Ralph Cotton - Midnight Rider

Walker gave him an apprehensive look, touching his fingertips nervously to his fake mustache.

“But you said after this is over…” He let his words trail.

“I know what I said, Walker,” Grolin replied, taking his cigar from his mouth and holding it in the scissors of his thick fingers. “Don’t worry about how I handle my employees. Don’t worry about anything , except how you’re going to spend all this big money.” He looked Walker up and down, then added, “Of course, I suppose the bulk of your loot will have to go to the Golden Circle Ring, eh?”

“How greatly I support the Golden Circle is entirely my own concern, Grolin,” Walker said, jutting his chin.

“No offense,” Grolin said with a slight chuckle. “We all have our vices.”

“I hardly call supporting the Golden Circle a vice ,” said Walker. “We are the ideology that will lead this nation to its rightful place in history. Someday you will thank us for what we’ve done for this country.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever your world deserves,” Grolin said dismissingly. He smiled and puffed on his cigar. “You best get out of here before these men arrive. They see the fake facial hair, they’ll think you’ve gotten too personal with a groundhog.”

“I don’t find that sort of coarse frontier banter at all amusing,” said Walker, again pressing his fingertips to his fake mustache. “But all the same, you’re right, I should be going.” He turned and picked up his coat and black derby hat from a chair.

“I’ll see you again when we’re both rich,” Grolin said as Walker put on his coat and hat and headed out the door.

Once Grolin was alone, he looked back out the window, down at Rochenbach and his men as they rode up to the iron hitch rail out front and stepped down from their saddles.

Chapter 14

Out in front of the Lucky Nut, Rochenbach, Casings and the Giant tied their horses’ reins and walked inside, following Spiller and Frank Penta.

As they crossed the floor toward the bar, Penta and Bryce Shaner directed Casings and the Giant toward the stairs up to Grolin’s office. Spiller and the others veered over to the bar, keeping Rochenbach in their midst.

“What about Rock?” the Stillwater Giant asked, stopping at the foot of the stairs as if taking firm position on an issue. He looked at Penta standing before him and Casings, and at Shaner standing behind them. Both carried rifles in their hands.

“Let Spiller and the boys buy your pal a drink,” Shaner said. His right hand held his Winchester in such a way that offered a quick rise to the Giant’s chest if he wanted. Watching, Rochenbach saw his thumb slide over the rifle’s hammer.

“Rock and I stick together,” the Giant said in his deep, strong voice. “If he stays down here and drinks, so do I.”

“It that a fact?” said Shaner, raising his rifle an inch, threateningly. He gave the Giant a dark stare. “I didn’t know you two were so sweet on each other.”

The Giant returned Shaner’s gaze. “I bet you didn’t know I can turn a rifle barrel into a necktie either.” He took a step toward Shaner, his big hands spread.

Casings saw fear sweep over Shaner’s face, standing under the Giant’s looming shadow. But fear or no fear, he knew Shaner wouldn’t hesitate a second at pulling the Winchester’s trigger.

“Hey, come on, big fellow!” said Casings, stepping in between the two, putting a flat hand on the Giant’s stomach, as if to hold back a leaning boulder. “This isn’t the time or place to go ruining a man’s repeating rifle.”

“Let him go,” Penta said to Casings, in a calm but sinister tone, a sly half smile on his face. “Shaner and I can handle ourselves.”

“So can I,” Casings said, returning Penta’s threat. His right hand wrapped around his gun butt. But he kept leaning, holding the Giant back, knowing if the big man wanted to, he could brush him aside.

Rochenbach shot a glance around at the other gunmen, aware they would side with Penta and Shaner when the shooting started.

“Hey, Giant ,” he called out from his spot at the bar, “can’t I get myself a drink without you two hanging at my elbow?”

The gunmen around Rochenbach chuckled; Giant heard them and gave Rochenbach a strange, hurt look.

Casings also shot him a look. But he quickly saw what Rochenbach was doing and he homed right in on it.

“Yeah, Giant,” he said, “come on. Grolin wants to talk to us first, not him.”

The Giant settled, stunned and red-faced at Rochenbach’s words, and at the ripple of laughter from the other gunmen.

“You—you mean that, Rock?” he asked.

“Jesus! Yes , he means it, Giant,” said Casings. He gave the Giant a friendly punch on his hard stomach. “What’s he got to do to make you understand?”

“Is that right, Rock?” the Giant said, staring at Rochenbach with a hurt look.

Rochenbach didn’t answer. He picked up a shot of whiskey Grolin’s bartender poured for him and tossed it back. Man, this hurts…, he told himself. Seeing the look on the Giant’s big, childlike face, he nodded toward the upper landing, where Grolin waited in his office.

“Get on up the stairs, Giant,” he said. “We work for the same man, don’t we?”

Watching through a peep-slot in his office wall overlooking the saloon, Andrew Grolin smiled to himself as he saw Rochenbach turn to face the bar for a refill. He stood watching a moment longer as the Giant and Casings walked up the stairs, Penta and Shaner front and rear of them. Then he slid the peep-slot shut and walked behind his desk as the sound of their boots wound the hallway and stopped at his door.

“Come in,” he replied gruffly to the knock on his office door.

Frank Penta swung the door open and walked in, followed by Casings, the Giant, then Shaner, who closed the door and started over toward the desk with the others.

“That’s all for you two,” Grolin said to Penta and Shaner. “How far out did you run into my missing gunmen?” he asked as the riflemen started to turn and leave.

“Three miles, four maybe.” Penta shrugged. He looked at Casings and added, “They were coming from the direction they should’ve been.”

“Well… that’s good to hear,” said Grolin. He grinned, took a cigar from his coat pocket, sniffed it lengthwise and nodded Shaner and Penta on toward the door. “Take care of things, get ready to ride.”

“Sure thing,” said Penta, reaching for the doorknob.

Ready to ride…? Casings repeated to himself, curiously.

When the door shut behind them, Grolin noted the questioning look on Casings’ face.

“Yeah, ready to ride. You heard me right,” he said as if answering Casings’ thoughts. “We’re still doing business here. Did you think the world would stop because you two and Avrial Rochenbach weren’t around to keep it rolling?”

“No,” said Casings, “I was just curious, thinking you were talking about the big job.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Grolin said in a short tone. He bit the end off the cigar and stuck it into his mouth. “Now, what the hell happened up there at Hercules?”

“It sounds like you already heard everything that happened,” Casings answered, “except that Rock, the Giant and I went off after Macon Ray and his gunmen.”

“Against my orders, you forgot to mention,” Grolin added for him. “But I suppose that was all Rochenbach’s fault?”

He pulled a match from inside his coat, struck it along the edge of his desk and lit his cigar. Casings watched, gauging Grolin’s voice and demeanor, deciding he wasn’t in any dark, terrible rage over what had happened. This was anger for the show of anger.