Sathow's Sinners (13 page)

“It's not an outhouse! It's a . . .
smoke
house.” Nate wheezed.

“That explains the smell,” Frank said from the driver's seat of the wagon, “and my powerful hankering for peppered strip steak!”

T
he remains of the smokehouse were miles behind them when Pete called for the small group to come to a stop. He climbed down from his saddle, tied his horse off near a stream and headed through a patch of trees so he could climb a small hill and get a look at the trail behind them. Deaugrey followed suit and tied his reins off next to Pete's horse by the stream.

“What happened to the mule?” Frank asked.

“I gave it away.”

“How generous of you. Who'd you give it to?”

“I left it for the fella who used to own this horse,” Deaugrey replied while patting the side of the sleek new animal he'd been riding.

Frank climbed over the driver's seat of the flatbed wagon that had been used to carry the smokehouse away from the mining camp. “And somehow you managed to say that proudly. I am constantly in awe of your ability to justify anything at all to yourself.”

Nodding, Deaugrey replied, “Everyone's in awe of me for some reason or other. How's our patient?”

“I'll be fine,” Nate said while peeling away a ripped section of his shirt sleeve that was soaked through with blood. “Must've caught a bullet while I was trapped in that goddamned box. It's a wonder I wasn't killed in there. Couldn't you try bribing one of those regulators to get me out?”

“We did,” Deaugrey said. “Neither one would bite.”

“What about stealing their keys?”

“They weren't carrying them on their persons. Can you believe that? I've heard of locking someone up and throwing away the key, but I'd always assumed that was just an expression.”

“So the next thing you came up with was dragging the whole damn smokehouse out of town?” Nate asked. “Now I see why I'm the one who comes up with most of the plans to carry out our jobs.”

“Actually,” Frank said, “our little escape route was
my
idea. And you should know better than to say you cook up all of the plans for getting our jobs done.”

Nate slowly turned toward the driver's seat of the wagon. Having spent most of the ride sitting in the back like a bale of hay, he didn't have far to turn. That was fortunate since his entire body still ached. “Your idea?” he mused. “Maybe you should stick to spouting Bible verses.”

“Would you have rather sat and rotted inside that little wooden box like a ham hock or bide your time in the middle of a crossfire while we tried to chip away at that reinforced door?”

“What about picking the lock?” Nate asked while looking over to Deaugrey. “Isn't that the sort of skill you bring to the table?”

“That antiquated contraption was so rusty that it barely qualified as a lock,” Deaugrey said. “I think one of those tin panners found it at the bottom of a river.”

While Deaugrey talked, Nate rolled up the sleeve that was stained with blood and torn to shreds. Once he got a look at the wound beneath the ripped cotton, he reached for a canteen and started pouring water over it to clean off some of the blood. “I suppose I should be grateful you three came back for me.”

“Yes,” Frank said as he sat down beside him. “I suppose you should be grateful. Now let me take a look at that.”

“I already handed myself over to your reckless ministry,” Nate snapped. “I'm not about to gamble on your doctoring skills.”

“Shut up and let me see.” Before Nate could protest any further, Frank grabbed his arm and pulled it toward him.

“Jesus Christ!” Nate grunted.“Take it—
Ow!
”

When Frank tugged on that arm a second time, he was looking Nate straight in the eyes to see his reaction. Having gotten what he was hoping for, he said, “That's for your poor choice of words. Hold still or you'll get another.”

Nate may have held still, but he didn't hold his tongue. As Frank poked and prodded the messy gash on his upper arm, Nate spewed a steady torrent of foul language. He didn't, however, take the Lord's name in vain.

“Lucky man,” Frank eventually said. “Looks like this little scratch was put here by some flying chunks of broken wood. You've got a nasty splinter, but there's no bullet lodged in there.”

“Yeah,” Nate grunted. “Real lucky.”

“The really lucky part is that I happen to have some damn fine whiskey to help ease the pain a bit.”

“Really?”

“Nope,” Frank said as he mercilessly tore the jagged piece of wood from where it had been lodged.

Nate clenched his jaw, refusing to give his partner the pleasure of seeing him wince. After Frank plucked out the splinter, he held it out to show Nate before tossing it over the side of the wagon.

“Sorry about that,” Frank said. “Had to distract you.”

“You ain't sorry.”

“Got me there. Here's something you can use to dress that wound,” the preacher said, handing over an old blue bandanna.

Now that the splinter was gone, Nate could finally draw a full breath. He still hurt in a dozen different ways, but at least one of them had been taken away. Sometimes, a man just had to savor what little bits of goodness were tossed his way. He sopped up some of the fresher blood and started wrapping the bandanna over the cut.

“Where the hell have you been, anyway?” Nate asked.

Frank sorted through the gear that had been hastily tossed into the back of the wagon. “I was in Nagle with Pete. He just took a faster way back to the camp on the crazy notion that you might be in trouble. I barely got back before I heard about you getting yourself tossed into that box. You'll be happy to know that your regulator friend—Ross, I believe his name was—also took work running food and supplies out to miners who were out working their claims.”

“Why would I give a damn about that?”

“Because,” Frank said, “this is his wagon.”

“You're stealing now too, Preacher?” Nate asked through a smirk.

“Guess you're a worse influence than I thought.”

Nate winced as he tightened the bandanna around his wounded arm. “Did the two of you at least manage to find anything worthwhile in regards to that knife maker?”

“He makes a whole lot more than just knives, for one thing. Seems Dog Ear himself came to visit him to pick up an order of some specialty items.”

“Pescaterro, huh?” Nate said. “Almost forgot about him.”

“No you didn't,” Frank said. “Once you're put onto someone's scent, you don't let loose of them until the job's through. Pescaterro wasn't alone, though. Seems he had a friend along. The man who made that knife didn't know the stranger's name, but he was certain he was even more of a handful than Dog Ear.”

Now that he was bandaged up, Nate took a swig from the canteen and drained it dry. “That other man . . . I know his name. Abraham Keyes.”

“Keyes?” Frank asked cautiously. “Isn't he the one who was locked away after killing Marshal Cavanaugh?”

“The same. It seems his short sentence was cut even shorter.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Hooo boy!” Deaugrey exclaimed as he returned from the little stream where the horses were tied. “Things must've really taken a turn for the worse if our holy father is spouting obscenities. I take it you've been told about our meeting with Mr. Keyes?”

“You met him?” Frank asked. “Here?”

Nate nodded. “I'll tell you all about it once we're riding again.”

“I wish I could help more in that regard,” Frank sighed. “All Pete's knife maker friend could tell us on that account was that Pescaterro and his friend were headed south. That's all he knew. Trust me.”

“They're headed to Joplin. What did you mean when you said that knife maker put together a special order for Keyes?”

A shadow seemed to fall over Frank's face as he thought about the answer to that question. Finally, he said, “Weapons and fortifications. Gatling guns, armor plating, even some sort of kerosene pump to spread wildfires.”

“Holy shit,” Nate groaned. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize,” Frank told him. “I don't approve of that sort of language, but every so often, it's justified.”

“Is this a sign of the end of days?” Deaugrey chided.

Frank didn't respond to that, but Nate said, “Only for Pescaterro and the piece of shit riding with him. How many weapons were made?”

“Not enough for an army,” Frank replied, “but more than enough to spill a whole lot of blood. According to the weapons maker, Pescaterro and Keyes weren't riding with a large group.”

“Less than a dozen, I'd say,” Pete added as he strode toward the wagon. “Of course, the tracks were far from fresh. There was also mention of a safe.”

A grin flickered across Nate's face.

“Thought you might like the sound of that,” Pete said.

“What was the safe for?” Nate asked.

“What's any safe for? I'd imagine we'll be needing to get it open and, unless we know for certain we can get the combination, there ain't none of us here that are suited for the job. Do you know where to find Corday?”

Nate nodded. “It may take a day or two, but I should be able to get her here.”

“Finally,” Deaugrey said as he rubbed his hands together. “One of Sathow's sinners that isn't a trial to be around.”

“I'll do my best to find her. I've got a notion of where to look, but even if I can't bring her to Joplin, I'd say we've got plenty to go on already,” Nate said confidently.

“Oh yes,” Deaugrey said. “We've got this bull by the horns. Should be a walk through a field of daisies to finish the rest of this job.”

“It very well may be,” Nate said. “At least until we get closer to Joplin. I'd bet everything I have that none of those men were along with Keyes when he came through these parts and met up with me. In fact, I could venture so far as to say that he was in a rush to get back to Joplin.”

“Would you now?” Deaugrey asked.

“Yeah. Otherwise, he would have stuck around to put a bullet between my eyes rather than leave the job to a pair of incompetents like them regulators.”

“That would mean he isn't overly concerned about being followed back to Joplin,” Frank pointed out.

“If you had the sort of armaments you mentioned waiting for you down there, would you be concerned about a small group of men like us?” Nate asked.

After a very short bit of consideration, Frank shrugged and admitted, “I suppose not.”

“I think you two are forgetting one key bit of information,” Deaugrey said.

The other men looked at him. They didn't bother asking for more because they knew it would be forthcoming whether it was requested or not.

“The infamous Mr. Keyes,” Deaugrey announced, “came straight after
me
.”

“Is that so?” Frank asked.

Still looking at Deaugrey, Nate replied, “Yeah. It is.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. Why don't you tell us, Grey?”

Clearly enjoying the discontent he'd sown, Deaugrey smirked and told them, “I haven't the faintest idea. He marched straight into that cathouse, though, and requested me by name.”

Nate got to his feet and worked his arm to make sure the bandanna would stay in place. He climbed down from the wagon, grateful for the chance to walk more than a half step without running into a wall. “This wagon looks like it's in rough shape,” he said while giving it a look from front to back.

“That smokehouse may have been pretty small, but it couldn't exactly be considered normal cargo,” Frank said. “Every axle was rattling something awful during the last stretch of our ride away from that camp. I doubt it'll make it much more than a few more miles before something vital gives way.”

“Then we're in luck,” Nate said. “Because it won't need to roll another couple of feet. It served its purpose, so we're safe to move on. That right, Pete?”

“More or less,” the tracker said. “There's some small camps scattered about and what looks to be a few claims in the area, but they ain't no concern. They either didn't hear what happened back in the main camp or don't care because they ain't taking their noses out of their work.”

“Good.” Nate placed his hands on the edge of the cart and took a look inside. Whatever gear wasn't already loaded into the saddlebags being carried by the other horses was in the wagon being pulled by Frank's mare and Nate's gelding.

Pointing to a bundle in the wagon, Nate asked, “Is that my pistol and belt?”

“Sure is,” Deaugrey replied. “Getting to you wasn't exactly easy, but stealing your gear from those regulators was child's play. I don't see why you insist on using that model Remington, though. It's not nearly as well balanced as a Colt.”

“I'm sentimental. Because of that, I'd hate for Keyes to miss out on the rest of the fight he started after he went through so much trouble to get to you. How'd you like to pick up where you left off?”

Deaugrey's smirk was a wicked sight to behold. “I believe that would only be proper.”

T
he next four days weren't easy by any stretch of the imagination, but after being locked up in a repurposed smokehouse, even a hard ride through rugged territory was a welcome change. Nate Sathow's thoughts churned through several possibilities of what they might find in Joplin, adding new bits of information he'd learned from Frank and Pete to the mix of what he already knew regarding Casey Pescaterro and Abraham Keyes. For every path to victory he dreamt up, Nate came up with two others that led straight to doomsday. The effort of sifting through so many different outcomes put a contemplative scowl onto his face. Such an expression wasn't unusual for him. In fact, it was so common that the lines scratched into his forehead and near his eyes had become permanent fixtures.

Little was seen of Pete during that ride. In the morning, he woke up, filled himself with chicory coffee and bacon, and rode ahead to scout the trail that lay in front of them. When the sun set, he made his way back to the spot where the others had made camp, stuffed his belly full of whatever Frank cooked for dinner, relayed whatever he'd learned that day to Nate and fell asleep. For him, that was more than just a common expression. Pete was usually so tired after he returned that he would literally fall back against a tree or rock and be snoring a few seconds later. Despite the long days, Pete was in his element. He scoured the hills for any possible dangers whether hostile Indians or bridges that had been washed away by floods. He didn't need to be told what to do. He simply . . . was.

Deaugrey was kept busy as well. Since his particular talents didn't lend themselves to life in the saddle, he perked up whenever he caught sight of a town, homestead or any other spot where he might be able to scrounge for supplies. While the rest of the group rode on, he would divert himself to any settlement he'd spotted and return stinking of liquor with his hair tousled by whatever woman he'd sweet-talked and his pockets filled with enough money to fund the ride for another day. Although some of Deaugrey's offerings had surely been plucked from their unsuspecting owners, Nate knew that most had either been bartered or won. A swindle all the same, perhaps, but a legal swindle. Mostly legal, anyway.

As for Frank, he kept to himself. He stayed busy tending to the normal duties required along the way such as making and breaking camp, cooking, tending to the horses and anything else that needed doing. Nate had once heard the preacher mention something about the simple purity of putting things in order. For Frank, the notion applied to any and all things. When he set things right, he was just as happy springing an innocent man from jail as he was in making sure there was enough wood in the pile to keep a fire going. He did both tasks with the same amount of vigor and enthusiasm.

It was their fourth night of the ride, and Frank was contentedly stirring a pot that bubbled with a pungent odor. “What's in there?” Pete asked after a quizzical sniff. “Don't smell like squirrel.”

“We finished off the last of the squirrel for breakfast,” Frank replied. “This is rabbit.”

“Don't smell like rabbit.”

“It had plenty of meat on its bones, so it'll do just fine.”

Deaugrey shifted in the rut he'd dug for himself using his restless backside. “Plenty of fat is more like it. That rabbit was the slowest of the lot that we flushed out of those bushes. That means it was the fattest.”

“It's what we have,” Frank said with an easy smile. “And it'll be just fine.”

“Makes me nervous when he gets so quiet,” Pete said while staring at Frank. “Usually only happens right before things go from bad to worse.”

“When the bunch of us are gathered up by Nate Sathow,” Deaugrey said, “things don't usually go any other way.”

“You can leave if you want,” Nate pointed out.

Deaugrey shrugged and dipped a spoon into the stewpot. “I'm not complaining. This beats the hell out of being trussed up and tossed into a locked room.”

It wasn't often that Nate knew exactly where Deaugrey was coming from and it was even rarer for him to not be frightened by that prospect.

After taking his sample of the stew, Deaugrey raised his eyebrows and nodded in appreciation. “Not that I don't enjoy all of this time beneath the majesty of the stars and enough cold air to make me pucker in places I'd rather not mention, but are we anywhere close to having a bed to sleep in for a change?”

“Joplin ain't far from here,” Pete reported.

“Then why don't we ride the rest of the way into town?” Deaugrey asked as he sat bolt upright. “We could make it!”

“Sure we could.”

“Excellent! Then—”

Stopping Deaugrey with a backhanded swat, Nate said, “There's a good reason why we don't just ride into town without breaking stride.”

“You're all gluttons for punishment,” Deaugrey muttered. “That's the reason.”

Speaking in a tone that was just as merry as if he were talking about a recipe for pumpkin pie, Frank said, “We're close to whatever Dog Ear and Keyes have built up. Whatever it is, they surely want to protect it. Keeping watch on the town would be a standard precaution, so we won't ride in like a parade. We'll trickle into town throughout the day like normal folk. Do you think this stew needs more salt?”

“Pepper,” Deaugrey said grudgingly.

“We don't have pepper.”

“Of course you don't. Gluttons, I tell you.”

“The preacher's right,” Pete said. “I been to Joplin, and there's men keeping watch on the trails coming into town as well as at the train station and stagecoach office.”

“Were they armed?” Nate asked.

“No. They was just scouts.”

Deaugrey let out a breath. “There,” he sighed. “You see? They weren't even armed. That's a good thing.”

“No,” Nate said sternly. “If they were armed, they'd probably be posted there to meet anyone looking to intrude on Keyes's business. If they're scouts, their job is to take any news back to their employer and bring back however many gun hands are necessary to deal with a problem. Are you certain they were Keyes's men, Pete?”

“I recognized a few of them as having run with Dog Ear Pescaterro,” Pete replied. “From what I hear lately, that means they're most likely taking orders from Keyes as well. I didn't recognize every last one of them scouts, but my gut tells me they're all keeping watch for the likes of us.”

“And that's good enough for me,” Frank said.

Nate nodded and helped himself to some stew. “Me too. According to that miner I spoke to, Keyes and Dog Ear were headed for a train depot outside of Joplin. Did you happen to see anything like that while you were out and about?”

Pete laughed so hard that he dribbled some of his stew into his bushy beard. Using the back of his hand to wipe it away, he said, “If you know one man who could scout ahead for the best path to ride while also visiting train stations and picking out which men lingering on the outskirts of town are vagrants and which are scouts
and
still have the time to look around for train depots . . . I'd like to shake his hand.”

“Just checking,” Nate said. “You and me can have a look tomorrow. Frank, see what you can do to figure out which of those men Pete found really
are
working for Keyes and how many of them we need to worry about.”

“What about me?” asked Deaugrey anxiously.

“You can keep your head down, your mouth shut and stay out of trouble for once.”

Deaugrey made a sour face and said, “You can't be serious.”

“A man can hope, can't he? If that's too much to handle,” Nate told him, “then you can go into Joplin and put your ear to the ground. See if anyone knows much about Keyes. If he's planning on putting those weapons he bought to use, he'll need more men and that means recruiting. As for Pescaterro . . .”

“Right,” Deaugrey said sharply. “I know just where to go for word on Dog Ear. There's a few stops he'll want to make after being locked away and then spending so much time on the trail. In fact, I might wanna join him in a few of those ventures. Not join
him
per se, but—”

“I know what you mean, Grey,” Nate cut in. “Just get the job done. We'll all head out after first light tomorrow. Got that?”

There were nods all around.

“Sathow is back on a schedule,” Deaugrey mused. “Once again, all is right with the world.”

With that, the conversation disbanded. Pete looked for a comfortable spot away from the glow of the fire, Deaugrey sat so close to the flames that he nearly set his sleeves alight, and Nate stepped away to stare into a southern sky colored by the distant glow of Joplin, Missouri. He rolled a cigarette using a pouch of tobacco purchased from one of the merchants that Deaugrey had swindled and by the time he was lighting it, he was no longer alone.

“You're not planning on riding off on your own, are you?” Frank asked.

“Too dark,” Nate replied.

“I mean once you learn where Keyes is holed up. Don't forget, the job was to track down Pescaterro.”

“I know what the damn job is.”

“You tend to take things personally sometimes. If I didn't know any better, I might think you were sending Grey out knowing he'll draw too much attention to himself as a way to force a fight with Keyes and the others before we're ready.”

Nate looked over to him, only to get an unwavering stare in return. The tip of the cigarette glowed as he inhaled, casting a deep red light on the bottom portion of his face. “You don't have to ride along if you don't want to.”

“See? You're high-strung at the moment. Perhaps it would be better if—”

“Grey will be fine,” Nate said. “I've worked with him more than you have and trust me, he'll be much easier to handle after he's blown off some steam. Besides, he's good at his job.”

“All right. Then you should know I'm good at my job also.”

“Your job is to watch our backs.”

“It's also to make certain the lot of you don't step too far out of line,” Frank pointed out. “Considering your history with Keyes, recent and otherwise, someone might think you're overly anxious to face him again.”

“Whether we're just after Pescaterro or not, we're gonna have to face Keyes.”

“Yes. Just watch yourself. He's not only loaded for bear, he's ready for a small war.”

Nate drew a deep, smoky breath and let it out in a stream of fragrant smoke. “Consider me warned. Thanks, Shep.”

“Tell me something,” Frank said. “You were planning on riding into whatever fortifications Keyes has, burning down his men and worrying about those weapons and fortifications later. Am I right?”

The next breath he took caused the cigarette to flare up even brighter. After holding its smoke in him for a spell, Nate let it out while savoring the acrid taste that was left behind. Eventually, he said, “Not anymore.”

“Good,” Frank said as he gave Nate's shoulder a friendly pat. “I knew there wasn't anything to be concerned about.”

After Frank had wandered off for some solitude, Nate made his way back to the fire. Deaugrey was still sitting there and looked over to ask, “Who's Shep?”

“Pardon me?”

“I've heard you call Frank ‘Shep' once or twice. What's that about?”

Nate shrugged. “The Lord is his shepherd and on more than one occasion, Frank has been mine.”

“Does that make you a sheep?” Deaugrey asked.

“Shut up and get to sleep.”

“Baaaaaa!!”