Death In Helltown (5 page)

Bloodworth pounded on Marshal Redmon’s door. The lawman, none too pleased, finally yanked open the door. “You!” he snapped. “What the hell do you want?

“I want you to do your job,” Bloodworth said tightly.

“Sure. I will, in the mornin’. Now get the hell away from me.” He stated to close the door.

Bloodworth slammed it back open and grabbed Redmon by the shirtfront. “You’ll do it now! We got two dead miscreants and…”  His voice caught in his throat, “Miz Wickline…”

Redmon snapped to alertness. “What? The hell you say. What happened?” he babbled.

“Several devils held up the stage. Some damn fool passenger tried to stop ’em, and did nothin’ but get Edith killed. Gil’s bad hurt, shot to hell. We got him over to Doc Shelby’s.”

“They get away?”

“I sent two of ’em across the divide. The other two made their escape. One of ’em’s hit but I don’t know how bad.”

“Come on in,” Redmon said. “Set while I get dressed. Redmon hurriedly pulled on trousers and shirt. As he was buttoning the latter, he said, “I’ll get a posse up soon’s I can. Might be tough right now, what with the whole damn town asleep.”

“Wake ’em,” Bloodworth growled.

“Oh, I intend to,” Redmon said, sitting to pull on socks and boots. “You’ll be comin’ along, yes?

“No.” When the lawman looked at him in surprise, Bloodworth said, “Soon’s I can get me a horse, I’m ridin’ out. Y’all can catch up when you can.”

Redmon nodded. “You don’t have a horse, do you?”

“No. Nor tack either.”

“We’ll fix that straight off. You need anything else?”

“Winchester, cartridges, bedroll, canteen.”

Redmon rose, all business now. “Let’s go.”

They hurried to the livery, where Redmon roused a sleepy, grumpy liveryman. “Get Mr. Bloodworth here a horse, Gus—one of your best, a sturdy one with stamina. And whatever tack is necessary. The best.”

“But, Marshal …”

“Don’t but marshal me, Gus. Just do what I say. And be quick about it. We’ll be back directly.”

“That’ll be mighty costly.”

“I don’t much care. Maybe the town will pay for it. Or the stage company.”

Gus’ brow furrowed. “Something’s wrong, ain’t it?”

“Bad wrong. Now do as I say. And saddle my horse, too.”

“Right away, Marshal.”

As he and Bloodworth were walking away, Redmon called over his shoulder. “You’ll be busy shortly. Best be ready.”

Next they hurried to Pettibone’s hardware and mercantile, around back, where Redmon pounded on the door. Miles Pettibone, somewhat less annoyed than others had been, answered. When Redmon told him what was needed, he neither argued nor delayed. He led them into the store, gave Bloodworth what he needed, and did not bother to ask what this was all about.

“Does George know?” Redmon asked as Pettibone went about his business. “Or Hope?”

“No.” Bloodworth shook his head. “I’ll tell ’em on my way out of town.”

“You want I should tell ‘em?”

Bloodworth thought that over a moment, then shook his head. “Reckon I should be the one. Besides, you got work to do.”

Redmon nodded. “And I best get to it.” He paused. “How’re you gonna recognize this fella? You said you never did get a good look at him.”

“I’ll find him, Don’t you fret.”

Redmon stared a minute. Then he nodded and headed out.

A few minutes later, Bloodworth, carrying a new Winchester and several boxes of cartridges, followed by Pettibone with the rest of his supplies, headed toward the stable. Bloodworth’s horse was ready. He quickly loaded his gear. He pulled himself into the saddle. “Obliged,” he said, touching the brim of his hat at the liveryman and then Pettibone.

Five minutes later he stopped in front of Edith Wickline’s house. With some reluctance, he knocked, waited a bit, then knocked again, louder.

A sleepy Hope cracked open the door. “Mr. Bloodworth?” she asked, puzzled.

Bloodworth nodded. “Is George about?”

“He’s sleeping, of course. Is something wrong?”

“Yes. Go and fetch him. I’ll wait in the sitting room.”

Worry sprang into Hope’s eyes. “Yes, sir,” she said, voice quavering a bit. She turned and hurried off.

Bloodworth went in and closed the door quietly behind him. In the sitting room, he poured himself a small glass of brandy and jolted it down. He followed it with another.

“What’s all this?” Charles snapped. “Hope wakes me in the middle of the night. She’s says you told her something’s bad wrong.”

Bloodworth hated to do what he was about to do, as it would hurt Hope, but he had no time or patience to deal with this buffoon. “Miz Edith’s dead,” he said flatly.

Hope screeched and clapped her hands to her mouth. Tears leaked, then flowed.

“The hell you say,” Charles said, eyes blank with shock.

“Bandits held up the stage and she was shot down,” Bloodworth said, rage boiling inside him again. “She is at Bock’s mortuary. He will take the best of care with her. You two will have to see to arrangements.”

“What about you?” Charles asked, still shaken.

“I’m goin’ after those two I didn’t get right off.” Bitterness mixed with the fury in his voice. “You take care of Hope, now, boy, you hear?” He did not wait for an answer. He slapped on his hat, turned and hustled out the door. As such, he did not see the fleeting gleam of avarice in George Smalley’s eyes nor the flash of fear in Hope’s.

**  **  **  **  **

Bloodworth spent three hours at Wilson’s stage stop, long enough for a quick, poor-tasting meal, a short nap and to let his horse rest a bit. Then he was back in the saddle, just after dawn, pushing hard. Not long after, he stopped at the spot where the robbery had taken place. He tied the horse loosely to a cottonwood at the river’s edge. Then he prowled the area, looking for sign of where the two who had escaped had gone. Of the one who was unharmed, there was nothing; just some hoof prints that could’ve been made by the outlaw or by a thousand others who had stopped in the area. Bloodworth had wounded the other, however, though in the back, so it took a little bit of searching to find the blood trail.

He followed it on afoot just a bit, then turned back and mounted his horse. The trail was easy to follow, so he could move at a good pace, having to stop only now and again to make sure he was still on the right path. Sometime in midafternoon, he slowed, then halted, listening intently. He nodded when he heard a soft moaning. There was nowhere to tie his horse out here on the open prairie, so he ground staked the animal. Slipping out his pistol, he crept forward.

He found the wounded man in a buffalo wallow ten yards ahead. The man was lying on his side, facing Bloodworth, but not looking at him. His face was dirty, covered with sweat and pinched with pain. His shirtfront was bloody from the exit wound. A canteen lay in front of him.

Bloodworth slipped his pistol way. He knelt in front of the man and lifted his chin with a forefinger. “You’re hurt mighty bad, boy,” Bloodworth said without inflection.

“I know,” the man whispered.

“What’s your name?”

“Frank Gilmore.”

“Well, Mr. Gilmore, you’re in a deep pile of shit here. Ain’t much I can do to help you, I suppose, but it might help you ease the way with your maker was you to tell me who your pard was. The one who run off. And tell me where I can find him.”

“Don’t know.”

“I reckon it won’t come as a surprise that I don’t believe you. It might go better for you to just tell me.”

“Go to hell.”

“That’s no way to act, boy. Like I said, I maybe can’t help you a lot. But I can damn sure make your end a hell of a lot more painful.” He paused to let that sink in. “So who is that fellah was over there by the river?”

“I told you, go to hell.”

Bloodworth cracked the heel of his palm against Gilmore’s forehead, snapping his head back and exposing his chest. “His name.” Bloodworth hissed.

“No.”

Bloodworth slammed a fist into the exit wound on Gilmore’s chest.             

Gilmore hissed in agony and fought to catch his breath. Bloodworth felt no pleasure as Gilmore’s eyes clouded with it.

“Who is he?” He reared back to launch another fist.

Gilmore held up his hands. “Wait,” he managed to gurgle out as he still struggled to breath. When the pain subsided, he squawked, “Ed Tucker.”

“Good. Now where can I find him?

“Ain’t sure.”

“You’ll have to do better than that, boy.”

“I don’t know. Far’s I know he took off after the trouble started. I was goin’ the other way, as you well know, seein’s how you was the one shot me in the back.”

Bloodworth considered that for a few seconds. “Reckon that’s true,” he said thoughtfully. “But you ought to know where he’d go. He got a hideout somewhere? A favorite place to hang his hat? A whorehouse somewhere?”

Gilmore lay his head down, eyes closed, face contorted with pain. It was some moments before his lids rose. “Abilene, maybe. I hear he’s got kin there. St. Joe, too. Hell, maybe he headed down into the Nations.”

“No more notion than that?”

“Reckon not.”

“You know, boy, I still don’t believe you.” He punched Gilmore in the ribs, breaking several.

For a moment Bloodworth thought Gilmore was going to pass out, but the outlaw was tougher than he expected.

Gilmore gasped and choked. He spit up some blood, then wheezed. Bloodworth waited. “My patience is quite limited, boy,” he said, voice cold and hard.

“He favors some whore over in Wichita,” Gilmore finally managed to croak. “Maybe he went there. He didn’t, I don’t know where he might be. But that’s the most likely.”

“Even though folks might be lookin’ for him?”

Gilmore could not quite pull off the shrug he wanted to. “Reckon he wouldn’t be worried. You got Bill and Chester. I reckon he figures you got me, too. So I would say he’s likely feelin’ safe now, especially since you never saw his face, best I can tell.”

“Which brings to mind what he looks like.”

“Tall, I guess. Leastways taller’n me and you by a bit. Narrow face, long nose.”

“Nothing to distinguish him from any number of hard men in this country?”

“His left eye ain’t right.”

“How so?”

“Don’t look in the same direction as the other. Kind of all cockeyed like.”

“What’s this whore’s name?”

“Belle, I think. I ain’t certain.”

Bloodworth pushed to his feet, grimacing just a bit as his bad leg argued with him some. “Obliged, boy.” He turned and began walking away.

“Hey! Hey, mister! Wait. You can’t leave me here like this.”

Bloodworth stopped and looked back. He smiled, without warmth. “Yes, I can.”

“But …”

“I told you there wasn’t anything I could do for you. You’re dyin’, boy. Can’t stop that.”

“You could put me under, save me some pain.”

“You hurtin’ that bad, are you?”

“Yes, dammit. You know that.”

Bloodworth nodded. “I do, yep. You got a gun there. You can help yourself.” He turned and walked away. As he mounted his horse, he heard a shot. 

Wichita was another booming end of the trail cowtown, much like Dodge. And like the latter city, it had its own district across the tracks where cowboys, ruffians and whores spent their time. And it was where Bloodworth expected to find Ed Tucker. He left his horse at the livery, got himself a room in a hotel in the good part of town, refreshed himself and then filled his belly with chops and rutabagas, followed by apple cobbler.

He headed across the tracks and began going from saloon to saloon. He had a bare description of Tucker, but it should be enough. At least he hoped so.

He went from bar to bar, asking about a cockeyed man at each. But none of the barkeeps seemed willing to talk. With limited funds — he had left most of his recent bounty money back in Dodge when he had ridden out in such a hurry —Bloodworth couldn’t really grease the tongues of such men, so he was left at a loss for the most part.

He finally decided that continuing doing this would be foolish and simply a waste of his time. So he started making the rounds of brothels, starting with the poorer ones. But the madams, and the girls, were no more amenable to speaking than the barkeeps had been, whether he asked for the cockeyed man or a whore named Belle. They grew especially quiet when they realized he wasn’t planning to spend any money. Again, the lack of funds prevented it, even as he considered doing so for a fling with one of the girls. One time, however, he did notice—or thought he did—a slight reaction in one of the girls’ eyes, but he could not be sure. And with Belle seemingly a common name among the fallen ladies, he could never be sure one if any of them was the right one even if someone had decided to open her mouth.

With dawn not far off, he headed back to his hotel, disappointed and annoyed.

**  **  **  **  **

Fortified by a decent late breakfast of bacon, fresh hen’s eggs and a half pot of coffee, he headed for the marshal’s office.

“What can I do for you?” Marshal Royce Hobbs asked, eyeing Bloodworth suspiciously.

“Lookin’ for a fellah. Thought maybe you could help.”

“What’s this fella supposed to have done?”

“Killed a woman and bad wounded a fellah during the holdup of a stage north of Dodge.”

“What’s your interest in it? You a bounty man? I don’t much cotton to such men.”

“Yes, I’m a bounty man. And I don’t cotton to sons a bitches killin’ people on my stage.”

“Your stage?” He raised an eyebrow at Bloodworth.

“I was ridin’ shotgun,” Bloodworth spat out.

“Reckon you wasn’t doin’ a very god job of it then.” There was almost a smirk on Hobbs’ face and in his voice.

“I got three of ’em. He’s the only one left.”

“What’s this bird’s name?”

“Ed Tucker.”

“Never heard of him.”

“You’re full of cowshit, Marshal. I could see in your eyes as soon as I mentioned the name that you know him or at least know of him. I expect you got paper on him.”

Hobbs shrugged. “Why do you think he’s in these parts?” he asked, hoping to get Bloodworth’s mind off him knowing the man.

“I was told he often keeps company with a whore here. Name might be Belle.”

“So why’n’t you check the whorehouses?” Hobbs sounded rather smug.

“Ain’t no one at those establishments willin’ to say anything. I thought you, bein’ a lawman and all, might be of some help.” A touch of anger crept into his voice.

“Hell, I can’t keep track of every pissant outlaw comes here and spends time the other side of the tracks with some sportin’ gals.”

“Then you ain’t much of a marshal,” Bloodworth retorted.

“I don’t take kindly to such words,” Hobbs hissed. His hand inched toward his pistol.

“I don’t take kindly to two-bit marshals who are afraid of a two-bit outlaw. Or maybe you’re in cahoots with him.”

“Goddamn you, boy…” His hand darted for his revolver.

Bloodworth snapped out his six-gun. “That would be a damnfool thing to do, Marshal. I’d hate to have to splatter your skull all over the wall there. And it’d slow me down some in my search for Tucker.”

Hobbs glared at him, “Damn you, you insolent bastard. I ought to…”

“Shut your trap, Marshal. I didn’t come in here to cause you grief. All I want is Tucker. So, if you ain’t in cahoots with him, just tell me what cathouse he frequents and I’ll be out of your office.” He stopped and looked at Hobbs in question. “Unless maybe you’re hopin’ to get the bounty on him.” He could tell by the look that flashed across Hobbs’ face that he had struck a chord.

“You know well’s that ain’t legal for a lawman,” Bloodworth said. “But I’ll say this: You help me get him and I’ll let you have the bounty. We’ll figure out a way to make it legal, or at least so it won’t raise too many eyebrows. I may be a bounty man and depend on bounties to make my way in life. But I ain’t interested in it this time. I just want to take Tucker and see he gets the justice he deserves.”

“You aim to kill him, don’t you?” Hobbs asked, squinting up at Bloodworth.

“I ain’t aimin’ to, but I’ll do so without a thought should he decide he won’t come along peaceably.”

Hobbs stared up at him. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“You can’t. But think on this: You ain’t gonna get the bounty on him anyway. At least this way you got a chance to pocket it.”

Hobbs thought that over a bit, then nodded. “He usually hangs his hat at Mattie’s when he’s in town. That’s the third building on the left once you cross the tracks. If he’s around, it’s likely that’s where he’ll be. Or in one of the saloons. He favors Bert’s, down…”

“I was in there last night. I’ll check it again.” He slid his pistol into the holster. But he backed toward the door, continuing to face Hobbs. He opened the door behind him, said, “Obliged, Marshal,” Then he slipped out.

**  **  **  **  **

Bloodworth walked into Bert’s and tramped up to the bar. The same bartender was on duty and he sidled up, seemingly having never seen Bloodworth before. “Whaddaya want?” he growled.

“Information.”

“I don’t serve information,” he said with a smile, amused at his wit. “Just drinks. Now, I’ll ask you again, whaddaya want?”

The next thing he knew, the bartender had the muzzle of a .44-caiber Remington stuck in the underside of his nose.

“Where’s Tucker?” Bloodworth asked coldly.

“Don’t know.” He paled when Bloodworth thumbed back the hammer.

“I don’t know,” the bartender said, panic in his voice. “Really. I ain’t seen him.” He swallowed. “Last time he was in here was two, three days ago.” He breathed in relief as the gun was suddenly gone.

“Know where he might’ve gone?”

“Nope. He’s pretty close-mouthed about his business. You might ask at Mattie’s.”

Bloodworth nodded. “Obliged.” He tossed a silver dollar on the counter, turned and strode out. In minutes he pushed open the door to Mattie’s. The madam herself greeted him: “You again. Get out unless you’re plannin’ to spend some hard cash.”

It took a moment for Bloodworth to control the anger that flashed up in him. “Ma’am,” he said slowly, distinctly, “I ain’t ever hit a woman before, but I am mighty tempted to make you the first.”

She blanched and took half a step back. “You wouldn’t dare,” she breathed, not certain at all.

“I would. Now, where’s Tucker?”

“Who?” She flinched when Bloodworth raised his arm, ready to strike. “He was here a few days ago. Spent a couple nights with Belle. We haven’t seen him since.”

“You know where he’s gotten off to?”

“No. Belle might.”

“Get her.”

“She’s sleeping. She works nights, you know.”

“Don’t matter to me if she went to bed two minutes ago. Get her.”

Mattie spun and hurried off. Bloodworth strolled into the parlor. A few of the girls were there and looked up at him with interest. When he shook his head, they went back to talking quietly among themselves. A moment later, a large, scowling man with long, greasy hair and several missing teeth wandered in.

“Mattie says you’re bein’ a pain in the ass,” he said in a voice like rain rattling on tin.

“That so?” Bloodworth surreptitiously slid the loop off the hammer of his pistol.

“Yah. So you best leave. Now.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll have to rip your head off and kick it around some. Playin’ with it.” He managed to grin and smirk at the same time.

“Reckon I best leave then.” He took two steps, whipped out his revolver and slammed the barrel across the man’s head. The big fellow didn’t go down, but he was weaving. Bloodworth stuck his pistol in the man’s ear. “I reckon you ain’t got much in the way of brains, boy, but I’ll be happy to remove what little you got with this here Remington. And that’d leave an awful mess for Miz Mattie.”

“Don’t,” the man mumbled.

“What’s your name?”

“Max. Maxwell.” He bent, and rested his hands on his knees.

“Well, Max, just what am I gonna do with you? I’d rather not mess up Miss Mattie’s place.”

“Could let me go.”

“Could. But then you might just go get some friends, and then I’d have to shoot a bunch of people.” He sighed. “Aw, hell,” He smacked Max in the temple. This time the big man went down. he groaned a couple of times, then was silent.

“Nobody’s handled Max quite like that,” Mattie said from behind him.

He turned, slipping his pistol away as he did so. “He’s a damn fool. Thinks everybody’s gonna quake in their boots ’cause he’s so big and fierce lookin’.”

Mattie nodded and offered a half smile. “I’ll get Belle.”

“Reckon I’ll come with you. Just in case you was planning to send another man out here. You did, I’d have to kill him and neither one of us would want that.”

Mattie nodded again, turned and went out, with Bloodworth right behind. As they climbed the stairs, Mattie said over her shoulder, “I wouldn’t.”

Moments later they entered a small room. Mattie gently shook the shoulder of the young woman sleeping in a narrow bed. “Belle. Belle, honey, wake up.”

Belle glanced around at Mattie, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “Mattie?” she murmured. “What’s wrong?”

“This gentleman would like a word with you.”

“It’s too early for me to entertain, Mattie. You know that.” She sounded annoyed.

“Just talk, Belle. Now get yourself up.”

With a sigh, Belle threw off her blankets, revealing pale skin and small, taut breasts. Unconcerned, she arose, showing her full naked body. Bloodworth couldn’t help but look, and maybe desire. Just a little.

Belle slipped on a thin robe. “Who the hell are you?”

“Name’s Harlan Bloodworth.”

“What do you want, Mr. Bloodworth?” Her tone was not at all pleasant.