David Wilson - Hallowed Ground

"Everything okay out here, Sheriff?" Silas asked.

"Seems these boys are looking for Creed," Stick said matter-of-factly. The tension in his body betrayed his nerves. "I told them they'd best come back by daylight. That sound about right to you?"

Silas nodded.

"Just so long as they bring money for a drink," the barman said.

‡‡‡

Inside the saloon, Mae hurried toward the back and clattered up the steps to the second floor. She'd heard what Moonshine had said. Mae wasn't all that fond of Creed, but if those no-goods out there were looking for him, she figured it might be worth her while to let him know. Something about the way they carried themselves and the almost preternatural silence that hung on them like a shroud set her skin to crawling. Mae wasn’t usually a worrier, but men like that didn't play games, and she’d bet her bottom dollar they weren't here to talk.

She banged on the door to Creed's room.

There was no sound from within. Mae frowned. She lifted her hand to knock again, but before she could follow through, the door swung wide and Creed stood there. He held his pistol in one hand, pointed at her face.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Creed!" Mae ran the names together like they were one.

She backed out of the doorway and hit the wall behind her painfully.

"What do you want?" Creed asked.

"Oh, just piss off, Creed," she muttered, turning back toward the stairs. "I don’t know why I even bothered. Maybe they’ll kill you and do all of us a favor, eh?"

Creed moved. He wasn't quite as quick as Brady, but he was much quicker than Mae. He grabbed her by the shoulder.

"What the hell are you talking about, Mae?"

Mae shrugged out from under his hand, but she didn't leave.

"There's three strangers in the street with Brady," she said. "Say they’ve come lookin' for you."

Creed frowned.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Hmm, let me think . . . idiot. Why in hell would I come up here to tell you if I wasn't sure?" she said, shaking her head. Now that the initial shock of having a gun drawn on her had passed, Mae's temper threatened to get the better of her. "And just what the hell is wrong with you anyway, answerin’ the door like that? Who did you expect to be shooting?"

"No one with good intentions has any reason to visit," he said coldly. He slipped the six-shooter back into its holster and flipped the snap tight. "Count yourself lucky I didn’t just plug a hole in you through the door instead of opening it."

She sniffed.

"What do they want?"

"Hell if I know," Mae answered. "I think Brady's gonna run them out of town. Silas went out with the shotgun to back him up. You going to talk to them?"

Creed shook his head. "I don’t think so. Ain’t no one with a reason to be hunting me down," he said. "But I want to get a look at them. Do me another favor, seein’ as you’ve already done one. Go down ahead of me and let me know if I can get to the window without being seen."

"One minute you pull a gun on me, and the next you expect me to run your errands?" Mae said. "You’re a bloody strange one, Creed."

Creed reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of coins. He held them out to her. Mae stared at his hand, thinking. It didn’t take more than three seconds – one for each of the strangers – for greed to get the better of her. She snatched the money, turned, and flounced back down the stairs. Listening to the almost petulant slap of her feet on the wooden risers, Creed moved to the landing at the top and waited. She reached the bottom, looked around and then ushered him down. Creed descended slowly and carefully. Three steps down – one for each of the strangers waiting for him – Provender Creed flipped loose the snap on his gun.

‡‡‡

The strangers didn't acknowledge Silas’ presence in any way. For what seemed like forever they simply stared at the blind windows. They didn't speak to Brady again – and for that he was blessedly grateful. The sheriff stood his ground and watched as the three turned, at last, and disappeared down the street just as silently as they'd appeared. He scowled at their backs. There was more than something wrong about that little encounter, and he didn’t feel any better for the fact that they were headed on out of town.

"You think they're leaving?" Silas asked, as though reading his mind.

"Not sure what to think," Brady replied, scratching at the stubble above his top lip. "What I can’t figure is why they came into town without their horses. Either there’s more out there, or a camp we don’t know about."

Silas nodded. "I wondered about that," he said. He coughed and spat a wad of chewed tobacco into the dusty street. "But why? What in hell do they want with Creed?"

"I wish I knew," Brady said. He rubbed at his eyes. He was bone tired all of a sudden. He put it down the sudden release of tension and the relief he hadn’t had to fire his gun – yet. He turned toward the doors of the saloon. "Reckon I'll hang around for a drink, Silas. Something tells me those boys aren't going to be as easy to get shed of no matter what it might look like right now."

Silas let the shotgun's barrel dip at his side, and he removed his finger from the trigger. He held the door open wide to let the sheriff through to the taproom. The patrons who'd been gathered at the windows turned quickly. It was wryly amusing that they tried to make it look as though they had no interest in what had just gone down. Moonshine was an old hand at the ‘Blind Eye’ they tried to foist off as disinterest. He wasn't fooled.

"They're gone," he said. "For now. I don't know a damn thing about them or what they wanted, so do me a favor and don't go asking, okay?"

As he stepped up to the bar, Creed melted from the shadows and joined him, leaning against the wooden bar. Brady stiffened, his hand moving instinctively toward the shooter at his hip, but then he relaxed when he saw it was Creed. The sheriff took in Creed's expression and noted the unclipped six-gun.

"Expecting visitors?" Brady raised an eyebrow.

Creed bellied up to the bar so Brady stood between him, the front door, and the windows.

"Nope," Creed said. "Far as I know, everyone who knows I exist lives within fifty miles of here."

"Some fellas out front seemed mighty anxious to make your acquaintance, and I ain’t so sure they were being neighborly, if you take my meaning?" Brady said. "Not very long-winded boys. Said 'Creed' a couple of times, then turned and hightailed it when Silas stepped out with the shotgun. Downright creepy sons of bitches, if you ask me. You want to tell me what that was all about?"

Creed shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine, Moonshine."

Brady sniffed.

"I was you," he said, thinking about what he was about to say next, "I'd stay close for a day or two. I trust my gut, and my gut says your new friends were a bellyful of trouble. They left on foot." He let that hang between them for a moment, trying to judge Creed’s expression. "Me and Silas, we was thinking they might not have gone too far."

Silas slid two glasses of whiskey in front of them.

"He's right, Creed," Silas said. "Those boys were bad news. I’m thinking they’re not the sort you want to be messing with, wherever they came from. They come around again, we'll tell 'em you’ve moved on, but best you keep your head down for a while."

Creed sipped his whiskey and kept one eye on the door. There were a couple of folks back east who wouldn't mind aerating his hide, but he hadn't seen them or heard from them in years and there was no way on God’s earth they’d tracked him out into the middle of nowhere. He thought about the trappers’ camp, and what he'd seen out by The Deacon's tent. Whoever had come looking for him, it wasn't because of anything he'd done in the past. It was all about what was happening right now.