Magnificent Guns of Seneca 6 (38 page)

"Let me go!" Ruth screamed, pounding the man on the back between his shoulder blades and on the back of his head.
 
"Put me down!"

Bob Ford raced around the bodies of fallen men and pivoted out of the way of anything that blocked him with a grace and agility he'd never possessed before.
 
Bullets singed past him so close he felt the heat of their metal casings but nothing could stop him from getting where he needed to.
 
He raced down the trail with Ruth over his shoulder and finally set her down, yelling, "Come on, into the water!"

She tore her hand away and looked at him in stricken horror.
 
"I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"Come on, Ruth!
 
It's our only chance.
 
Trust me."

"I could never trust you!
 
How could you
think
that I ever could?"

"You can't trust me?" Bob said.
 
He looked back at the melee still taking place in the camp and said, "Here.
 
Take this.
 
Then you can trust me."
 
Bob unhooked his belt and holster and handed it to Ruth.
 
"You can keep that as long as you like.
 
My dad gave it to me, so it's kind of an heirloom."

Ruth took the belt from him and looked down at the gun.
 
She wrapped her hands around the handle and pulled it out, reading the words
Colt Devastator
etched across the barrel.
 
The gun was the size of her forearm.
 

"Careful with that thing, it's loaded," Bob said.
 
He waded into the water and waved for her to follow, "Come on.
 
This might be our only chance."
 

Ruth walked to the water's edge and cocked the hammer back.
 
Bob rolled his eyes and said, "Listen, I know it makes you feel better to point that thing at me.
 
Trust me, I do.
 
But things are going to be different between us from here on out.
 
I swear it."

The gun fired and Bob Ford's head jerked backwards, turning his eyes straight up toward the sun so that it was the last thing he saw before he fell beneath the Wabash river's dark surface.
 
Ruth watched Bob's body sink and come back up to the top before the currents started to sweep it away.
 

She closed her eyes and thought it might be appropriate to offer a prayer to the Great Spirit, but none came to mind.
 
She decided to think instead of the group of them as they arrived on Seneca on their great adventure.
 
Willard's blonde curly hair.
 
Elizabeth and her holding hands, squeezing them in anticipation.
 
That's it
, she thought as she put the gun's hot barrel against her temple and cocked back the hammer.
 
She kept that image up in front as she pulled the trigger.
 

***

Jem dragged the masked man toward the entrance and ducked low behind a water barrel.
 
He pulled down Jim's black mask and punched him in the teeth as hard as he could.
 
"That was for ruining a good name."
 
He slammed his knee down on Jim's neck and grabbed a hold of the slippery arrow shaft sticking out of his leg.
 
"You move an inch and I'm gonna twist, you understand me?"

He took the man's lack of movement as a sign that he understood.
 
The rest of the gang was scattered like rats in a nest.
 
Jem cocked his Defeaters and scanned the area, waiting.
 
After a minute, he shouted, "See any more?"

"None came this way," Haienwa'tha replied.
 

Ichante pointed past the row of tents behind the fire pit, "I watched a few run in that direction."
  

"You got him?" Father Charles said.

Jem looked down at the bandit.
 
His face was purple from Jem's knee cutting off his air.
 
"Yes, indeed."

"Keep him alive," the preacher said sternly.
 
"We didn't do all this for nothing.
 
Ichante and I will go check the tents."
 
He walked past the bodies of the men he'd felled and mumbled prayers on their behalf.

"What do you say in your prayers for them?" Ichante said.
 

The preacher ducked into the first tent with his gun ready.
 
It was filled with food cans and jugs of water. "I pray that their spirits take flight and find peace and knowledge of the Lord.
 
I pray that they be judged not just by their actions but by the content of their hearts as well."

Ichante nodded as she used her gun to open the next tent's flaps.
 
"More supplies," she said. She looked back at him, "So what if those actions included molesting your daughter while she was their prisoner?"

Father Charles grunted and said, "Faith is a complicated thing, young lady.
 
Doesn't seem right to pray they get tossed headfirst into the fiery waters of damnation, now does it?"

"And yet you do it anyway?"

"I figure I might as well have some friends to see when I get there."
 
He threw back the covering over the last tent and winced at the foul odor inside.
 
There were sick pots and jugs filled with waste.
 
Rotting food lay scattered on the ground.
 
In the farthest corner of the tent sat two women, so frail and tiny and not moving that at first he did not see them.
 

Ichante looked in beside him and instantly pressed her hand over her mouth and backed away.
 
The preacher let go of the covering and walked around the outside of the tent.
 
He drew his knife at its rear and grabbed a handful of the covering and started to slice away at it until he was able to tear long strips of it.
 
"Help me," he said.

"What are you doing?" Ichante said.
 
 

He gave one great tear that ripped the whole back panel open.
 
Both of the women looked up at him with faces as grey and wan as cadavers.
 
"Letting in the light," he said.
 

Ichante was able to coax the women out of the tent and held their hands to guide them through the maze of bodies.
 
The women did not notice.
 
They walked like it was new to them, on stilted legs and trembling from the soft breeze that rolled in across the surface of the Wabash.
 
Ichante led them down the embankment toward it, the three of them forming a line connected by hand.
 

Father Charles threw his shotgun down and said, "Is that son of a bitch still alive?"

"So far," Jem said.
 
"Come on over here and say what you came here to say."

The preacher straightened out his shirt and coat before he reached into his pocket to remove the photograph of his daughter.
 
He held up Wendy's picture and took a deep breath to steady himself, "I am going to ask you, for the sake of your soul and the lives of those you've sold into slavery, where did you take this girl?"

Gentleman Jim looked up at the image on the photograph and laughed.
 
He spat a mouthful of blood and broken tooth bits onto the ground and said, "That girl?
 
She's dead."

"Oh my God," Father Charles gasped.
 

"No she isn't," Jem said quickly.
 
He twisted the arrow shaft until Jim started to scream.
 
"Stop being an asshole or I'll do that again.
 
We're either gonna take you back to town and let you stand trial or I'm going to shoot you…in
the toe
."

Jim looked at him.
 
"The toe?"
 

"First.
 
Then the preacher's gonna ask you again, and if you still don't tell him, I'm gonna shoot you in the ball of the foot.
 
Then your ankle.
 
Then gonna shoot you in the shin.
 
After that, your kneecap.
 
It's gonna feel like you're being fed foot first into a corn thresher if you don't wise up and tell us what we want to know."
 
Gentleman Jim's shoulders slumped down and he said, "I don't know where they take them.
 
The man I work for pays me and loads them into a transport."
 

Jem cocked the hammer of his gun and said, "What's his name.
 
Where do we find him?"

"He ain't hard to find," Gentleman Jim grunted.
 
The bandit was the first to hear someone approaching.
 
He turned to see a rider coming up the trail on a destrier, dragging a small wooden cart behind it with wooden wheels.
 
  

Jem squinted to make out the rider, a man dressed all in black with a long trench coat like something a funeral director would wear.
 
He had a small brass star pinned to the lapel, and Jem raised his gun and aimed it at its center.
 
"You better state your business, partner.
 
Who the hell are you?"

"Agent Saringo.
 
I'm a private detective employed for the purposes of capturing the man you're holding at gunpoint, sir.
 
Who are you?"

"Sheriff Jem Clayton of Seneca 6."

Saringo tipped his hat at Jem and said, "Nice to meet you Sheriff.
 
Unfortunately, as I'm sure you know, you do not have any legal authority out here.
 
I have a warrant for this man signed by a judge authorizing me to take him into custody."
 
Saringo reached into his pocket and produced the document, which he unfolded and showed to them.
 

"Ain't this a pickle," the bandit said.
 
"Guess who they was just asking me about?"

"I have no idea," Saringo said.
 
"Get up."

"They was asking me for the name of the man who arranges the purchase of the girls I sell."

"Is that right?" Saringo said.
 
He reached down and grabbed the bandit by the shirt, "Get up."
 

"Now hold on one moment," Father Charles said.
 
"You aren't taking him anywhere until I find out who the man is that sold my daughter."

"Unfortunately, there are several law enforcement agencies expecting to debrief him within the hour, sir.
 
You are welcome to meet us at the Sheriff's Office in Tradesville and file a formal request."

Jem put his hand in front of the man, "That's not gonna be good enough, friend."

"And yet, it's just gonna have to do."
 
Saringo's eyes narrowed on Jem, "I know a little something about you,
friend
.
 
Last thing you want to do is wind up in front of a Grand Jury explaining why you interfered with the rightful arrest of a wanted fugitive.
 
They love to catch up to criminals, especially ones get away with pretending to be something they ain't."