Brother's Keeper (3 page)

The clerk stared at Jess as if somehow the stare would bore a hole in him. “Mr. Carter ain’t going to like this one damn bit. You’re in a whole heap of trouble, Mister. You’ll be lucky to still be alive by tomorrow night. What name shall I tell the undertaker to put on your headstone?”
“Jess Williams is the name but I wouldn’t be ordering any headstones yet, unless you want to order one for Carter ahead of time. I have a hunch he might be needing one soon.” Jess walked out of the store and the only thing he heard from the clerk was: “Holy shit, things are gonna get wild around here!”
Newcomb’s horse was plumb tuckered out when he arrived at the Carter ‘D’ ranch. He reined up in front of the huge ranch house and quickly scurried inside. He found Dick Carter sitting in the dining room with four of his best hired guns. Carter motioned for him to take a seat and have something to eat. Newcomb sat and picked a warm roll out of a basket on the table and started to pinch off little pieces one at a time and eating them, chewing very slowly. Carter watched him for a minute and knew that Newcomb was just busting at the seams to tell him something but Newcomb knew better than to say anything until he was asked. That was the way it was with Dick Carter. You just didn’t run in and start talking to him. He would call you down hard for that. You just had to sit there and act like you had something to tell him and wait for him to ask. That was the way Carter liked it. He liked to control the situation every time. Carter finally put down the chicken leg that he was gnawing on and began to wipe his hands.
“All right, Newcomb. You look like you’ve swallowed a cat and waiting to spit out a hair ball so tell me what the hell you rode out here to tell me and it better be good since you interrupted my lunch here with my best men.”
“Sorry Mr. Carter, but I knew that you would want to know right away.”
“Know what?”
“That kid you been looking for, Jess Williams? Well, he rode into town this morning.”
Carter fell absolutely silent and he stayed that way for almost a full minute, which is quite a long time when you think about. He looked down at his plate of food of which he had lost all interest in now. His mind wasn’t on the food anymore. He was thinking about his only son, Red, and how Jess Williams had killed him in a gunfight. It may have been a fair fight but that didn’t matter at all to Dick Carter. Red was just as dead, fair or not. He thought about the discussion he had just had last week with his friend, Cal Hardin, who owned the ranch abutting his. He thought about the note he had just wrote out and sealed in an envelope that he was going to give to a rider tomorrow. He thought about how he had put up three thousand dollars and offered to pay the money to anyone who killed Jess Williams. He thought about how he had sent Frank Reedy and Todd Spicer to hunt Jess down and how Spicer had gotten himself killed. He remembered how Reedy came back to the ranch and returned the money to Carter because refused to go after Jess. And now, here he was, right back in town not more than five miles away. An evil grin began to form on Carter’s face and it didn’t go unnoticed by anyone in the room. “Did you see him yourself? You’re certain it’s him?”
“Yes sir. I talked to him myself.”
“You talked to him? What the hell did he have to say?”
“He said to tell you that he was back in town and he didn’t plan on leaving real soon. He also said he wasn’t going to put up with anyone bothering Jim or Sara Smythe or their store.”
Carter mumbled something as he hung his head but no one in the room could make out what it was and then he looked back up at Newcomb. “He said that?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, you go back to town and you tell that no good son of a bitch that he’s a dead man whether he stays in town or travels to the far ends of the earth. I’m going to see him dead one way or another. You tell him when it’s over I’ll drag his dead body back here and bury him next to my son’s grave so my son can watch me piss on his grave every God-damned morning! You tell him he can count on that and you tell him that I swear by it on my only son’s grave!”
“Yes sir. I’ll tell him.” Newcomb stood up and almost got to the doorway to leave when Carter stopped him.
“Tell me something, Newcomb? Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance? Three thousand dollars ain’t enough money for you?”
Newcomb shrank from Carter’s cold glare and he put his eyes to the floor as he spoke. He did it partially out of shame but mostly out of fear for Carter’s wrath. “Mr. Carter, you know I ain’t that good with a pistol. I wouldn’t stand a chance against that kid and you know it. I ain’t half as fast as any of these men in the room with a gun, sir. I figured I’d just get plugged trying and decided instead to ride out here pronto and let you know.”
Normally, Carter would have stood up and punched Newcomb for failing him but he was too consumed with the fact that Jess Williams was right here under his nose. He was within his grasp. Newcomb sidled out of the room and that left Carter with his four best men. He looked up at the four of them who had been silent all this time. “Well, boys, seems like it’s time to earn your pay.”
All four of them nodded, still silent. These four were professionals and the best that Carter’s money could buy. They understood what that meant and while not one of them was in a hurry to die, every one of them was in a hurry to collect the three thousand. They all went back to finishing their meals, except for Dick Carter. He was thinking about Jess Williams and he felt like the cat that had chased a mouse around the room and finally had it cornered. He was, however, forgetting one small fact. Not all cats have nine lives.

ERRENCE
H
ANLEY WAS A RUN
of the mill ranch hand and his pistol skills were definitely short of spectacular, which is exactly why Dick

Carter had picked him. Carter knew he would need his best hired guns with him when he went into town, which would most likely be tomorrow. Carter had something else he had to attend to though, just in case everything that could go wrong did go wrong, and that’s why he had sent for Hanley.

Hanley was grumbling to himself as he walked up to the ranch house to see Carter. He figured maybe he was getting fired for losing a few extra head of cattle to rustlers the last few weeks or even worse, maybe Carter had picked him for one of several men who would ride into town tomorrow and kill this kid named Jess Williams. Hanley had heard the whole story about how Red was killed and how fast the kid was that shot him and the strange looking pistol and holster and all, and he didn’t want any part of it. Truth was, neither did most of the men at Carter’s ranch, except for the crazy ones. That’s exactly what Hanley called men who stood out in the middle of a street, skinned leather, and shot it out for things as little as a cheap whore or a two-bit poker hand.

Carter was waiting for him in the large room that he had always thought of as his study room. It was the room that Carter did all of his heavy thinking about such things as which rancher he would run off next week or which ranch he would buy out or force out if his offer was rejected. Those were big decisions and he needed a place of solitude to do such planning. It was a large room with heavy wood trim all stained in a dark blood red color. It almost looked black until you looked a little closer. He probably chose that color because it matched his mood most of the time, which was usually dark and moody. He was just pouring himself some very expensive brandy into a nice crystal glass when Hanley tapped ever so slightly on the door to the study, which was partially open. “Mr. Carter, sir? You sent for me?”

Hanley was nervous and Carter could sense that right away and knowing what he was going to ask Hanley to do, he wanted to put him at ease right away. “Yes I did, and don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble. I’ve lost cattle before and I’ll lose cattle again. Some of the other boys are taking care of that little problem.” Hanley knew exactly what that meant and he suddenly had a vision of men hanging from tall oak trees with their tongues all swollen and hanging out. “Anyway,” continued Carter, “that ain’t why I called you in here. Would you like a glass of this fine brandy? It’s really quite good.”

Hanley went to ease right off. “Yes I would, sir, and thanks for letting me know right away about not being in trouble. I need this job and I was thinking that maybe I’d lost it. I appreciate you going easy on me.” Carter poured him a full glass of brandy and Hanley took a nice sip of it and it went down really smooth.“Damn, I don’t get this kind of stuff often. I think this is just about the best brandy I’ve ever had the pleasure of sipping.”

“I have that brandy shipped in by the case all the way from New York. It’s expensive brandy for sure but it’s worth every damn penny.”

“Too rich for my blood,” said Hanley, taking another slow sip.
Carter smiled. He always enjoyed showing off that he had more money than most men could count. Hanley sat there for a minute or two slowly sipping the fine brandy and then, his curiosity finally got the better of him. “So, why did you call me in here, sir?”
Carter sat down in a plush leather chair and motioned for Hanley to do the same. Hanley sat in the chair and the leather seemed to wrap itself around him with a comfort he had not felt before. “I have a very important job I’d like you to do for me,” said Carter, his smile now turning towards a more serious look. “It pays a nice bonus, along with your normal pay, and its easier work than busting your ass herding cattle all day.”
“Sounds interesting, but will I live through it to get my bonus?” Hanley asked, wondering if Carter was going to ask him to go into Black Creek for the big showdown.
“Hell yes you’ll live through it. I’m not talking about tomorrow when I kill that little no-good son of a bitch of a kid that murdered my only boy. I’m talking about you taking a letter personally to a man for me.”
“What letter, and who do I deliver it to?”
“It’s a sealed letter and it’s only to be read by the person you’re going to deliver it to. Only he can open the letter, understand?”
“What if I can’t find this man you’re talking about?”
“Then bring the message back here to me. And if for some reason you can’t do that, I want you to destroy the message. Burn it.”
“Who is this person you want me to deliver it to?”
Carter poured them both another glass of the fine brandy. “His name is Tim Sloan.” Hanley looked at Carter as though he recognized the name. “Did you say his last name was Sloan?”
“Yes. Why, do you know him?”
“I’ve heard of Eddie Sloan. He’s one mean son of a bitch and they say he’s damn quick with a side iron. I heard he outdrew two men at the same time in a bar over in Abilene. The way I hear it, he’s one of the best.”
“You’re right on both counts, but the man I’m sending you to see is his son, Tim Sloan. They say he’s just as fast as his old man, and probably faster since he’s got youth on his side.”
“Never knew Sloan had a kid. Where do I find this Tim Sloan?”
“The last place he was seen was in a town called Holten; about three days ride south of here. That was about two weeks ago. I wired the sheriff there and asked him that if Sloan was still in town, to give him a message to wait there and that a man was coming to hand-deliver him a letter.”
“What makes you think that this Tim Sloan will wait around that long?”
“Because I told the sheriff to tell Sloan that the man coming to see him would pay him five hundred dollars just to wait for the letter.”
“Not bad pay just for waiting around.”
“That’s why I figure he’ll still be waiting there when you show up.”
“So, how much do I get paid for delivering the letter?”
“Same as I’m paying him to wait, five hundred dollars. That’s on top of your normal pay. But you have to make sure you hand the letter to him personally and no one else, and you make sure that he reads it before you give him the money, understand?”
“Sir, for five hundred dollars, a man can understand a whole lot.”
“Good. I knew I picked the right man for this job.” Carter walked over to the counter where the brandy was and picked up a small envelope, which was sealed in wax with Carter’s personal stamp in the wax. He walked over to Hanley and handed him the envelope. Then Carter pulled another envelope out of his back pocket. “The sealed envelope is the one you hand personally to Tim Sloan. The other envelope has one thousand dollars in it, five hundred for you, and the other five hundred for Sloan. Hand him the five hundred but only after he reads the letter.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what the letter says, are you?”
“No, but it’s pretty important to me. I trust you to make sure that you get it to him.”
Hanley finished his brandy and stood up. “Consider it done, Mr. Carter.”
“I already did.”
Hanley walked out and headed for the barn to get his things and saddle up his horse. His horse was a liver chestnut, which was close to the same color of the wood in Carter’s study room. He took exceptional care of the horse and the truth was he liked the horse more than he liked most people. Hanley realized that a good horse could mean the difference between life and death sometimes especially on the trail. It was early in the day yet so Hanley figured he might as well get a head start to Holten. He didn’t really care what was in the envelope he was to give to Tim Sloan. Hanley was a simple man and he knew how to follow orders. He had a job to do, and he would simply do it without question. He did, however, figure it must be pretty important since Carter was paying a whole lot of money just to have it delivered. And paying a man five hundred dollars just to wait around for a letter was pretty much unheard of. Hanley saddled up and headed out.
Carter sat down in one of his big leather chairs and sipped on his fine brandy. He had a grin forming across his lips that only he and his innermost dark side could really understand. He hadn’t told Hanley what the letter to Tim Sloan said in the envelope although he could remember it by heart. He recited it again in his head and the evil grin grew a little wider.

Jess left Carter’s store and walked back to Smythe’s General Store. Jim had just finished waiting on the customers that Jess had steered over to him. Jim had a smile on his face for the customers, but as soon as they left, the smile quickly evaporated. “Are you out of your mind? Carter’s going to be pissin’ blood an’ shittin’ nails when he hears about this.”