was looking for me. I’m Bannister.’

  He was a solidly-built man, Savage observed. He carried himself with pride too. His hair was brown, which matched his face and mustache. He also wore brown pants and shirt. About his hips was a single holster gun belt with the Colt Navy butt forward in a cross-draw position. Savage figured he was around his own age.

  ‘What is it you want with me?’ Bannister asked.

  ‘Kill him, Mike,’ Hanson snarled.

  ‘Shut up, kid,’ Bannister snapped. ‘I want to know what he wants first.’

  Savage let down the hammer on the Yellow Boy and pointed the barrel towards the floor. ‘How about we get a drink and I’ll explain a few things. As long as no one else tries to kill me, that is.’

  Bannister nodded. ‘They won’t. I don’t think I could stand the losses.’

  ‘Fine, then. Let’s talk.’

  Pale, brown liquid sloshed into the glass and Bannister pushed it across the table towards Savage. The Drifter knocked it back and felt the burn as it flowed down his throat.

  ‘Tell me what you want, Savage?’ Bannister asked.

  Savage gave him a curious look.

  ‘I know who you are. I wish I’d known how tough you were before you killed two of my men, but yeah, I know who you are. And going by what I’ve heard, it seems you’re a hard man to kill. Breen shot you point-blank, didn’t he?’

  The Drifter nodded. ‘Got lucky I guess.’

  Bannister inclined his head. ‘So, I ask again. Tell me what you want.’

  ‘I need your help.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘I’m going to steal a herd of Longhorns.’

  ‘Breen’s herd?’

  Savage nodded. ‘They ain’t Breen’s. They’re the Porter woman’s.’

  Bannister took a drink from the glass in front of him and then refilled both before he said, ‘I get that you want to go after Breen for shooting you, but why the cattle?’

  ‘After I’ve taken care of Breen, she’s going to need a crew to take the herd to Cheyenne.’

  ‘And you figure I can help you do that?’

  Savage nodded. ‘For the right price.’

  ‘Which is what?’

  ‘Five-hundred a man and one-thousand for you. You’ll be ramrod. I figure on fifteen men plus a cook. Works out to be nine-thousand all up.’

  Bannister stared at Savage and then asked, ‘You got that kind of money?’

  The Drifter shook his head. ‘Not that much. No one will see a cent until the cattle are sold.’

  ‘What’s stopping me from killing you and taking the cows myself?’

  ‘If you want to end up like your friends, then try.’

  Bannister tried to read Savage’s expression and realized that what the Drifter had said wasn’t a brag, it was a simple statement.

  ‘All right. But I only have six men left since you shot two. We’ll need more than that.’

  ‘Then find them. We’ll need a good scout. One that knows the country and where to find water. Even if there is none to be found.’

  ‘There’s only one type of scout that I can think of who can do that.’

  Savage nodded.

  Bannister continued. ‘About two miles northeast of here you’ll find what you need.’

  ‘What I’ll need?’

  ‘More like who,’ Bannister told him. ‘A feller by the name of Llano Sam has a small horse ranch there. He’s part Comanche. If you can convince him to come along, then he’s your man.’

  ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything about him?’

  Bannister gave a wry smile. ‘Let’s just say that his Comanche side can sometimes get the better of him.’

  Savage glanced across to where Hanson sat with a scowl on his face. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Him? He’s as hot-headed as they come. Rather have a gunfight than a meal.’

  ‘Then why should I have him come along? I want men who’ll fight beside me, not try to kill me or cause me more trouble than they’re worth.’

  The bottle clinked on glass as more whiskey was poured. ‘He’s good with horses. If you want a good man in charge of the remuda, then he’s it.’

  ‘And if I have to wail the tar out of him?’

  Bannister sighed. ‘That will only be a matter of when, not if.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘If I sign on, it’s until the end of the line. But if I get there and you can’t pay, we’ll be butting more than heads.’

  ‘Fair enough. Now, what about extra hands, and a cook?’

  ‘I’ll find them. When did you want to leave?’

  ‘Day after tomorrow. Everyone will have to supply their own grub until we catch up to the herd.’

  Bannister nodded. ‘I guess we can manage that.’

  Savage stood up from the table and looked around the seedy-looking room. ‘I’ll see you back here tomorrow night then?’

  ‘I won’t be hard to locate.’

  ‘Until then.’

  ‘Yeah. Until then.’

  A rifle fired a third slug that cracked as it passed closer than the previous two. Savage cursed and hunkered down lower behind the small slab of rock.

  ‘Hold your fire, you ornery son of a bitch, I just want to talk!’

  ‘Get the hell off my land, white man, before I put a bullet in your mangy hide.’

  The voice was deep and harsh. Savage had no doubt that Sam would do just that if he couldn’t get him to stop long enough to listen.

  He’d approached the small, rundown house not long before noon and no sooner had he come within shouting distance, when Llano Sam opened fire on him. Savage had thrown himself from the saddle and as he did so, took the Yellow Boy with him. But so far, he hadn’t used it. After all, what good was a dead scout to him?

  Savage shouted, ‘Ain’t you part white?’

  ‘The part that’s shooting at you ain’t.’

  Another couple of shots were sent the Drifter’s way.

  Savage was starting to lose patience. Apart from laying under an increasingly hot sun, Sam’s shots were getting closer. ‘Hold your fire damn it! I want to offer you a job.’

  ‘What doing?’ Sam shouted back.

  ‘Riding trail scout for a herd.’

  ‘Not interested!’

  More shots.

  ‘It pays five-hundred dollars.’

  There was a drawn-out silence.

  Savage filled his lungs again. ‘Did you hear me?’

  The squeak of hinges signaled that the front door had been opened and the half-breed Comanche stepped outside. ‘I heard you.’

  The Drifter lifted his head to peer over the rock. Sam was standing in the sun with his rifle angled across his body. His long, dark hair seemed to shimmer in the daylight and his face was a deep, walnut color and slightly rounded.

  ‘If I come out, are you going to shoot me?’ Savage called to him.

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘If you’re lying to me or not.’

  ‘I ain’t lying.’

  ‘Well then, come ahead.’

  Savage stood erect and braced himself for the shot he fully expected.

  ‘Who are you?’ Sam asked.

  ‘The name’s Savage,’ Savage answered.

  ‘What’s this about five-hundred dollars?’

  The Drifter looked about him. Everything looked dry and brittle. ‘Been a spell since you had some rain?’

  Sam nodded. ‘Some. The money. Tell me about the money.’

  ‘I need a scout for a trail herd that’s headed north. You interested?’

  Sam gave him a questioning look. ‘For
five-hundred dollars? Nope. What’s the catch?’

  Savage told him about Breen and how they would have to steal the herd back first.

  Sam shook his head. ‘Nope. I ain’t going. I have enough of my own troubles without buying into somebody else’s. Find yourself another scout.’

  The Drifter shook his head. ‘The man who recommended you said you were the feller I’d need. He said you could find water in a desert and could find a trail over rock.’

  With a derisive snort, Sam asked, ‘Who told you that shit?’

  ‘Mike Bannister.’

  The half-breed’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that young punk, Hanson, going along?’

  ‘As far as I know.’

  ‘Right then, count me in. I’ll be your scout. Give me some time to get a horse ready and I’ll ride with you.’

  Thirty minutes later, Sam was ready, and the two men started their ride back to Deadman. Savage looked at him and asked, ‘Will your horses be all right while you’re away?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Then the Drifter asked the question that was burning to get out. ‘What made you change your mind about coming?’

  Without looking at Savage, Sam said, ‘Hanson. I aim to kill him before we’re through.’

  A loud scream pierced the saloon and through the melee of arms and legs, Savage was sure he’d seen Sam bite Hanson on the ear. The Drifter winced as the young man flung his head forward and his brow caught the half-breed Comanche across the bridge of his nose.

  Blood flowed from both men, along with grunts and curses. Savage was pleased that Sam had lost his knife early on, otherwise who knew what might have happened.

  ‘You could’ve warned me about this before I hired him,’ Savage growled at Bannister.

  ‘What, this? This ain’t nothing. They’ll run out of steam soon and they’ll be right for a few days before they try again.’

  ‘Christ,’ Savage shook his head as the pair crashed through a chair and turned it into matchwood. ‘What’s their problem?’

  ‘Do they need one?’

  Savage had seen enough. He drew his Remington and strode forward into the maelstrom. With two deft blows, both brawling men went down clutching at sore heads. Their moans could be heard clearly, as the cheers of the other men ceased at the Drifter’s interference.