Blood Gold (2 page)

Deep within his mind, hatred burned Patrick’s soul with one desire – Kill Rusty. That thought blasted and echoed in his mind, drowning out all rational considerations.

But after two failed attempts to roll out of bed and two sharp pains ripping through his chest, he relented and let sleep overcome him.

From time to time he awoke and, from the passage of the rectangle of light cast by the window on to the floor and the varying levels of commotion beyond the door, he could tell that another day started, passed, and ended.

On a regular basis, Hannah and Gideon called in on him. They changed his dressings and fed him, but they studiously ignored his repeated questions about when he could move on.

Early in the afternoon, Hannah returned.

‘How can I pay for my care?’ Patrick asked, broaching the subject of when he could leave from a different angle.

‘You don’t have to. It’s been paid for.’

‘Who?’

Hannah winced. ‘Perhaps I should fetch Gideon to explain.’

‘No. Just tell me. Who’s paying for my care?’

Hannah backed a pace, but then glanced to her side and frowned.

The door swung fully open to reveal Rusty Anderton standing in the doorway. He paced into the room, nibbling on his bottom lip.

‘I’m paying,’ he said. He wrung his hands, then held them wide. ‘And it took everything that Jack Wolf and his bandits didn’t take.’

‘You!’ Patrick roared, flinging up a hand to point at Rusty.

Rusty shrugged and hung his head a moment. He glanced at Hannah, then at the door.

Hannah nodded and edged around Rusty to the door and outside, but her footfalls halted three paces down the corridor.

‘Glad you’re mending,’ Rusty said. ‘When I looked in on you yesterday, you looked terrible.’

‘That’s because you shot me,’ Patrick grunted, ‘you low-down—’

‘I didn’t shoot you.’

‘You fired. I got lead in the guts.’

‘We’ve been through too much over the last year.’ Rusty paced across the room and leaned on Patrick’s bed. He peered at the bandages and smiled. ‘I’d never hurt you.’

‘Then how come I had a bullet in me?’

‘One of Jack’s bandits shot you. It wasn’t—’

‘Liar!’

Patrick lunged, his clawing swipe grabbing Rusty’s throat. With all his strength he squeezed, but Rusty just placed his hand over Patrick’s hand and lifted it from his neck.

‘Rest, Patrick. You’re still far weaker than you think you are. We’ll talk about this when you get your strength back.’

Rusty turned and paced from Patrick’s bed. In the doorway he glanced back, a wan smile splitting his thick red beard, then shuffled outside.

From the corridor, Patrick heard Rusty’s and Hannah’s low voices muttering. With a supreme effort, Patrick threw back the blanket covering him and swung his legs to the floor. He stood, but his legs folded and he plummeted to the floor, landing in a sprawling heap.

Rusty dashed in, Hannah at his heels.

‘Get away from me,’ Patrick muttered from the floor.

Rusty rocked on his heels, but Hannah shook her head.

‘Just get Gideon,’ she said. ‘We’ll sort him out.’

One last time, Rusty glanced down at Patrick, then nodded and dashed outside, leaving Hannah staring at Patrick, shaking her head.

‘You’re a bull-headed idiot, Patrick,’ she said.

‘You ain’t the first to say that.’

Patrick threw out a hand and dragged himself a clawed yard nearer to the doorway, but pain ripped through his chest and, unable to control his
movements
,
he flopped on his side.

When Gideon clattered into the room, he and Hannah levered an arm under each armpit and helped him into bed. Throughout, Patrick listened to their admonishments, and replied with sullen agreements. But Rusty’s treachery had taken root in his mind and was thrusting revengeful tendrils into every fibre of his being.

When his two carers eventually trusted him enough to leave him, he lay back and stared at the ceiling. But he’d started counting.

When he judged that thirty minutes had passed, he pushed back the blanket and swung his legs to the floor.

He sat a moment, willing the dizziness to depart, then rolled forward. On his feet, he straightened as much as he could then tottered back and forth, but his legs supported him. Smiling now, he shuffled across the floor to the window and peered outside, confirming that he was on the first floor.

The sun was high and other than a row of horses tethered outside the saloon, Destitution’s only road was deserted.

He shuffled to the door, levered it open an inch, and peered through the gap. Nobody was in the corridor. Only subdued chatter from the saloon drifted up the stairs.

Then, having completed the maximum he thought he could achieve for his first real foray out of bed, he rolled back into bed.

Each half-hour, he repeated this exercise, and
each time he was quicker, the dizziness was less, his stride was more confident and, best of all, he learned how to avoid damaging his chest. The wound only throbbed with a dull ache.

On his fourth journey he rummaged through the drawers, finding his clothing in one and a cudgel in another. He grinned and secreted the weapon beneath his bedclothes beside his right leg.

Late in the afternoon, Gideon looked in on him.

‘You’re looking brighter,’ he said.

Patrick nodded. ‘I feel brighter.’

‘In that case you can answer a question.’ Gideon slammed his hands on his hips. ‘What in tarnation did you think you were doing attacking Rusty?’

Patrick jutted his chin. ‘That ain’t your concern.’

‘Rusty saved your life, but you tried to strangle him.’

‘It’s between him and me.’ Patrick took a deep breath and fingered the cudgel. He forced his
shoulders
to slump and provided his most disarming smile. ‘But I get hot-headed sometimes. And I’ve thought things through. Perhaps if Rusty still wants to see me, I’ll be more reasonable.’

‘Glad to hear it. But you won’t get the chance. Rusty just left town. He left you this.’ Gideon extracted a wad of bills from his pocket and held them out to Patrick, but as Patrick just glared at them, he dropped them on the bed. ‘I’ve already taken a cut for your care.’

Patrick released his grip on the cudgel and with an outstretched finger, riffled through the bills,
counting
over fifty dollars.

‘Where did he get this? Jack left us with nothing.’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘Thanks, I suppose.’ Patrick slotted the cash under the pillow. ‘Suppose he’s going after Jack Wolf. As will I as soon as you stop doctoring me.’

‘In your state you can’t take on the likes of that bandit.’

Patrick furrowed his brow and leaned forward as far as his encased chest would allow.

‘How come you know about him?’

‘Last week Jack rested up in Destitution. He got into a fight with another lowlife, Salvador Milano. He’d have killed Salvador if that varmint hadn’t have got himself some sense and run. Then Jack headed north, where he met you when you were unlucky enough to be heading south. I didn’t see him, but from what I heard, he isn’t someone I’d risk arguing with, however much gold he stole from me.’

‘Ain’t looking for your advice.’ Patrick lay back and closed his eyes.

Gideon stood over him a moment, tutting, then left the room.

Patrick listened to Gideon’s footsteps recede down the corridor, then threw back the blanket.

He shuffled to the drawers and removed his clothes. With care he dressed, discovering that he had to stay hunched to avoid the painful results of stretching.

He edged to the door and outside, keeping his back to the wall as he sidled down the corridor. At
the balcony, he peered into the saloon below.

At the bar, several customers were hunched over coffee mugs, but as none of them was either Gideon or Hannah, he slipped down the side of the stairs and straight outside.

His guts throbbed with every shuffled pace down the boardwalk, but he had errands to run.

‘Patrick, you bull-headed idiot,’ Gideon muttered. He pushed the drawer closed and stood with his hands on his hips a moment, considering the
abandoned
bed, then sauntered to the window.

He peered up and down the road, and just as he was about to turn away he saw Patrick hobble from the store, a bulging saddlebag on his shoulder, a shining Colt on his hip. Patrick mounted a horse. In the saddle, he flinched and hunched over, clutching his guts, then inch by inch righted himself.

Gideon sighed, then hurried from the room and down the corridor and stairs. Outside, as he dashed across the boardwalk, Patrick was lifting the reins with his gaze set on the edge of town.

Gideon paced into the road and stood before Patrick.

‘Had a feeling you wouldn’t listen to advice,’ he muttered, raising his arms.

‘You can’t stop me leaving,’ Patrick grunted,
staring
over Gideon’s shoulder at the plains beyond.

‘I can’t, but as your doctor, I’m advising you to stay here and rest for at least another week.’

Patrick snorted and lifted the reins high.

‘As a patient who’s paid his bills, I got no reason to stay when I got gold to find.’

Gideon sighed. ‘Nothing I can say will stop you leaving, but there’s a chance you won’t live long enough to find anything but death. Too much
movement
could open up that wound and with nobody to patch you up …’

Patrick tipped his hat, then pulled on the reins.

‘You’re right. Nothing you can say will stop me leaving.’

Patrick sidled his horse past Gideon, then without a backward glance, trotted from Destitution.

Standing in the centre of the road, Gideon watched Patrick leave town; he shook his head. Then he turned and with his head down, sauntered towards the Belle Starr.

From the shadows in the alley beside the Belle Starr, Salvador Milano stepped out, his eyes lively and the usual arrogant smirk plastered across his grimed face.

Gideon flinched, then shrugged and moved to walk past him, but Salvador jumped to the side and threw both his arms back to hold on to the
swing-doors
and block Gideon’s way. He rocked back and forth, licking his lips.

‘Now that sure was an interestin’ conversation,’ he drawled.

Gideon shrugged. ‘If you reckon so.’

‘I do.’ Salvador chuckled. ‘And I reckon I might just buy you and me a right friendly drink while you explain it to me.’

Gideon opened his mouth to mutter a refusal, but with a last glance over his shoulder at the small and distant form of Patrick riding into the plains, he nodded and let Salvador shepherd him into the saloon.

At the bar in the Belle Starr, Salvador Milano hunched over his second whiskey.

‘Who attacked ’em?’ he grunted.

Gideon swirled his whiskey, then gulped it.

‘Jack Wolf and his bandit gang.’

‘So,’ Salvador mused, ‘Jack’s now got himself a whole mess o’ gold.’

Salvador licked his lips and knocked back the remainder of his whiskey.

Gideon considered Salvador’s sly smirk for a moment, then snorted.

‘Hope you aren’t thinking of going after that gold. You know what he did to you last week.’

‘I know that.’ Salvador rubbed his jaw, the bruising now yellowed and fading. He nodded slowly. ‘I’m just musin’. Where did Jack ambush ’em?’

‘Hangman’s Gulch.’ As Salvador shrugged, Gideon pointed through the window. ‘It’s about thirty miles out. You head—’

Salvador lifted a hand. ‘Quit talkin’. You’ll take me there.’

‘I want nothing to do with this.’

Gideon lifted his whiskey, but with a lightning gesture, Salvador grabbed his arm, halting his hand with the glass brushing his lips.

‘Take me there.’ Salvador widened his eyes and with his other hand, patted his holster.

Gideon glanced at the holster and shrugged.

‘All right. I’ll take you to the gulch, but no further.’

Salvador lifted his hand from Gideon’s arm.

‘Once I got me Jack’s trail, I got no use for you.’

‘Reckoned you might want my help. Once you find Jack, he’ll fill you so full of holes, you’ll need me to fill them.’ Gideon sipped his whiskey, then
chuckled
. ‘Or perhaps just someone to bury you.’

‘You’re either brave for jestin’ me, or stupid,’ Salvador muttered, his right eye twitching. ‘Which are you?’

‘Neither,’ Gideon said, setting his earnest gaze on Salvador. ‘I’m just telling you the truth.’

For long moments Salvador glared at Gideon, but as Gideon continued to stare back, he nodded and hung his head a moment.

‘Perhaps you’re talkin’ sense. I need me an
advantage
to get Jack.’ Salvador tapped his chin. Then a slow smile emerged. ‘And I know where I’ll get one.’

With an arrogant flick of the finger, he tipped his hat to Gideon and swaggered across the saloon to the stairs. He mounted the stairs three at a time, turned, then stalked along the upstairs corridor.

Belle Starr emerged from the shadows, her
powdered, chubby face wreathed in a huge smile, which died as soon as she saw Salvador.

‘I told you last week that you’re banned from coming up here,’ she muttered. ‘Your custom ain’t welcome until I say so.’

‘Where’s Hannah?’ Salvador grunted.

‘In the end room, but she’s got company and you ain’t seeing her either now or when she ain’t got company.’

‘I got money,’ Salvador snarled.

‘You may have. And when you treat my girls right, they treat you right back. Gideon patched up Sally and she’ll be fine, but you charging up here just proves you ain’t learnt your lesson.’ Belle set her squat legs wide and bunched her shoulders. ‘You take one pace past me, and you ain’t welcome in here ever again.’

Salvador licked his lips, then brushed past Belle.

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘George!’ Belle screamed, but Salvador continued his firm pacing down the corridor to the end room.

In front of the door, Salvador rolled his shoulders, then kicked open the door.

‘Hey,’ a voice cried from the bed. ‘What you …’

A flushed face peered over the bedclothes and stared at Salvador, then gulped.

‘Get out while you can still walk,’ Salvador muttered, tucking a thumb in his gunbelt.

The man leapt from the bed and dashed to the door, gathering his clothes with frantic haste. He edged past Salvador, not meeting his eyes, then
hurtled down the corridor, pausing only to shuffle into his trousers and gather sufficient decency. But when he’d clattered to the end of the corridor, he yelled for Belle.

With the bedclothes hitched to her chin, Hannah glared at Salvador from the bed.

‘I’ve heard about you from Sally,’ she muttered. ‘I ain’t going with you.’

Salvador snorted and took a long pace into the room.

‘You’ll do whatever I pay for.’

As Hannah jutted her chin and glared at Salvador with steady defiance, firm footfalls paced down the corridor to the end room.

‘That’s enough, Salvador,’ Belle said from the doorway.

Salvador turned to face Belle.

As ever when trouble threatened to erupt, Silent George stood behind her, looming a good two feet above her head. His bony, bald head and wide eyes gleamed as he cracked his knuckles.

‘Like I said,’ Salvador muttered, ‘I got money.’

Belle glanced over her shoulder at George, then shrugged.

‘I like money.’ She smiled. But the smile died and a harsh glare took its place. ‘But sometimes, it just ain’t worth it.’

‘For the right price what you provide is always available.’

Salvador reached into his jacket pocket. With his gaze never moving from Belle’s eyes, he counted bills
into his other hand.

When twenty dollars accumulated, Belle edged from foot to foot. At thirty dollars, she bit her bottom lip. At forty, she mopped her brow.

At fifty, she whistled and with a flash of a
thin-lipped
smile at Hannah, she held out her hand.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘What do you want for that kind of money?’

‘You got yourself the right idea, Belle. I want Hannah, for a week.’

Belle closed her eyes a moment, then nodded.

‘She’s yours,’ she whispered.

Salvador glanced at Hannah and sneered.

‘Then get her cleaned up and ready to leave town at sun-up.’

‘I ain’t—’ Hannah screeched, but Belle raised an imperious hand, quietening her.

Belle took a deep breath. ‘What you planning to do with her for a week?’

‘That ain’t none of your concern.’ Salvador snorted and moved to leave the room, but Belle planted a finger on Salvador’s shoulder and traced it down his sleeve.

‘But Hannah’s plain, scrawny, and hardly worth fifty dollars,’ she whispered with a flutter of eyelashes. ‘Perhaps one of my other girls might be more to your liking – and one who
can
deal with you. Unless you ain’t man enough to deal with a real woman.’

Salvador shrugged from the tracing finger. ‘I just want Hannah for a week.’

Belle glanced over her shoulder at Silent George, then turned back, her painted eyebrows raised, her stern expression back.

‘And I want her back in a week in one piece, understand?’

Salvador slammed the fifty dollars into Belle’s hand.

‘And I’ve paid for her, understand?’

‘Ain’t objecting.’ With a practised flick of her wrist, the money disappeared. ‘I just didn’t think Hannah had caught your eye.’

‘She ain’t.’ Salvador glanced at Hannah and snorted. ‘But she’s caught someone else’s.’

As the rumour of the gold Jack Wolf had stolen from Patrick and Rusty had ripped through Destitution in a matter of minutes, Salvador Milano easily rounded up nine men who were enthusiastic enough, or drunk enough, to reckon they could reclaim it from Jack.

After two short squabbles and one near gunfight, Salvador took control of the men and the next day, an hour before sun-up, a line of riders trotted from Destitution and headed into the hills towards Hangman’s Gulch.

Five riders scouted around at the front and another four stayed back, leaving Gideon and Hannah riding two horses lengths behind Salvador in the centre.

They rode in sullen silence, but as the first sliver of
sun poked above the hills, Hannah speeded to ride alongside Salvador.

‘Why am I here?’ she muttered.

‘You’re a whore,’ Salvador spat. ‘Jack got mighty attached to you. Figure out the rest yourself.’

Hannah held her chin aloft. ‘I ain’t got a dirty mind like you. You’ll have to tell me.’

Salvador gripped the reins more tightly, his jaw bunched.

‘You’ll keep Jack all happy and distracted while his gold disappears.’

Hannah snorted. ‘So you plan to find Jack and give me to him, then he’ll be so pleased, he’ll drop his guard and you’ll take his gold?’

Salvador grinned and spat a long gob of spit to the side.

‘Yup. For a whore you got yourself some brains.’

‘But I’m no sneak. I’m a whore, like you said.’

Salvador patted his holster. ‘If you won’t sneak, you can decide if you want to be a dead whore, or a live whore.’

Hannah glanced away from Salvador’s lively grin and slowed her horse to edge back from him. Salvador watched her until she’d dropped back enough to ride beside Gideon, then faced the front, but from the way that he rocked his head from side to side, Gideon reckoned he was still grinning.

‘I heard that,’ Gideon said, his voice low. ‘And you don’t have to do this.’

‘I got no choice.’ Hannah glared ahead at Salvador’s back. ‘He paid for me.’

‘But it was just fifty dollars.’ Gideon lifted his free hand a moment to hold both hands wide. ‘And you won’t even see that money.’

Hannah stared straight ahead. ‘Belle will do all right by me.’

‘If you live.’

‘I’ll live.’ Hannah turned to stare at Gideon with her lips set in a smile that was harsher than Gideon had ever seen from her. ‘Women who willingly provide something men want tend to survive.’

Gideon gulped. ‘But you could be so much more.’

‘Like what?’ she snapped. ‘Ain’t nothing for the likes of me in a town like Destitution.’

‘Last week, you helped me patch up Sally. And you cared for Patrick Grady with some skill.’

‘That was just a few bandages. It didn’t take much effort.’

‘It didn’t – for you. Nursing is a skill and not
everyone
can do it. You have a kind face, a gentle touch and an aptitude for caring.’

Hannah lowered her gaze a moment.

‘You offering to pay for my help?’

Gideon rocked his head from side to side, then shook it.

‘I’m sorry. I can’t. But I could teach you more about doctoring and then you could go to a real town like Black Rock. And maybe there you could get work that’s more suited to you than … than …’ Gideon choked on his last word and instead forced a smile.

Hannah muttered a short sigh. She turned to face the front and they returned to quietness.

As the sun edged away from the horizon, they approached Hangman’s Gulch. Gideon hollered to Salvador and pointed at the deep ravine.

After ten minutes of scouting around, Gideon discovered footprints milling around a flat length of rock, which jutted into the gulch. Salvador agreed that this was probably where Jack had forced Patrick and Rusty to fight their showdown.

Despite the mess of hoof-prints heading in all directions away from this rock, Mack Hoffer – one of the more resourceful men whom Salvador had recruited – untangled a concentrated set of trails leading away from the gulch and pointing north.

Salvador gathered everybody around him and barked instructions for them to follow Jack. He received a ripple of eager nods and the men mounted their horses.

With the side of his hand, Salvador tipped his hat to Gideon and grunted his thanks, then turned and headed north.

Throughout the searching of the area, Hannah hadn’t dismounted and as Salvador turned to head away, she flashed Gideon a wan smile.

‘Be seeing you,’ she whispered.

Gideon opened his mouth to offer
encouragement
, but then closed it and returned a smile instead.

As Hannah hurried on ahead, Gideon mounted his horse and turned towards Destitution, then turned back to watch the line of riders snake into the barren plains.

Just as they disappeared behind a large rocky outcrop, Hannah glanced over her shoulder and looked at Gideon.

Then they were gone.

Although Hannah’s face had been too distant for Gideon too discern an expression, her hunched, defeated posture made his throat tighten.

For long moments Gideon sat hunched forward in the saddle, watching the deserted trail. Then, with a sigh, he lifted the reins and at a steady pace followed Salvador’s group.