Brother's Keeper (8 page)

T HAD BEEN A HARD THREE DAYS
ride to the town of Holten, from Black Creek, Kansas for Terrence Hanley. He only stopped once in a small

town along the way. Just long enough for a quick bath, a few shots of whiskey at the saloon and a stop at the general store for a few supplies. He arrived in Holten late in the afternoon. He stabled his horse, got himself a room for the night and headed for the sheriff’s office to see what he could find out about Tim Sloan.

Russ Mathers had been the sheriff of Holten for about a year. He wasn’t what you called a great sheriff, but he did okay for a man in his late fifties. He let a lot of things slide, only getting involved in the most serious of affairs. If a gunfight happened between two men, he would let it go on as long as it was a fair fight. Mathers was walking out of his office and heading for some supper when Terrence Hanley walked up to him.

“I’m looking for a man by the name of Tim Sloan. I’ve been told you know him and could probably point him out to me.”

“Oh yeah, you must be the man with the message. I remember getting a wire a few days back from a man by the name of Carter asking me to give Sloan a message to wait for someone who would be bringing him a letter. I only remember it because this man Carter said he would pay Sloan five hundred just to wait for you. That true?”

“Sure is, Sheriff. I have the money on me right now and ready to deliver it to Sloan after he reads the letter.”
“Well, all right then. You can find Sloan at the saloon, which is where he spends most of his time. He’s a pretty good card player, even though he’s a young one. His father and him ran a pretty successful poker game here the last few weeks or so. His father left yesterday and Tim stayed around waiting to see if someone really would show up and pay him the money and of course, to try and squeeze a few more dollars out of the gamblers here in town. I hope you ain’t looking for any trouble with him though. He may be young but he’s damn fast with a pistol and he ain’t real friendly, if’n you know what I mean. He’s killed one man so far and pissed off quite a few more since he’s been here.”
“Not me, Sheriff. I’m no gunslinger. I’m just here to deliver a message. After that, I plan to ride out tomorrow and head straight back to Carter’s ranch.”
“That’s a good plan. Anyway, there’s the saloon down the street where he hangs out. I’m sure you’ll find him down there, probably locked in another poker game. Food’s pretty good too. I’m heading down there if you want to walk with me.”
“Thanks Sheriff. To tell you the truth, I am mighty hungry and I would appreciate it if you would introduce me to Sloan.”
Both the sheriff and Hanley walked down the street to the saloon. The place was a little on the shabby side but at least it was clean. Hanley walked into the saloon behind the sheriff and went straight to the bar and ordered a whiskey. The place was pretty busy with several people at the bar and two or three tables occupied. Six men who were obviously long into a poker game occupied one table. The sheriff walked over by that table and waited. Five of the men were probably in their mid-twenties to midthirties, and one looked young enough to be a kid. That man was Tim Sloan. He was dealing the cards and when he was done dealing the sheriff spoke up. “Sloan, I got a fellow who wants to talk to you.”
Sloan looked up at the sheriff with a nasty look of disgust on his face. “Can’t you see that I’m in a damn card game here, Sheriff? I ain’t got time to meet someone right now. Tell him to come back later.”
The sheriff smiled. “It’s that guy who was supposed to bring you a message, remember? He’s got the five hundred dollars with him, so he says.”
That peaked Sloan’s interest immediately. He had been waiting for the messenger and he had decided recently that the guy wasn’t going to show up. Sloan pushed himself away from the table and told the other five men to deal him out for a while. A few of them complained but they started a new deal as Sloan stood up. “So, where is this guy with the money and the message?”
“Right there at the bar, sipping a whiskey,” replied the sheriff, pointing directly at Hanley.
Sloan looked him over carefully and then walked over to the bar next to Hanley and ordered a whiskey. “So you’re the guy who has a message for me and five hundred dollars just to read it, is that right?”
“Yes I am, and yes I do. My name is Terrence Hanley and I’m bringing a message from Dick Carter.” Hanley put his hand out to shake hands with Sloan, but Sloan didn’t offer his hand. Hanley felt strangely uncomfortable and he took another sip of his whiskey. This young man he was facing seemed to have an empty look in his eyes. It was a look that said a lot, and yet nothing, all at the same time.
“Where’s my money? You have the five hundred?”
“I have it. But you have to read the letter before I give you the money. Those were my instructions.”
“Well then give me the damn letter,” replied Sloan, another nasty look on his face. Hanley was getting a little perturbed at Sloan’s nasty disposition and for a moment he thought about walking out and going back to Black Creek and telling Carter he couldn’t find Sloan. But he knew that would cause him problems either from Sloan, or from Carter and right now, he didn’t know which was worse. There was something about this young man that scared Hanley. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the letter, which was still sealed with Carter’s stamp on it. Sloan grabbed the letter from Hanley and sat down at a table, leaving Hanley at the bar. That was fine with Hanley, he wanted to get this over with and get away from Sloan. Hanley had met his share of mean and nasty men in his lifetime but this young man, however, was one of the worst that Hanley had met so far.
Sloan sat down and opened the letter. He read the letter as follows:
This letter is to be read only by Tim Sloan.
Mr. Sloan,
My name is Dick Carter. After you read the contents of this letter, the
man who delivered it to you will pay you the sum of five hundred dollars
whether or not you agree to the terms of my offer. The five hundred is yours
simply for waiting and reading my letter. Here is my offer.
You have a twin brother by the name of Jess Williams. I don’t know if your
father told you about your twin brother or not, but I can assure you that I am
telling the truth. Now, here is my offer. I will pay you the sum of ten thousand dollars if you kill your brother, Jess Williams, who killed my only son. I know what I am asking you to do is out of the ordinary, but ten thousand dollars is a lot of money. I will be truthful and tell you that your brother is very quick with a gun and will not be easy to face down. If you agree to my terms, make your way to Black Creek, Kansas as quickly as you can. There are men here who are trying to collect a bounty I have placed on his head as you read this letter. If he is still alive when you get here, that will mean that I am already dead and you must contact a man by the name of Cal Hardin. He has the ten thousand dollars and instructions to pay you the money as soon as you bring the dead body of Jess Williams to him to identify. I hope you will take the job. Nothing would please me more, even in my death, than to know that Jess Williams’ own brother would collect the money to kill him. God speed.
—Dick Carter
Sloan folded the letter back up and sat there momentarily thinking about its contents. He knew about his twin brother. His father had told him all about what had happened. Of course, by that time, Tim had as bad a disposition as his father and he really didn’t care. Sloan smiled at the evilness of Carter’s proposal. It was something that he himself would have thought up. Sloan looked back over at Hanley, who was sipping another whiskey at the bar. “I’ll take my five hundred now.”
Hanley slugged down his drink and turned around and walked to Sloan’s table and placed an envelope on the table. Sloan opened it up and counted out five hundred dollars. He smiled. He liked money and what it could buy him, expensive whiskey, the best whores, and a stake in another poker game.
“Any message you want me to take back to Mr. Carter?” asked Hanley, after Sloan finished counting the money.
Sloan looked up at Hanley with a look that ran a chill up Hanley’s spine as well as causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand straight up. “Yeah, tell him I’ll be collecting my ten thousand as soon as I can get to Black Creek.”
Hanley’s curiosity got the best of him when Sloan had mentioned ten thousand dollars. “Ten thousand dollars? What in the hell would Dick Carter want you to do that he would pay you ten thousand dollars for?”
Sloan sneered at Hanley. “Well, I guess if he had wanted you to know that, he would have let you read the letter.”
Hanley nodded, not wanting to pry any further. He had done what he had been assigned to do and as far as he was concerned, his part in this matter was over with. He did, however, still wonder what the hell his boss had said in the letter, but it was not his business. Hanley walked over to another table where Sheriff Mathers was sitting, eating what looked like a pretty tasty steak and a large helping of potatoes. “Looks mighty good, Sheriff, mind if I join you?”
“Grab yourself a chair and sit down. The food is real good and I’m sure they have another steak in the back there.”
Hanley ate his supper and chatted with the sheriff for about an hour and then the sheriff left to make his rounds for the evening. Hanley thanked the sheriff and told the sheriff that he would pay for his meal. After all, he had just earned five hundred dollars. The sheriff thanked him and walked out of the saloon. It was dark outside now and a little chill was creeping into the saloon. The bartender put some more wood in the stove and it didn’t take long for Hanley to feel the warmth. Hanley decided to sit at the table and order a bottle of good whiskey. He had nothing else to do and he wasn’t ready to turn in yet. Sloan had gone back to his card game and was winning quite repeatedly, which was evident by the remarks from the other players. Hanley hadn’t asked what was in the letter to Sloan and he didn’t ask what the ten thousand dollars was for, mostly because it just wasn’t his business. He had done his job and was paid very well for doing it. He wondered how everything was going back in Black Creek. He figured that Jess Williams was probably dead by now, already gunned down by Carter and his hired guns.
His thoughts were interrupted by some commotion over at the card game. One of the players was getting louder about his complaints about Sloan’s uncanny luck. The man who was getting upset was Cobb White. He was in his mid-thirties and had maybe a little too much to drink, which is what gave him the courage to start complaining about Sloan’s gambling skills.
“I’m telling you no one is that lucky! You can’t win that many hands without cheating somehow,” hollered White.
“Now settle down, Cobb. I can’t help that you keep losing your money. Maybe you should just take what you have left and go on home. Maybe your luck will change tomorrow,” Sloan replied, staying calm but obviously not feeling too bad about taking Cobb’s money.
“I ain’t got any damn money left! I started this game with two hundred and now all I have is twenty dollars left.”
“Well, that’s why they call it gambling,” said Sloan, smiling sarcastically.
“I’ve about had it with your smart-ass remarks too!” hollered White.
“Now, I already told you to take your money and go home. I think that’s the best thing you could do right now, before you get yourself into something you can’t get out of.”
“You kiss my ass, kid, I ain’t scared a you!” “Maybe you should be.”
“Maybe you should show us the cards you got stuck up your sleeve,” White said, as he stood up, shoving his chair backwards. Sloan remained unusually calm and placed his cards on the table. Then he slowly pushed his chair back and stood up, glaring at White. Hanley noticed that Sloan had already removed his hammer strap from his pistol. You could sense that White had a momentary lapse of courage, which is normal for a man to have just before an impending gunfight. A sober man with common sense usually backed down about this time. However when you’ve had one too many whiskeys, common sense seems to take a holiday. Pile that onto the fact that most men are more afraid to back out of a gunfight than to continue in it, is the reason that Cobb White stood his ground, even when he knew he shouldn’t.
Sloan slowly unbuttoned his sleeves one at a time and rolled each one of them up for everyone to see. There were no cards. The truth was that Sloan was cheating but he didn’t need to hide cards in his sleeves to do it. He would just palm whatever cards he needed from the deck. Sometimes it didn’t work, but more often than not it did and he won the majority of hands. His father had always told him that you never want to win every hand and you never want to be caught with cards up your sleeves or in your pockets. Walking away with a smaller profit after a night’s work is better than lying dead under a large pile of money. It was good advice and he had heeded it; most of the time.
Tim Sloan’s father, Eddie Sloan, had only taught him to do a few things in life very well. How to gamble, lie and cheat were some of those things. More importantly though, he had taught Tim how to draw a pistol, and he had taught him very well. Sloan was an accomplished poker player by the age of eight and an expert gunslinger by the time he was twelve years old. Both professions went together perfectly, and it was times like this that proved it. Sloan’s father had bought Tim a beautiful pistol and holster for his tenth birthday. The pistol was a beautifully engraved, silver plated Colt .45 Peacemaker and a black left-handed holster that was made in Mexico by a man who was an artist with leather. The holster was cut lower in the front and the barrel of the .45 was slightly shorter than most, with the front site removed, which allowed it to clear the holster quicker.
“Well now, Cobb. Did you see any cards up my sleeves?”
Cobb looked at the other four men at the table, looking for any help or encouragement. He found none. “I didn’t see any, but you were cheating just the same. Maybe I can’t figure out how you did it, but I know that you did.”
“So, what do you want to do now?” asked Sloan, the sarcastic tone turning more serious now.
“I want my damn money back. I’ll go play it in a fair game.”
“Listen, Cobb. I ain’t giving you your money back. Like I told you, take what you have left and go on home. If you don’t, you might be making a bad mistake.”
“Just give me my money back and I’ll leave.”
“You don’t seem to be listening and I’m getting tired of talking. Now what’s it going to be?”
Cobb White had a few beads of sweat on his forehead now. He had looked at the other four men, who were still sitting at the table, chairs pushed back. He knew that he wasn’t going to get any help from any of them. None of them had uttered a word since the argument had begun between the two. Cobb knew that he should take what he had left and go home but he just couldn’t make himself do what he knew he should do. He couldn’t bring himself to back down now. Then, he made a fatal error. He drew on Sloan.
Cobb went for his gun but he never had the slightest chance. He had only gotten a grip on the butt of his pistol when Sloan’s gun seemingly flashed out of its holster and blew a hole in Cobb’s heart. Cobb stumbled backwards tripping over his chair and collapsed on the floor, never to complain about a card game again. Sloan whirled his gun around with his left hand and slipped it back in its holster as slick as silk. Then, he simply sat back down in his chair and picked his cards back up as if nothing had happened. The other four men looked stunned but slid their chairs back in and continued the game. They didn’t care if they went home broke; they simply wanted to make it home alive. Hanley watched all of this from his table. He had watched many gunfights before and none of them were what you could call nice. Men would kill each other over the smallest of things, things certainly not worth dying for, at least, in Hanley’s mind. He was, however, surprised by three things. The incredible hand speed of this young man by the name of Tim Sloan was the first. The second thing was the calm that he had displayed during a gunfight. Those two things were uncommon in most men and probably the reason that Carter had sent a message to Sloan. The third thing, and probably the most important, was the pistol and holster that Sloan was wearing. The holster was a lot nicer than most men had and the pistol was a silver engraved Colt .45 Peacemaker. He still didn’t know what the letter to Sloan had said, but he pretty much figured out now what Carter wanted from Tim Sloan. Carter wanted Sloan for his pistol skills. Hanley downed another shot of whiskey, paid the bartender, and walked out of the saloon without saying a word or even looking over at Tim Sloan. All Hanley wanted to do now was get away from Tim Sloan.