Brother's Keeper (25 page)

way. The four of them shared a table and a bottle of Andy’s best whiskey and shared their thoughts about all that happened over the last several months. They talked about how Carter had taken over the town and how Jess had come back to Black Creek to take care of it, along with Carter and his bunch of hired killers. They talked about Jess’s brother and how that all played out. Jim, Andy and Tony did most of the talking, Jess adding a comment now and then.

“Well, Jess, what now for you?” asked Tony. “You want to reconsider that sheriff’s badge again?”
“No thanks, Tony. I’ve got to move on in a few days. I think I’ll head south towards Mexico and warmer weather.”
“Might that have a little something to do with your father?” Jim asked.
“I suppose so.”
“Well, ya don’t need to be in no hurry,” said Andy. “You should stay in town a few days and relax.”
“Actually, I’m going to do that, believe it or not. I need to take care of a few things. As a matter of fact, you boys can help me with some of it. Tony, I need you to make me a new leather sling for my scattergun and knife.”
“I’ll make it look real nice for you,” replied Tony.
“Jim,” said Jess, turning to him, “I need that new double-barrel I saw behind your counter. I’m going to have Tony here cut it down a little more and then shave off the stock some to make it more like a pistol handle like this,” Jess said, as he took Andy’s scattergun and showed Tony how he wanted it cut down and the handle shaved.
“Consider it done, my friend,” replied Tony, still looking over the scattergun and mentally making notes as to how he would do it. The four of them all raised their glasses and tapped them together in friendship.
Over the next few days, Jess relaxed and wandered around town, spending time with Jim and Sara and with Tony and Andy. Most of the townsfolk were friendly to Jess although some would not even exchange glances with him. Jess sensed it wasn’t because they didn’t like Jess, it was more that they were fearful of him. The preacher in town tried to give him a spiritual lesson on the evils of killing but Jess politely told him to work his words on someone who was listening. He knew there was no way he could make any preacher understand what he was doing. “You do your work, and I’ll do mine,” Jess had told him.
Jess paid a visit to the gunsmith in town and had him load some ammo for him. He asked the gunsmith to make some special loads for his Sharps Big Fifty. He wanted the slug a little lighter and the cartridge loaded with a little more powder so it would shoot a little flatter on a long shot. He had him make some special loads for his pistol. He had the gunsmith reduce the powder load slightly as well as the slug. That would reduce the kick a little and yet still with deadly results. Jess figured it would help when fanning the pistol. He switched out Gray and the packhorse for the two long horses and he supplied up for his trip south. He purchased extra stock ammo from Jim along with the best telescope Jim had in stock.
He stayed with Jim and Sara, in the same spare room upstairs where he had stayed the day his family was murdered. He remembered that day as if it were yesterday and mostly because he made sure to remember it every day. It was those thoughts that gave him the strength and drive that made him the man that he was. It was the rage he felt for the men who had murdered his family and other men like them that allowed him to do things most men couldn’t. Like shooting Deke Moore who was wounded and sitting in the middle of the street unarmed or forcing Randolph Jackson to brace him in the middle of the street.
He knew that most people couldn’t see it the way Jess saw it. Maybe that was because they couldn’t feel the rage that Jess felt. It did not matter to him that some people would never accept his way of dealing with bad men. All that really mattered is that he believed in what he was doing and that was that.
He was looking at himself in the same mirror he had looked into that very day that his life had changed from a normal one to a very different and dangerous one. He could see it in his own face. The loneliness, the sadness, and the coldness underneath his eyes, hidden deep until someone made the fatal mistake of bringing it forward. He finished washing up and went down for breakfast with Jim and Sara.
Jess was leaving today and Jim and Sara were sad about that, but they were grateful that they had at least been able to keep him with them for a few days. They talked and ate and simply enjoyed each other’s conversation, but it was time to say goodbye, for now.
“Are you certain you won’t stay for just one more day?” Sara asked.
“I’d like to, but I have to get moving. It’s going to get real cold soon and I have discovered that I don’t like it that cold, especially for one who rides the trail most of the time,” replied Jess.
“Well, it was sure nice to have you around for a little, especially when you ain’t shooting someone,” laughed Jim. “Hell, it’s been almost three days now since you shot someone.”
Jess grinned. “I guess you’re about right there. I don’t really take much joy in shooting someone, but if it needs doing, I don’t mind it much either.”
Sara gave Jess a long hug and kissed him on his cheek. Jim did the same but left out the kissing part. Jess turned and walked out and headed for the livery where he knew Tony had been getting his horses and his things ready. He had told Tony he would be pulling out today.
As he walked into the livery Tony was sitting with Andy, waiting for Jess.
“Morning, you two,” Jess said, “time to move on for me.” Tony and Andy stood up and both shook his hand.
“You going lookin’ for yer father, huh,” asked Andy. Jess looked at Andy and then over to Tony.
“Tony, I think Andy might just be getting a little smarter each day.”
“Yeah,” said Tony, “but still not smart enough to keep his yap shut when he should.” They all laughed at that.
“You sure you don’t want to take LeAnn with ya?” asked Andy, his hopes dangling on a string.
“Not a chance in hell, Andy. But you knew that already,” replied Jess, smiling.
“Well, ya can’t blame a man for tryin’,” replied Andy.
“That’s exactly what I was talking about,” Tony said, laughing. “The man can’t keep his yap shut.”
Jess walked his horses out of the livery and mounted up. He had decided to call his new horses the same names, Gray and Sharps. He liked to keep things simple. He nodded his head to Tony and Andy and turned his horse toward the end of the street.
As he walked his horse out of town some of the townsfolk waved at him as if to say thank you. He felt good about that. As he got to the end of the street there was an old lady sitting on her porch in a rocking chair. She stood up as he passed her place. It was the old lady who had spoken to him back in Carter’s Hardware store the day he chased all the customers out and over to Jim’s store.
“You take good care of yourself, young Mr. Williams. Some of the people in town won’t say it, but most of them are grateful for what you did. And for me, you keep doing it. There are a lot of people out there who need someone like you even though they might not know it.”
He smiled at her and removed his hat in respect. “Why ma’am, I think that’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” replied Jess, stopping momentarily. “Thank you and I promise you that I will continue doing what seems to have turned out to be my life’s work. You take care of yourself, ma’am,” he said and he began again on the road leaving town.
As he rode that first day, he thought a lot about what had happened. He thought about his father and where he might find him and when. It didn’t matter, just so long as he finally did. When that day arrived, he would deal with it in the same manner as he had with his brother. He smiled at the irony of being the one to finally collect the blood bounty that Carter had place on his head.
It was a cold but sunny day with just a slight hint of a breeze. He shuddered a little. Not from the cold though. It was because he remembered about Andy asking him to take LeAnn with him.

The saloon was no different than any other saloon that one would find in many of the small towns scattered throughout the west. It reeked of cheap whiskey, and cigar smoke lingered heavily in the air. There was one bartender behind the bar and a few women sitting around waiting for one of the men to take them upstairs for a little attention. One of the women was sitting next to a man who was playing poker at a table with three other men. They had been playing for several hours now, and it was obvious to everyone in the game who was in control. Eddie Sloan always liked to have a whore sitting next to him when he was playing cards and he always liked to control the game. Most of the time he could control it simply through his well-honed skill at the game and when that didn’t work, he could always fall back on his cheating skills. Sloan had honed his cheating skills over the years to a level of perfection that most men would never acquire. He could palm cards, hide them and make them disappear without anyone else noticing it. He would practice those skills in his hotel room every day so that he could always keep sharp and way ahead of the best of players.

He would often ride out of whatever town he was staying in and practice his pistol skills for hours. It was another skill that went along with his profession as an expert poker player, especially when someone at the table would finally get fed up with losing every hand and make the mistake of calling Eddie Sloan a cheat or a liar. That was the mistake Brad Tillman was making at this moment.

“Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Tillman. “How in the hell did you get another two pair? Hell, I’ve never had that many good hands in a row in any game and I’ve played a lot of poker. You just can’t be that lucky, it ain’t natural.”

Sloan leaned back in his chair and picked up his cigar and took a long pull on it and let it out slowly, savoring the flavor. He enjoyed a good cigar much like he enjoyed a good whore once in a while. He looked completely relaxed and completely within his environment. He looked at the other two men as if to see if they were going to start complaining. Sloan could see in their faces that they wanted to say something, but they would not. They knew all too well that Eddie Sloan was not a man to cross or especially call a cheat. They would be no problem for Sloan. They would simply lose all their money to Sloan and walk away, which is exactly what most of the men who played poker against Sloan always did. Poker was a little like being a gunslinger. Even though you knew the man you were up against was a better player, you just had to try your luck to see if you could be the one who could brag that you beat the best poker player in the west—Eddie Sloan. To this day, no one had ever beaten Sloan at poker and this day would be no different. The pot on the table had grown to almost two hundred dollars before Tillman called Sloan’s hand. Tillman thought he finally had a winning hand with a pair of kings and a pair of fours. His smile had quickly faded when Sloan laid his pair of aces and a pair of eights on the table. This was the hand that had quickly become known as
the dead man’s hand.
It was the very same hand that Wild Bill Hickok was holding when Jack McCall shot him in the back while Hickok was playing in a poker game in Deadwood, South Dakota on August 2, 1876.

Sloan looked squarely into Brad Tillman’s eyes and found what he was looking for. “So, what are you saying, Tillman? Are you saying that I’m unnaturally lucky?”

Tillman leaned forward in his chair. “I’m saying anyone who can win that many hands and have that many good hands in that short of a time has got to be cheating.”

It was the one thing that Brad Tillman shouldn’t have said, but he had said it now and there was no taking the comment back. Sloan motioned for his whore to go to the bar. She knew what that meant and she did not linger. She had seen this before and knew that it would not be long before lead flew and someone died. She walked up to the bar next to a tall man who had a full head of golden hair along with a beard and a mustache. He was sipping whiskey and watching the event unfold as if he had bought a ticket for it. When she placed herself to the left of the man, she partially blocked his view of the poker table and the man politely asked her if she could move to his right.

She looked up at him curiously. “You’ve never seen a gunfight before?” she asked, somewhat nonchalantly.
Frank Reedy looked her over. She was prettier than most of the women who worked in her profession. “Normally, I don’t much care to watch one man shoot it out with another for no good reason, but I have a vested interest in this one.”
Her curiosity grew a little more. “What do you mean? Do you know those men?”
“I know one of them. Eddie Sloan. The man you were sitting with. You know the one who keeps winning hand after hand.”
She laughed. “I don’t know what you’d call it. He is either the luckiest man I’ve ever met or the best poker player anywhere in the west, but he never loses a game. What is your interest in him? If you’re looking to get into the game, I believe there will be an empty seat real soon,” she said, looking past Reedy’s shoulder at the unfolding argument.
Eddie Sloan had put down his cigar. He was now glaring at Brad Tillman. “Mister, did I hear you correctly. Did you just call me a cheat?”
Tillman pushed back his chair and slowly stood up. “I do believe that’s what I called you—a cheat. I heard about you before and that’s why I got into this game. I wanted to know if the great Eddie Sloan was really the best poker player in the west or if he was a cheat. Now I know the answer. I’ve played a lot of poker and no one is that lucky for that long of a time.”
Frank Reedy watched intently as Eddie Sloan slowly stood up to face Brad Tillman. “I’m going to do you a favor,” said Sloan. “I’m going to give you a chance to apologize for your remarks and then ask you to leave the game and the saloon. Also, don’t ever sit at a game that I’m playing in, ever. If you do, I will plug you before your ass hits the chair.”
“And what If I don’t?” replied Tillman, a growing defiance in his voice.
Sloan sneered at Tillman. “Then we will have to see if you can handle that side iron better than a deck of cards.”
“I can play just fine, when everyone at the table is playing fair and with the same deck of cards.”
Sloan lowered his head a little. “Now, there you go again, saying something that you ought not to. I warned you once; I’m not going to warn you again.”
“You can kiss my ass, Sloan. I can beat you in a fair card game and I think I can beat you on the draw, too.”
“You might be making a big mistake thinking that, Tillman. You ain’t got a chance in hell of beating me. I’m telling you, if you snake that thing out, I’ll plug you before you clear leather.”
“Yeah…let’s just see about that.”
Brad Tillman went for his Colt .45. His hand reached the butt of his pistol and he had barely started to get it out of the holster when Sloan’s Colt .45 barked loudly, punching a hole right through the middle of Tillman’s chest. Tillman stumbled backwards and Sloan put another slug into Tillman’s chest as he was falling over, making sure he would not get back up from the floor. Sloan looked around the room to see if anyone else was going to challenge him and when he saw none, he simply whirled his Colt .45 back into his holster and began to sit back down and collect his pot of money when Frank Reedy spoke.
“Mr. Sloan, that was mighty impressive. I’ve seen some fast guns but you are one of the fastest men on the draw I’ve seen in a long time,” said Reedy, keeping both hands on the bar so as not to give Sloan the wrong idea.
Sloan had stopped his movement toward his seat and stood back up and looked Frank Reedy over for a moment. “You look like you might be one of them bounty hunters. Are you planning on trying my hand too?”
Reedy shook his head. “No sir, not me. I know my limitations and I know I can’t beat you on the draw, that’s for sure.”
“Well, good, you’re a smart man to admit it. It’s too bad Tillman there wasn’t as smart,” remarked Sloan, glancing over at the now dead body of Brad Tillman. Sloan again started the movement of sitting back down in his chair and was stopped by Frank Reedy’s next statement.
“I do, however, know someone who
is
faster than you.”
That got Sloan’s attention right away and he stood straight back up. Then he smiled. “You must be talking about my boy, Tim. He’s about the only one I know that might have a chance against me and that’s because I taught him everything I know about drawing and shooting a pistol.”
“Evidently, you didn’t teach him enough.”
Sloan’s demeanor turned somewhat darker. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Tim Sloan seems to have managed to get himself killed.” replied Reedy, still keeping his hands on the bar so as not to give Eddie Sloan any reason to think that Reedy was going to challenge him.
Sloan looked down at the table, thinking out loud for a moment. “I wondered why I hadn’t seen him. Hell, I thought he went out East to play poker and was having too much fun and hadn’t made it back yet…” Then Sloan looked up at Reedy with a glare. “Are you the one who killed my boy?”
Reedy shook his head no as he answered. “No, I didn’t kill your boy, but I know who did.”
“Who?” demanded Sloan.
“Your only living son,” answered Reedy, a mischievous grin on his face.
Sloan was thoroughly confused, which wasn’t something he was used to. “What the hell are you talking about? I only had one son, and now you’re telling me he was killed by my only
living
son? That doesn’t make any sense to me.” Sloan thought again for a minute and then it finally came to him. He remembered about leaving Tim’s brother back with the woman who had bore him his two sons. He had taken the one son who looked to be the stronger of the two. “I’ll be damned. I haven’t seen or heard from my other boy since he was a baby. And now you tell me that he’s gone and killed his own brother, Tim?”
Reedy looked at Sloan with that same strange grin. “I know it sounds kind of crazy but yes, that’s what I’m telling you.”
“Well, why the hell do you suppose he went and did that?”
“You’ll be able to ask him that yourself in a moment or so. He is probably walking up the street as we speak.”
“What the hell is he doing here?”
“He’s looking for you.”