World War III (53 page)

“That’s right,” agreed Scarlett. “He didn’t even bother to fake an election. He simply seized control and appointed his henchmen to enforce the laws. New laws, which he created and then forced on the people, without their consent.”

“I see,” said Shiloh, shifting awkwardly in his chair. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you become the Mayor of Mound House?”

“I was elected,” she said, proudly.

“And the previous Mayor?”

“He vanished a few weeks ago,” she answered, “along with all the others. I’ve been doing my best, but it hasn’t been easy. After Damien killed the Mayor of Dayton and seized the town, he came here and tried to do the same, demanding my resignation. Of course I refused. If it hadn’t been for Hunter and some of my more loyal patrons, he probably would’ve killed me too.”

“I’m surprised he left you alone,” observed Shiloh. “He doesn’t sound like the type who’d give up.”

“He’s not,” replied Scarlett, “but so far they’ve left us alone. As it stands now we provide him and his thugs the pleasures they crave, in exchange for food.”

“Where does he get the food?”

“They steal it from neighboring ranches and farms,” she explained. “In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t had a run-in with him yet. It’s a precarious arrangement, but it’s worked so far. God only knows what he’ll do after Cody tells him what happened today.”

“I’m sorry,” said Shiloh, softly. “I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

“It’s not your fault,” she admitted. “Damien’s been wanting an excuse to enact his revenge and now he has one.”

“You’re a brave woman,” observed Shiloh, as if seeing her for the first time. “You mentioned having loyal patrons who helped before, would they do so again?”

“Perhaps. I suppose we’ll know soon enough.”

“So, you’re the owner of this establishment?” He asked, mildly curious.

“I am,” she admitted. “I hope it doesn’t make you think less of me?”

“Of course not,” said Shiloh, taking another drink. “We all live in a glass house and the right to cast judgment is reserved for God alone.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she agreed, noticing his wedding ring for the first time. “Your wife must be lonely, with you gone from home and all?”

Shiloh followed her gaze to the ring on his finger and cleared his throat, before answering. “My wife and children are gone,” he said. “They were killed in a car accident.”

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry! I never should have…”

“It’s alright,” he said, “they’re in a better place.”

“Of course,” agreed Scarlett, feeling foolish for saying anything.

The roar of men shouting and cursing erupted from downstairs, before the door swung open and Hunter entered, closing the door behind him.

“He’s here Miss Blackwell,” said Hunter, removing his hat. Although he didn’t appear frightened, his eyes looked worried.

“Oh dear!” Scarlett set the half empty glass of scotch on the desk and stood up, before walking to the window, where she could see the street below.

“Who’s here?” Asked Shiloh, standing up and joining her at the window.

“Damien,” she whispered, peering out the curtains.

“That was fast,” replied Shiloh, looking out the window over Scarlett’s shoulder. He could smell the sweet scent of her perfume and suddenly realized how vulnerable she was. Trembling, she turned and gazed deep into his eyes. He could sense her fear and desperation. “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay,” he added, gently taking her hand in his.

It required all of Scarlett’s willpower not to fall into Shiloh’s powerful embrace and wrap her arms around him. His steel, blue eyes and sandy blonde hair were mesmerizing and his touch sent shivers down her spine. He was the most confident and handsome man she’d ever met. She desperately wanted to curl up in the safety of his arms and hide from the world. These were new feelings for her and she wasn’t used to it. No man had ever had this type of effect on her, especially not a complete stranger.

“What do you want me to do ma’am?” Hunter asked, gripping his double-barreled shotgun.

“I, I don’t know,” Scarlett’s voice quivered.

“May I make a suggestion,” offered Shiloh.

Scarlett nodded, meekly. It had taken a lot of skill and strength to remain in control of the town and keep everything running smoothly, especially with so many rough men vying for control. Yet now, for the first time, all she wanted was to step back and let someone else take the reins.

“Empty the tavern downstairs and position your most reliable men on the second and third floors,” suggested Shiloh, “somewhere where they’ll have an open line of fire to the saloon below. You’ll have the high ground and therefore the advantage.”

“Sure,” agreed Hunter, “unless they burn the building down around us.”

“I won’t let that happen,” replied Shiloh.

“What are you gonna do?”

“I’ll meet Mr. Kirkpatrick on the main floor and see what he wants,” answered Shiloh. “Of course, I’ll need my gun back.”

Hunter glanced at Scarlett, who nodded in agreement. He withdrew the six-shooter from his waistband and tossed it to Shiloh. Without a word, he turned and slipped through the door, heading downstairs to position his men.

“What should I do?” Scarlett asked, watching Shiloh check his gun to make sure it was loaded.

“Stay here and try not to worry,” he said reassuringly. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Do you have a gun?”

“Yes,” she said, hurrying to the desk and pulling a small derringer from one of the drawers.

“Good,” he said, smiling at her determined expression. “Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone, except Hunter or myself.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice quivering.

He turned and started for the door, when Scarlett’s voice stopped him.

“Shiloh?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Sure,” he said, smiling, “no problem.” He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Standing outside the door, he waited until he heard the bolt slide into place. With his gun in its holster, Shiloh turned and headed downstairs. The weight of the six-shooter felt comforting against his thigh and gave him a boost of assurance. He walked past several men, positioned along the hallway, with rifles and shotguns poised and ready. Glancing over the banister, he noticed the saloon was empty.

“Are you sure about this?” Hunter asked, as Shiloh passed by.

“Just be ready,” he replied, “and tell your men not to shoot unless I shoot first, and then concentrate your fire at Cody and his men. I’ll take care of Damien myself.”

“I’ll spread the word,” said Hunter, “but be careful. I’ve never seen a man as fast or deadly with a gun, as Damien Kirkpatrick!”

Shiloh reached the bottom of the steps and walked to the center of the saloon, where the men above had a clear line of fire. He withdrew his six-shooter from its holster and spun the cylinder, before sitting at an empty porker table, with the gun concealed in his lap. He quickly memorized the location of surrounding tables and chairs, as he waited for Damien and his men to arrive. He didn’t have to wait long.

The heavy, oak doors swung open and a dozen men entered, guns drawn and ready. The first man through the door wore a black, leather holster, with twin, ivory-handled pistols. He had black, curly hair and an ugly scowl upon his face. Sauntering through the double-doors behind him, were Cody and his entourage of thugs.

Shiloh couldn’t help but smile, noticing their suspicious expressions, as they glanced around the empty saloon, searching for anyone who posed a threat. Their eyes finally settled on him, sitting alone in the center of the room. The group cautiously approached his table, looking left and right and poised for trouble. Damien’s eyes remained locked on Shiloh’s and his hands were never more than an inch from his guns.

“Hello gentlemen,” greeted Shiloh, one hand resting on the table, the other gripping the six-shooter beneath it. “How may I help you?”

“That’s him,” sneered Cody. “He thinks he’s a real bad ass!”

“My name is Damien Kirkpatrick,” said the man, with ivory pistols. “I’m the Mayor of Dayton. I understand you had a run-in with some of my boys earlier today.”

“That’s right,” agreed Shiloh. “They weren’t being very friendly.”

“Care to elaborate,” pressed Damien, hooking his thumbs behind his belt, inches from the twin, ivory pistols.

“I was minding my own business and playing a game of cards, when they confronted me,” explained Shiloh. “It was self-defense.”

“That’s not what I heard!”

“I’m not surprised,” replied Shiloh. “But you don’t really expect men of their caliber to be honest, do you?”

“You sure seem confident, for a man all alone and surrounded by enemies,” declared Damien.

“It doesn’t require courage to deal with the likes of them,” said Shiloh, nodding at the Mayor’s entourage.

“You’re either crazy or stupid,” spat Damien, a smile creeping across his face. “But you’ve got brass balls, I’ll give ya that,” he added, pulling a chair out with one hand and dropping into it, his other hand remaining close to his gun. “I could use a man like you.” He said, staring across the table at Shiloh.

“I’m not for sale.”

“You haven’t heard my offer yet!” Damien reached into his pocket and dropped a handful of gold coins onto the table between them. “And there’s plenty more where that came from,” he said, grinning.

“There always is,” replied Shiloh, unimpressed, “but anything of truly value can’t be purchased.”

“You’re a stubborn man,” grumbled Damien. “What’s your name stranger?”

“Shiloh.”

“Well Shiloh, have a drink on me.” Damien picked up a bottle of whiskey and poured two shots, before sliding one to Shiloh and swallowing the other.

“No thank you,” said Shiloh, ignoring the whiskey in front of him.

“It’s hard to like a man who doesn’t drink,” hissed Damien, beginning to lose his temper.

“Hard, maybe,” smiled Shiloh, “but not impossible.”

“You do realize I could have my men shoot you down like a mangy dog, right here and now!”

“Men may fire bullets,” responded Shiloh, “but God decides where they land.”

“God doesn’t exist!” Damien shouted, unaccustomed to men refusing him.

“Agree to disagree,” replied Shiloh.

“I like you,” said Damien, sliding the gold coins off the table and into his hand, “at least you’ve got courage.” He stood up and pocketed the coins, before pouring himself another shot of whiskey. He tossed his head back, swallowing the amber liquid and placed the empty glass on the table. “It’s too bad I’m gonna have to kill you!”

Damien’s hands were moving before he’d finished the sentence. With lightning speed and a blur of motion, his hands flashed to the ivory-handled pistols. He was fast, very fast, but not fast enough. Damien’s first shot sent splinters flying into Shiloh’s face, as the bullet smashed into the table in front of him.

Without hesitation, Shiloh fired his own gun from his lap. The bullet tore through the table and slashed through the gunman’s shoulder, spinning him around and causing him to drop one of his guns. He fired two more shots into Damien’s chest, before diving headlong under a nearby table.

The saloon erupted in a roar of gunfire, as Hunter and his friends opened fire on the unsuspecting men below. Splinters riddled Shiloh’s hands and face, as bullet’s thudded into the tables and chairs around him. He glimpsed Cody through the hail of bullets, as he scrambled out the front door, abandoning his men. He snapped a shot in Cody’s direction, but was fairly sure he’d missed.

When the shooting stopped and the smoke had cleared, Shiloh slowly stood, brushing dust and shards of glass from his clothes. The floor around him was covered in shells and littered with the dead. Still gripping the six-shooter, he withdrew extra shells from his pocket and quickly reloaded. He took a step forward, his gun held ready.

Lying in a pool of blood, less than two feet away, Damien Kirkpatrick glanced around at the bodies of his men, before looking up at Shiloh. “You, you killed me,” he managed to say, choking on the blood trickling from his mouth.

“You didn’t give me much choice,” replied Shiloh, staring down at the dying man.

Damien gazed up at the ceiling and smiled, before his eyes glazed over. The Mayor of Dayton was dead.

Shiloh wondered what Damien had seen in that last moment, as life faded away. Perhaps it was the angel of death, come to collect another soul, or maybe he’d glimpsed God, before transcending into another dimension. Then again, maybe he’d seen nothing at all.

“That was some mighty fine shooting!” Hunter shouted, as he descended the stairs. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

“The boy scouts,” mumbled Shiloh, sliding his pistol into its holster.

Hunter chuckled, before pointing at blood on Shiloh’s face. “It looks like they got ya.”

Shiloh gingerly touched his cheek and looked down at the blood on his fingers. “Must have been a splinter,” he replied, wiping the blood onto his jeans.

“Ya know I think what Damien said is true,” observed Hunter, looking down at the body of Dayton’s former Mayor. “You’ve gotta be a little crazy, cause they definitely had you dead to rights. It’s a miracle you weren’t killed in the crossfire.”