Killer's Draw: The Circuit Rider (16 page)

Tower tasted dirt and blood in his mouth and knew he had to act fast. The blow from the big man had nearly taken his head off. He wouldn’t survive many more of those.

Tower rolled onto his back, then lurched to his feet, just as the man moved in on him.

Tower knew he was in trouble. He still hadn’t fully recovered from the dynamite blast, and the last blow made him feel disoriented, but he figured he might have a chance. Men as large as the one before him rarely had to fight. But he, Tower, had grown up scrapping and fighting, excelling at hand-to-hand combat during the war. He knew things that he hoped the giant coming at him didn’t.

The man swung at Tower, a tremendous blow with the weight of the world behind it, but it was a wide and looping punch that assumed Tower might back away. Men of this size were used to trying to hit to targets that were running in the opposite direction.

So Tower took a different tack. He lunged in closer to the man and drove a right straight into his opponent’s midsection, followed by a flurry of wicked blows delivered with as much strength as he could muster directly into the man’s lower body. He worked the belly, the side, and one wicked uppercut directly into the solar plexus.

The man gave up punching and threw his arms around Tower, pulling him closer. Tower felt the incredible strength as he was crushed and then lifted from his feet. The big man squeezed, putting bone-crushing pressure on Tower’s spine. Tower couldn’t breathe and the pain intensified by the second. He reared back and head butted the man, but the attacker’s grip didn’t loosen. Instead, it threw the man off balance, and they toppled over onto the ground.

Tower heard his opponent gasp as the breath was driven from his body.

Tower was faster to his feet, and as his adversary tried to stand, Tower battered his face with savage blows that split the man’s lips and cut open a cheek, spraying blood.

The man made a primal growl and rushed at Tower, who sidestepped the charge and boxed him on the ear.

Tower stepped back, watching as the man turned to face him. He was breathing hard, clearly not used to being struck with such force or seeing his own blood.

Tower darted in, lashed a straight jab that flattened the man’s nose, then stomped on his instep. The giant charged again, not wanting to box, but to get his monstrous arms around Tower again and finally crush him to death.

Tower began to step back but someone behind him tripped him and he landed on his back. As his opponent went to pounce on him, Tower lifted his knees, placed his boots on the man’s chest, and kicked, sending the man over Tower and onto the floor behind him, producing a cloud of dust and hay.

Tower used his own momentum to flip over, landing astride the big man. He used his knees to pin the man’s arms and then hammered the giant’s face with blow after blow until he was brutalizing nothing but a bloody mask.

Someone pushed Tower off the beaten man. Tower got to his feet and watched as the bloodied beast struggled to stand.

When he finally did, Tower stepped in and threw a punch with everything he had, corkscrewing his body and rotating his fist for maximum drive. The blow tore directly into the man’s throat, producing a loud snap that signified to everyone in the barn that the giant man’s neck had been broken.

The man swayed briefly and dropped to the floor, his eyes wide with disbelief, and then death.

Bird sat on her horse outside of Big River. She had waited until dusk to make her approach and now was at the town’s south end, taking advantage of a cattle herd that was holding range until a pen opened up. To a person looking her direction from town, she probably looked like a cowboy taking a break.

“What do you say we have a drink?” she asked the Appaloosa. The horse looked back at her.

“I know, you don’t drink whiskey,” Bird said. “Ever since that time you wound up dancing on some tables.”

Bird broke out the bottle she’d just bought from a cowboy leaving town, and drank. From her vantage point, she had an excellent view of the tiny telegraph office sitting off on its own, just across from a tack shop.

Bird knew that most telegraph offices closed around this time, although they could be unique to the behavior of the operator, especially if it was a one-man operation and that operator liked to head off to the saloon in late afternoon.

Sometimes, operators lived in their offices, but that was generally in towns smaller and less affluent than Big River.

While she waited, she went over her plan. It would have to be flexible because there was no way of knowing where it would lead. Most of the scenarios depended on who the operator was and what his evening habits were.

After fewer than fifteen minutes of watching, the door to the telegraph office opened and a short, squat man exited, locking the door behind him. He wore dark pants, a white shirt with stripes, and a visor.

He walked behind the building, and much to Bird’s relief, headed away from the main street of Big River, instead angling for a cluster of residential homes east of town.

Bird followed, striking a parallel path that put some buildings between them.

After a few blocks, her quarry turned down a street and approached a single-story house with a wide porch and a chimney made of river rock. He opened the door and went inside.

Bird brought the Appaloosa to a stop and assessed the block. There were wide, empty lots, a house under construction, and a section of three homes packed together on one lot, each home identical to the next.

In front of one was a little girl sitting on a swing hanging from a tree in the front yard. Luckily, she was facing the other way. Bird watched her for a moment, wondering what it was like to grow up in one town, in one house, and never be shuttled from house to house, family to family, wondering when all hell would break loose.

Bird shook the thoughts away, took another drink of whiskey, put the bottle into her saddlebag, then rode straight up to the house the telegraph operator had entered, tied up her horse, and walked in.

The telegraph operator stood at a table, his visor off, sleeves undone, a glass of whiskey in his hand. On a sideboard next to him was a crystal decanter filled with whiskey and another glass sitting on a lace doily.

“What the hell?” he asked. He set his glass of whiskey on the table, and turned to face Bird. He noted both of her guns.

Bird walked up to him and kneed him in the groin. The man dropped to his knees.

She picked up his whiskey glass and drank.

“Sorry about hitting you there, but I can’t leave a mark on your face, for what I need you to do.”

Bird drained the glass of its contents.

“Thanks for the drink, by the way.”

Tower sat in the dark. The blackness wasn’t limited to the barn, though. He realized he had killed a man. It wasn’t his first, but it had been a long time since he’d ended someone’s life, and he felt sick to his stomach. The adrenaline that had pumped through his body during the fight was now gone, replaced by exhaustion. The heaviness of emotion that came with killing another human being rested on his soul with suffocating oppression. It wasn’t a feeling he had ever wanted to experience again and his decision to become a preacher, to leave behind the violent life he’d known as a soldier and a detective, now seemed like a cruel joke.

He tried to push those thoughts aside. The immediate danger was even greater now that he’d killed one of them. Up until then, he had hoped they might let him live. That hope was dwindling. He suspected they were somewhere trying to figure out what to do next, as he was confident their plan had not included the preacher killing their enforcer.

Tower struggled against his bindings. His wrists were tied behind him, and his feet were bound together. Whoever had done it had performed the task with thorough professionalism. His restraints were unyielding.

Just as he accepted that his only option now was to wait, the barn door swung open and three men came in.

Each of them carried some sort of club. Tower saw that one carried a piece of lumber, another brandished an axe handle.

The good news was they still wore their flour sacks.

Two of the men grabbed Tower by the arms and dragged him into the center of the barn.

The third walked up and measured the distance between himself and Tower with the axe handle.

“That was quite the job you did on Big Henry,” he said.

“Thank you,” Tower said.

“You think this is funny?” the one asking questions asked Tower.

“Killing someone is never funny,” Tower said. “I did what I had to do.”

“Where’d a preacher like you learn to fight like that?”

“I wasn’t always a preacher.”

“So, what, were you some kind of fighter? A boxer?”

“I was a survivor,” Tower said.

“We’ll see about that,” one of the other men said.

“I have one question for you,” the man directly in front of Tower said. “If you can answer this question, and we think you’re telling the truth, you might survive this.”

He pressed the axe handle against Tower’s neck.

“If you lie you won’t survive. Understand?”

Tower nodded as best he could.

“So, answer this question,” the man said. “Where is she?”

“What’s your name?” Bird asked.

“Oliver Barnes,” the telegraph operator said.

The man was on his hands and knees. He had just finished vomiting onto the floor and looked like a dog who knew the punishment wasn’t over.

Up close, Bird saw that he was very short and older than she had thought. Maybe close to sixty. He had close-cropped gray hair, pudgy fingers, and tiny feet. His gold-rimmed spectacles were on the floor next to him.

“Look, lady, just take whatever you want,” he said. “I don’t have much, and what I do have certainly isn’t worth getting killed over.”

Bird walked over to the sideboard and grabbed the whiskey decanter and a glass. She brought it over to the table, poured herself a drink.

“You seem like a practical man,” Bird said. “Oh, where are my manners? Can I get you a drink, too?” she asked.

Barnes shook his head. “I don’t think I could handle it right now.”

“Good point,” Bird said. She looked at the whiskey in her glass. “Okay, I have to ask. Is this the good stuff? Because I’ve recently found the rotgut gives me some major problems.”

“It’s excellent whiskey.”

Bird tasted the liquor and agreed. She looked around, noted that although the room was sparsely furnished, each high-quality piece was well taken care of. She pulled out one of her guns and set it on the smooth, polished surface of the table.

“Oh God,” Barnes said.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you right now. However, I have killed many, many men. You, however, have a good chance of surviving if you follow my instructions carefully.”

Barnes nodded.

“First, a few questions,” she said. “How long have you been in charge of the telegraph office here in Big River?”

“I was the one who set it up here, years ago, and no one else has been involved.”

“That’s good to know. Now, do you know Thomas and Andrew Conway?”

“Of course I do. They’re some of my most frequent customers.”

“Do you know them personally? Are you friends, or just business associates?”

“Business associates,” Barnes said.

“Did they tell you anything about watching for a telegraph from one of their friends in Mumford?”

Barnes furrowed his brow. “I believe Andrew did, but he said it wouldn’t be here for a little while. Why?”

“Well, it just arrived.”

“It did?”

“Yes, it did. And tomorrow morning, bright and early, you are going to send word to the Conways that the telegraph arrived and that Bird Hitchcock is alive and well in Mumford, having gotten there well ahead of schedule.”

“I understand.”

“Now, what are the chances you won’t do as I’ve instructed?”

“I will do it.”

“I believe you. However, a lot of men don’t like being given orders by a woman.”

“I have no issue with that.”

“Some men would wait until I’m gone and then start to feel like no woman has the right to tell them what to do. They need to feel big in the britches so they don’t do as I say.”

Barnes nodded. “You’re Bird Hitchcock. I’ll do as you say.”

“I appreciate that, but I’ve decided to give myself a little bit of insurance,” Bird said. “While you were revisiting your lunch, I found some correspondence in your desk with a woman named …”

Bird took out a slip of paper from her pocket and read.

“… Lily Barnes.”

Barnes lowered his head and his shoulders sagged.

“Your sister or your mother?”

“Sister. She’s my sister.”

“Here is my proposition. You do as I’ve instructed, and everything will be just fine between us. I’m projecting my stay here in Big River to be over quite soon, so once I’m gone your life can return to normal and no one will be the wiser.”

Bird lifted her gun from the table, and held it casually against her leg.

“However, if you betray our little agreement here, I will hunt you down and blow your brains out all over the floor, and then I will ride to …”

Bird again pulled the letter from her pocket.

“… 213 Jaybird Lane, Denver, Colorado, and shoot your sister in the ankles, knees, and elbows before putting one directly between her eyes. I will then repeat the process with every single human being living at that address. However, before I shoot her, I will explain that you, Oliver, had a chance to save her life but instead did something very, very stupid. That way, in addition to dying a horrible death, she will die with the very final thought of her life being that her brother failed her.”

Bird got to her feet.

“Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Barnes said.

Bird grabbed the decanter of whiskey on her way out.

Tower looked at the man facing him with an axe handle. He looked hard at the eyes, partially hidden behind the flour sack. Did he recognize the eyes?

“Where is
she
?” Tower repeated. “Are you talking about Bird? How would I know where she is?”

Tower heard the blow before he felt it. One of the men behind him had cracked him in the ribs. The blow rocked him and he toppled over, his face pressed into the floor of the barn. He had felt something give in his side, and it was hard to breathe. The pain showed no sign of going away.

“Not that saddle tramp,” the man in front of him said, his voice slightly muffled by the sack. “We know where she is. We want to know about the other one, the one that son-of-a-bitch reporter was following.”

Tower’s mind immediately went back to the papers that Martha Jeffire had given him before she left Big River. There had been an article about a prostitute, and a transcript of Joseph Parker’s speech, without any context.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tower said.

The men converged then clubbed, kicked, and punched him, cursing him as a liar and a thief. Tower tried to shield himself from the blows but there were too many coming from all directions. They worked him over, the worst of it being when someone stomped on his left hand. He had stopped feeling anything long before they were done, witnessing the beating as if he were an uninvolved bystander.

When they did stop, all he could hear was their heavy breathing from the exertion.

He tasted blood and hoped that the bleeding was from a cut in his mouth and that nothing had been punctured internally.

“Try again,” one of them finally said.

Tower tried to think but his brain wasn’t working right and an insistent throbbing came from every inch of his body. What could he tell them?

Suddenly, an idea came to him.

“Harlan’s Crossing,” he said. “That’s where she is.”

The barn fell silent, and Tower knew they had been half expecting him to provide no information whatsoever. His intuition told him that his answer had caught them off guard.

Harlan’s Crossing was the town Martha Jeffire had told them her husband had gone to in search of Bertram Egans’ love interest. That had all been a fiction. But when someone doesn’t believe the truth, you may as well go with a lie.

“Where in Harlan’s Crossing?” the leader of the group asked dubiously.

“I don’t know. Jeffire’s information was vague,” Tower gasped. Every time he spoke, the pain in his side stabbed at him. “All I know is that’s where he thought she was, so I was going there tonight to investigate.”

The men whispered among themselves, and Tower couldn’t help but wonder if his fate was being decided right here, right now, in this barn.

They formed a tighter circle around him.

“Say good night, Mr. Tower.”

The sound of wood on flesh filled the air inside the barn.