Michael Spradlin - Blood Riders

Before he mounted up, he walked over to her and took her hand. He kissed it gently, and then with his arms holding her, pulled her slowly out of her saddle until she stood in front of him. He kissed her, a soft gentle kiss.

“Whatever you need. Whatever you’re looking for. This thing you must do. I’m going to help you see it through. All the way. Do you understand me?” He looked at her, his dark eyes fierce and proud, seeing nothing but her at that moment.

It wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be. She was an Archaic, not a creature of emotion; but she felt a tear form in her eye.

She nodded and he kissed her again.

“All the way,” he said.

Slater stood in the parlor, warming himself in front of the fireplace. June in the Rockies could still get cold at night. He had poured himself a large glass of brandy from the senator’s decanter. The one Declan usually kept for himself, filled with the good liquor, thinking no one ever noticed he poured his guests the cheap stuff. He never fooled Slater. And he wasn’t here yet, so fuck him. He’d drink the best.

Declan finally entered the room. He looked like shit. He had lost weight and his eyes were drawn and weary-looking, like a couple of prunes stuck to his face. When he’d heard Slater’s report of what had happened in Absolution, he’d nearly had a nervous breakdown.

“What are we going to do, Slater? What are we going to do?” he’d muttered over and over. “Word gets out. You can’t keep this under wraps forever. People start hearing this kind of talk, no one will move into the territory. It’s bad enough when the Utes and the Sioux and the rest of the red niggers are on the warpath. This will be worse. Far worse. I’ll lose everything,” he moaned.

“Word won’t get out. Pinkerton will dynamite the mine and seal those things in and burn Absolution to the ground. They’ll make up some story, that it was smallpox or something. After a while it will just be a scary story people tell little children at night to scare them. You need to stop worrying.”

Slater had assured the senator they were going to be fine. They were going to let Hollister find the leader of these things. The one who’d done all the killing at Torson City, and then they’d take care of everyone. Hollister especially. With no one to back up any of the wild claims, it could all be put off as an Indian uprising that Delcan had been essential in putting down. Hell, he would be a hero in the state again.

“Hollister, the breed and that woman are headed for someplace called Clady, Wyoming,” Slater said.

“How do you know?”

“Bribed one of the Pinkertons,” Slater said. “They ain’t so upright and virtuous once they see a few greenbacks. Told Nolan they loaded up a bunch of ammo and ordnance and left about an hour ago.”

Declan nodded. “This is good, this is good. You get the men, take my private train, whatever you need, and follow them.”

“I got the men ready, and the train standing by. Don’t worry, Senator, we’ll clean up the mess.”

Declan poured himself three fingers of brandy from his own decanter. He took a large swig and the liquor seemed to calm him. Slater hadn’t moved. He stood by the fire staring at the senator.

“What is it?” Declan asked, his voice shaking.

“It’s nothing, just… we’re going to need to make a small change in our arrangements,” Slater said.

“What? What in tarnation are you talking about?” Declan asked.

“I’m talking about money and land. I’ve ‘handled’ plenty of things for you over the years. We both know what’s been done. But this here is a whole different brand of cattle. And a lot more dangerous to boot.”

The senator was getting his feet under him now. He knew where this was headed and he didn’t like it. “Get to the point,” he mumbled.

“After this is over. When I kill Hollister and clean up this mess, things are going to change a little bit. I’m going to want some land, not just money. The two-thousand-acre piece down by the Sweetheart River ought to cover it… well, here,” he pulled a document from his coat pocket. “I had an attorney in town draw it all up nice and legal so you could sign it before I leave.”

Declan snatched the paper from Slater’s hand, his eyes scanning it quickly.

“Why… you… what the hell… you can’t possibly think I’m going to sign this, you sonuvabitch,” Declan said.

“I expect I can, and I expect you will. I don’t think you got the time right now to find anyone who does what needs to be done. What I’m willing to do, and let’s face it”-he paused to refill his glass, this time pouring from the decanter with the good brandy and making sure Declan saw it-“Hollister and the breed ain’t going to be easy to kill, number one, and number two, I been keeping your secrets all these years and you know I’ll keep this one. Don’t see as how you got much choice, Senator,” he said.

Declan glared at Slater. He was trapped. Slater knew everything. Every rule he’d bent, every law he’d broken, everyone he’d had killed and every farmer he’d burned out. He’d known this day was coming. Slater wasn’t a church deacon. He was a killer and he was smart. This was the price of doing business. He gulped down the rest of his brandy, and walking to his desk, dipped a fountain pen in the inkwell, signed the paper, and handed it back to Slater.

“Thank you, sir. Now I’ll be on my way,” he said.

He left Declan standing alone in the parlor, wondering what the hell had happened to his life.

Hollister was reasonably sure that Chee and Pete knew he and Shaniah had slept together as soon as they arrived back at the train. The behavior between a man and a woman changes when it happens, no matter how much they try to hide it. The train was ready to go: steam was pouring out of the engine and the ramp to the stock car had been lowered. He and Shaniah rode Rose and Demeter right up into the car and unsaddled the horses, giving them water and straw.

When they stepped off, Monkey Pete pulled a lever and the ramp rose up until the car was secure. Then he locked it into place. He tried hard not to pay attention to Shaniah and the major, while Chee waited outside the main car, wrestling around with Dog. Pete and Chee made every effort they could to not look at each other or at Shaniah and Jonas. Finally, Jonas couldn’t take it anymore. Might as well clear the air. But he’d be damned if he’d say anything in front of Shaniah. He was an officer and a gentleman after all.

“You two got something on your mind?” Hollister asked.

“No, sir,” Pete said. “Just enjoying the night air.”

Chee had some kind of knotted rope that he threw through the air. Dog leapt after it, returning at a sprint to drop it at Chee’s feet. This apparently was the greatest game ever invented as far as Dog was concerned.

The quiet hiss of the engine was the only noise disturbing the night. It was almost fully dark now, with a half moon rising in the east.

“Well then, I suggest we get moving,” Hollister said.

“Yes, sir,” Chee said. “Sounds like a good idea.”

“There is one thing I’d like to show you before we leave, Major,” Pete said.

“Sure, Pete, what is it?” Hollister said.

He scampered onto the train and disappeared inside. He was so quick and agile crawling around the train, Hollister understood why General Hunt had given him the nickname “Monkey.” He returned a few minutes later with another strange contraption strapped to his back. There were two metal cylinders inside what looked like an army rucksack an infantryman might carry. At the top of each cylinder was a gauge and from one of them came a hose attached to a long metal barrel welded to a double-barrel shotgun handle.