Ralph Cotton - Midnight Rider

“It’s amazing,” Casings said, relaxing, “no doubt about it.”

When the doctor finished removing stones and bullets from the Giant’s wounds, he dressed the wounds with clean cotton gauze and wound his huge body with strips of cloth to hold the gauze in place. As he finished, he looked down at the Giant’s trousers and noted that two large pairs of trousers had been sewn together into one. As he helped the Giant put on his shirt, he saw it had been made out of a large wool blanket.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, Mr. Garth, you are the biggest man I have ever seen,” the doctor said in amazement.

“I don’t mind,” said the Giant, his huge fingers buttoning the bib of his shirt. “I’m glad to hear it since I was the runt of my family.”

“My God,” said the doctor, “you can’t be serious!”

The Giant grinned and didn’t answer.

“I am the biggest man in the world, Doctor,” he said.

“How do you know that to be true?” the doctor said.

“I’ve asked around,” said the Giant.

Casings chuckled under his breath, drew coins from his pocket and placed them on the doctor’s desk. The doctor looked at them and nodded his approval.

As the two left the doctor’s office and walked to the hitch rail out front, each with a rifle in his hands, they slowed to a halt, seeing Andrew Grolin, Heaton Swank and their remaining men standing in a wide half circle around the front of the doctor’s white clapboard-sided house.

“Well, well, well-well-well !” said Grolin, with a wide, menacing grin.

A few feet from Grolin, Dent Spiller had his rifle aimed at the two gunmen. Silas Dooley stood flanking Spiller with ten feet between them. Swank was a few feet from Spiller on his right. Bobby Kane stood off to the side, still looking confused, but appearing to be a little more aware of what was going on around him.

Grolin’s left fist rested on his cocked hip, while his right hand wrapped around the butt of a big holstered Colt.

“Tell me something, Pres,” he said. “How many times do I have to kill you two before it’s going to stick?”

Chapter 27

Casings and the Stillwater Giant stood four feet apart in the dirt street, their shadows stretching long in the afternoon sunlight. Grolin looked them up and down, noting the bandage on Casings’ head. Neither of them had offered an answer to his question moments ago. They had no doubt he would kill them this time.

Spiller took a step forward, his rifle aimed and cocked toward the two wounded gunmen.

“Don’t talk to these two poltroons, boss,” he said to Grolin. “Give me the word, I’ll chop them both down right now where they stand.”

“Not before I wring your head off like a chicken!” the Giant growled at Spiller. He stepped forward; rifles cocked. Casings grabbed him by the tail of his coat.

“Take it easy, Giant,” Casings said loud enough for Grolin to hear. “Don’t do it. This is what they want us to do!”

“Try me, Giant!” said Spiller, taking a stance with his rifle toward the big man. “I’ll kill you quicker than—”

“Relax, Dent, we’re talking here,” Grolin ordered, cutting Spiller off. He chuckled a little. Knowing the two wounded gunmen were outnumbered, he was in no hurry. This time he had them. They weren’t leaving here alive. He looked at Casings.

“Believe me, Pres,” he said, “if I wanted you both dead right now , you’d both be lying bloody in the street right now. ” He looked past the two, his eyes searching the doctor’s porch, the front door.

“What do you want, then?” asked Casings. Both he and the Giant stood with their right hands on the butt of their Colts. Rifles hung ready in their left hands. Still, they both knew the odds were against them.

“I want the son of a bitch who fouled everything up for me!” Grolin said angrily. “ That’s what I want! ”

“Then you’re out of luck,” Casings said. “Rock’s dead.”

“You’re lying, Pres,” Grolin said.

“Hell yes, he’s lying,” said Spiller. “Let me blow his head off.”

“Wait, damn it to hell!” Grolin said to Spiller, losing patience, giving him a scorching stare. He shot a look back at Casings and said, “What do you mean he’s dead? Didn’t he kill Shaner when I left him to take care of him?”

“Yeah, he killed Shaner,” said Casings. “But we found him dead on the trail. Evidently the posse made quick work of him.”

Grolin chuffed and relaxed a little. He let out a breath.

“Hell,” he said, “I never thought I’d be this happy to hear about a posse killing a long rider.” He let his hand come off his gun butt, go inside his coat and come out with a fresh cigar.

Around him, the men eased down a little, except for Spiller. Itching for a fight, he kept his rifle aimed and cocked.

“Who the hell were they anyway?” he asked Casings. “Railroad men or what?”

Casings only shrugged. He and the Giant kept their right hands on their holstered Colts and watched as Grolin bit the tip off a fresh cigar and blew it away.

“I don’t know what they are,” Casings said. “But I see you didn’t get all the gold from them.”

“Not all,” said Grolin, “not yet anyway. But I will get it all. Swank and I are partnered up on it.” He gestured a nod toward Heaton Swank, who stood watching, listening, his hand also resting on his holstered gun butt. “We’ll get it all before it’s over.”

“Yeah? Well, we’ve got news for you, Andrew,” said the Giant, a wide grin coming to his big face. Knowing he was going to die anyway, he couldn’t deny himself the satisfaction of seeing the look on Grolin’s face when he found out the ingots were not real gold at all, only cheap gilded metal. “Tell him, Pres,” he said, turning it over to Casings.

“Keep quiet about it, Giant,” said Casings. “We don’t need to tell him anything.”

“Tell me what, Pres?” Grolin said.

“Nothing,” Casings said. He stared hard at Dent Spiller, the man who used to be his close friend. To the Giant he said, “Let them all find out for themselves.”

From inside his coat, Grolin took out a match, struck it and lit his cigar. He puffed on it, shook out the match and held the cigar between his finger and thumb.

“If there’s something you want to tell me, Pres, get to it,” Grolin said. “If not, I see no reason in standing here just to watch the sun go down.” He gave Spiller a nod and flipped the spent match away.

“It’s about damn time,” Spiller growled under his breath. He raised his rifle, ready to fire.

“Grolin! Look at this!” said Silas Dooley.

Grolin, Spiller and the others all turned as one, seeing Rochenbach ride slowly toward them right up the middle of the dirt street.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Grolin.

The Giant grinned and said to himself, “Ol’ Rock! Right on time!”

As the Giant spoke, he and Casings drew their Colts instinctively while the others’ eyes were turned for a second toward Rochenbach.

Grolin clenched his teeth tightly on his cigar.

“This son of a bitch!” he growled. He swung back toward Casings and the Giant. “Don’t think—” His words stopped as he saw their guns out, leveled and cocked. But then he continued. “Don’t think this is going to help you any. We’ll kill him too. In fact, it will be a pleasure”

“It’s already helped us some,” Casings said, ready to start squeezing the trigger himself.

Grolin and the others stood in silence as Rochenbach rode up, stopped fifteen feet away and turned his dun to them in the street. He held his big Remington resting along his right thigh. As soon as the dun had settled, Spiller stepped closer with his rifle half raised, his finger on the hammer.