Savage. Part 31

Some calculating showed me I was no more than about two when Hickok died.

"I'm a spot older than I look," I told Emmet.

That got him to laugh.

"Who really showed you?" he asked.

"No one but you, actually. I never in my life fired a shot until this very day when that fellow stuck his arm out the train window."

He gave me a puzzled look. There was some wariness to it, but not much anger.

"I'm not having you on," I said. "Believe me. If I'd known what I was about, I most certainly wouldn't have humiliated myself in the matter of loading bullets."

He took to smiling again when I reminded him of that. "Land, I've never seen such a thing."

"I suppose you'll tell everyone."

"It's just a shame they wasn't there to see it for themselves."

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

My First Night in the Outlaw Camp Back at the camp, a big pot of stew was bubbling on the fire. The smell set my mouth to watering.

McSween was busy stirring the mixture, Chase bringing in some more firewood, Snooker cleaning his Winchester, Breakenridge resting on the ground with his back propped up by his saddle, busy at nothing.

"How'd it go?" McSween asked.

"Well," Emmet said, "we had us quite a time."

"Glad to see n.o.body's wounded," McSween said.

"You all sure missed a show," Emmet announced.

With everybody looking on, he drew one of his Colts and plucked a cartridge from his gunbelt. "This right here's how w.i.l.l.y went to load up," he said. Holding the pistol in front of his face, frowning and sticking his tongue out a corner of his mouth as if he were trying very hard to think, he poked his bullet into the muzzle. "I say," he said, mimicking the way I talk, "isn't this how it goes, really?"

"No!" Snooker squealed. "Did he?"

Well, I hadn't and Emmet knew it. But I judged he might like me more if I didn't spoil his fun.

"Sure as I'm standing here."

Snooker and Breakenridge, they both whooped it up considerable. Emmet, too, though not as hard as he'd done in the first place. "Yep!" he went on. "Just what he did!" Chase didn't laugh, but sort of grinned with one corner of his mouth and shook his head at me.

McSween glanced my way, then looked around at the others. He didn't seem amused, but rubbed his whiskery cheek. "Well," he said, "no call to make sport of the lad. He didn't know no better."

"It just beats all!" Snooker blurted.

"Well, that's what I I reckoned," Emmet said, calming down some. "But then he figured out where the bullets go, so I picked myself up off the ground and watched him try to shoot." reckoned," Emmet said, calming down some. "But then he figured out where the bullets go, so I picked myself up off the ground and watched him try to shoot."

"Hope you took cover," Snooker said.

Emmet gave my arm a squeeze. "Show 'em, w.i.l.l.y." With the pistol in his other hand, he pointed to a tree off beyond the campsite. "See if you can put one in there."

"Don't plug the horses," Snooker said.

The horses, they were way off to the other side, and not in any danger at all no matter how bad a shot I might be, unless I turned halfway around.

But I didn't figure I was was a bad shot. Quite the contrary. I was feeling just brimful of talent. a bad shot. Quite the contrary. I was feeling just brimful of talent.

"Hold on, there," Breakenridge said. He wanted to be standing up so he wouldn't miss the fun.

While he got to his feet, Snooker made quite a show of scampering around behind me. "Think I'm safe here?" he asked.

"Quit your funnin' the lad," McSween told him. He unsquatted and turned to watch me.

They all all watched me. watched me.

"Are we quite ready?" I asked.

"Just take her easy," McSween said. "Spite of what Emmet likely told you, quickest draw in the world don't matter worth a hill of beans if you miss what you're aiming at."

"Don't blow your toes off," Snooker warned.

I pulled and fired. Bark jumped off the tree trunk.

The laughing stopped.

"I'll be," McSween muttered. "That's some mighty fair work, w.i.l.l.y."

Emmet said, "I learned him real good, huh boys?"

"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" Chase asked me.

"Over by the creek."

"He claims he never fired a gun till today," Emmet explained.

"That the honest truth?" Chase asked.

"Yes, sir," I said.

"Jesus wept," Breakenridge said.

"Just don't let it swell your head up," McSween told me. "There's a whole lot more to life than being handy with a six-gun. Not that it don't help. But it can get you into sc.r.a.pes if you don't watch yourself careful."

"McSween knows plenty about sc.r.a.pes," Chase said, and sounded serious.

"That's a fact."

"I don't suppose I'm quite good enough to start taking on real gunfighters," I said.

"Glad to hear you say it," McSween said. "And you're right. You got loads of natural talent, looks like, but what you gotta do is hone your skills. And learn what you can from those of us that's been around."

"Thank you. I'd like to learn whatever's necessary."

McSween and Chase, they'd treated me fine pretty much from the start. But after my demonstration with the Colt, the others warmed up to me. All of a sudden, I was no longer an outsider. They talked to me and joked with me, just like I'd been with the gang forever. It made me feel welcome and happy.

Long about dark, the stew finished cooking. McSween scooped out gobs of it into tin cups, and we all sat around the fire to eat. The rabbit parts were mixed in with beans and onions. A morsel of food hadn't pa.s.sed my lips since the previous night aboard the train, so I consumed the stew with great relish.

I can't recollect ever enjoying a meal more than that one. Not only did the hot stew taste wonderful, but I was among five new friends who were actual western desperados-actual train robbers. Me. Partnered up with a gang of outlaws.

Good fellows, even if they did ride on the wrong side of the law. Good fellows who figured I had the makings of a gunfighter.

For a while there, I forgot about all my aches and worries. I hardly felt like myself at all. Trevor Wellington Bentley seemed like a stranger I'd left behind. I was w.i.l.l.y. A hardriding ruffian good with a Colt, caught up in a grand adventure. It was ever so bully!

After we got done eating, I volunteered to take the pot and cups down to the creek. I went off by myself and cleaned them. The night was lovely, all atwinkle with stars, a full moon glinting silver on the water and making all the rocks and bushes look like they were brushed with milk. The creek gurgled along, quiet and peaceful. I could hear the boys talking off in the distance. Some birds were warbling. A coyote howled.

I don't know as I'd ever been quite so happy to be right where I was.

When the supper things were clean, I set them on a rock and dried my hands. I stretched. I filled myself with air that smelled a bit of woodsmoke. Then I s.n.a.t.c.hed out my Colt. Didn't fire, though. The night was too calm for gunshots. I didn't want to stir up the boys, either.

The iron felt heavy and good in my hand.

I holstered it. "Don't make me ventilate you, hombre," I whispered. "Go for your iron, and you'll be sleeping under sod." The hombre in my head didn't listen to reason. I slapped leather. "Pow!"

Well, I was having myself a fine time, so I kept at it for a while. By loosening my belt so the holster didn't hang so high, I was able to draw faster. Each time I pulled, though, the gun lifted the holster off my leg a bit. I could see why Emmet and the others tied theirs down. What I needed was a rawhide thong, but I didn't have one.

Not wanting the others to catch on that I'd been practicing, I tightened up my belt again before gathering the utensils and heading back to the fire.

They were pa.s.sing around a bottle of whiskey. I took my place by McSween's side. He handed me the bottle, and I swigged some, then pa.s.sed it over to Chase.

"Emmet tells us you killed a feller," McSween said.

"Only one," I said, recalling that Emmet had claimed four for himself. "And you?"

"None that didn't ask for it."

"Mine asked for it, I reckon. He attacked me, and I did no more than defend myself."

"Did the law take after you?" Emmet asked.

"Indeed, I found myself pursued by Bobbies and an awful mob. If they'd caught me..."

"What the tar are them Bobbies?" Snooker wanted to know.

"Why, they're constables. Policemen."

"So they had a posse on your tail," Chase said. "Been in the same fix our own selves from time to time. How'd you get shut of it?"

"I nipped into a courtyard and hid."

"This was over there in England?" McSween asked.

"Yes, sir. If I hadn't stabbed that bloke, I'd be there still."

"So you lit out?"

"Actually, I ran afoul of Jack the Ripper." None of the boys acted like they'd ever heard of him, but they seemed mighty interested in my tale. So I plugged on, only taking breaks to hear all the things they had to say and to answer questions and to swallow some whiskey whenever the bottle came around.

I explained how the Ripper'd skulked about the East End, murdering wh.o.r.es. Then I told how, after escaping from the mob, I'd taken shelter in Mary's room. How I'd been right there under her bed when the Ripper butchered her. I told about following him afterward and attacking him.

"That showed a heap of gumption," McSween said.

"Why, I couldn't allow him to slay the poor woman. I only wish I'd killed him then and spared the world from further woes. If I'd had a Colt in my hand, he'd be in h.e.l.l where he belongs."

I told about stabbing him in the back, and how it hadn't appeared to damage him much at all. The boys took on quite a bit over my removal of Whittle's nose. But they settled down and listened as I described the chase and my plunge into the Thames.

About then, Breakenridge fetched a new bottle from his saddle bag, and we started in on it. I was feeling mighty fine.

After I explained what happened to Trudy's father, Snooker allowed the old man got no worse than he deserved. "He shouldn't've busted your head, w.i.l.l.y boy."

"It goes to show what comes of making wrong estimations in regard to another feller's intentions," McSween added.

I went on with my story, telling about our trip to Plymouth, the death of the Irishman, then about our voyage across the Atlantic. Why, the boys seemed purely spellbound as I told of how we fought our way through rough seas and those terrible storms.

I was just full of myself and liquor and the joy of having an audience that hung on my every word. I was in rare form. But I got the yacht all the way to Gravesend Bay before I realized I hadn't mentioned much of anything about poor Trudy-only that she'd been aboard and cooked for us. Nothing about the ways Whittle had tormented her, or how she'd been the one to throw the Irishman's head overboard, or how I'd saved her those times from hanging and drowning.

I hadn't left such things out of my story on purpose. They'd simply stayed inside me. And I was glad of that.

Some of the fun leaked out of me when I recalled all that had happened with Trudy, and how she'd ended.

I drank some more whiskey, almost dropped the bottle, but caught it in time. Then I handed it over to Chase.

"We were anch.o.r.ed offsh.o.r.e, that night. I was quite sure Whittle wouldn't let us live. I knew we had to take drastic steps if we were to save Trudy. Michael, however, wanted no part of it. The b.l.o.o.d.y coward."

I do have some recollection of calling Michael a b.l.o.o.d.y coward.

Then it was suddenly morning. I found myself wrapped in a blanket near McSween, sore all over, my head just afire with agony. I grabbed my head to keep it from coming apart. That helped some.

It wasn't quite sunup yet. The others were still snoozing away.

I lay there with my pains and tried to think back. I couldn't remember turning in. For a while, I couldn't remember anything at all that had happened after coming back from the creek and sitting down by the fire. Then bits and pieces started showing themselves. Pretty soon, I recalled what had gone on up till I reached the part in my story where I called Michael a b.l.o.o.d.y coward.