Chapter One -- THE HUNT BEGINS

“Keep away from me, you self-righteous son of a bitch!”  Jenks screamed as he fired another volley at his pursuer.

Oliver “Killer” Jenks was wanted for murder, horse theft and armed robbery.  A pugnacious face was hidden beneath a shaggy black beard.  A pair of mean bloodshot eyes looked malevolently at his hated target.

The person who had been dogging him for the last two days was a man called Randall - a bounty hunter.  A rough-looking, wiry, handsome man with dirty blonde hair and cool blue eyes, Randall came from a long line of bounty hunters, mercenaries and smugglers.  Although he put a front of only doing this for the money, in reality he had a strong desire to see justice done.  Which is why he always tried to bring his quarry in alive.  However, Jenks was making that extremely difficult.

Randall pulled out his custom sawed off Henry Repeater rifle and took careful aim at Jenks’ horse.  When he fired, the bullet hit the horse in the back of the head.  The animal screamed and dropped on its side, pinning Jenks to the ground.  Randall stopped his horse a few yards away, dismounted and walked cautiously towards Jenks.  Killer twisted underneath the dead horse and tried to bring his pistol to bear on Randall.  Firing from the hip, Randall blasted the gun out of Jenks’ hand.  Killer howled in pain and clutched his bleeding hand.

Randall looked up at the sound of someone clearing their throat.  Standing twenty feet away was an effete looking man with his hands folded primly in front of him.  He looked out of place in his rough range clothes and wild surroundings.  He looked like the type you’d find in the big eastern cities fussing over the latest fashions.  For lack of anything else to say, Randall said, “Howdy.”

“How do you do, Mr. Randall.”  He even sounded like a big city fop.  “My name is Johnny Jinx.”

“Can I help you, mister?”

“I’m afraid, Mr. Randall,” Jinx said apologetically.  “I’m here to kill you.  Nothing personal you understand.  Just business.”

That’s when Randall saw the heavy six-shooter strapped to Jinx’s hip.  The gun was as out of place as the man wearing it.
“Now hold on - ” Randall began, but Jinx had already drawn. 

He was fast, Randall had to admit that, but Randall already had his gun out and pointed it at Jinx.  But before he could pull the trigger, something slammed into the back of his neck and punched through the front.  Randall coughed up blood, and before he could even consider what had happened, Jinx plugged him in the chest.

Jogging out of the bushes was a fat man with heavy jowls.  He was similarly attired as Jinx but was at least a foot taller and two hundred pounds heavier.  When he reached Randall’s body he was already huffing and puffing from the exertion of moving his heavy frame.  After making sure Randall was dead, a big smile spread across his fleshy, baby-like face.

“Excellent shot, Mr. Jinx,” he said gleefully.  “Right through the heart.”

“Thank you, Mr. Blink,” Jinx said modestly.  “But I dare say if you hadn’t been there to back me up.  Well let’s not dwell on that unpleasant thought, shall we.”

Bertie Blink blushed faintly at Jinx’s praise.  “Why thank you, Mr. Jinx.”

“Not at all, Mr. Blink.”

“Hey,” Killer called.  “Could you two quit yer yammerin’ and get me out from under this horse.”

Without even looking, Jinx pointed his gun at Killer Jenks and shot him in the head.  “There’s nothing worse than a whiny outlaw, is there, Mr. Blink?”

“Oh quite, Mr. Jinx.  Shall we continue with the business at hand?”

“Indeed Mr. Blink.”

The two of them lifted Randall on to the back of his horse and tied his arms around the horse’s neck to make sure he didn’t fall off.  Blink then slapped the animal on the rump and watched as it bolted for the horizon.  As they watched Randall’s mounted corpse disappear into the distance, Jinx held up Randall’s custom Henry Repeater.  “Do you think this will be proof enough for our employer that Mr. Randall has been eliminated, Mr. Blink?”

“Oh I think so, Mr. Jinx.  After all, there can’t be another one quite like it.”

“Quite, Mr. Blink.”

“Indeed, Mr. Jinx.”

Vince Tanner, tracker, army scout, buffalo and bounty hunter sat in front of his flickering campfire contemplating his next move.  His job for the army was over so it was unclear what to do next.  The buffalo were drying up, so going back to his first trade was out of the question.  The wanted posters he’d been coming across lately only had names on them, no pictures.  And that would’ve been fine - if he could read.

So he decided in the morning to visit his sister.  Valerie Tanner had been disowned by her parents for having a child out of wedlock.  The fact that the child’s father was already married didn’t make things any smoother.  Father had put up a front of being furious and throwing her out, but that was mostly to appease his wife.  In reality, he gave her some money and continued to send her fifty dollars a month, in return for updates on his grandson’s well being.

Thinking of Val brought up memories of Carly.  She’d had the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.  He had loved her so much.  The fact that she was married had done nothing to stop them.  Although she said she wanted to go with him, they both knew she belonged with her husband.

A snapping twig captured Tanner’s attention.  Emerging from the darkness was a big man with long shaggy hair and beard, clad in animal skins.  He wore a necklace of bones and had a crazed look in his eyes.

Tanner reached for his gun.  “Who the hell are you?”

“Ah’m Bobcat Banes,” the giant roared, revealing rows of broken and rotting teeth.  “And that’s the last name you’ll ever hear!”

Tanner tried to draw his pistol, but not before Banes kicked him in the face.  Tanner could hear the sound of his teeth loosening, but he couldn’t worry about that now.  Tanner rolled to his knees and tried to get up.  Bobcat viciously kicked him in the ribs, then drove another knee into the small of the bounty hunter’s back.  Bobcat grabbed Tanner’s head and gave it a violent twist, snapping his neck.  It was all over in less than a minute.

Bobcat Banes stood up and admired his handy work.  He’d take Tanner’s long, curly brown hair to the boss as proof.  But first he would enjoy the late Vince Tanner’s lovely campsite.

Yuma sidled up to the bar with one intention in mind: get a stiff cool drink and some warm feminine company for the night.  After getting his drink, he looked around the saloon.  It was busy tonight, jam packed to the rafters with cowboys dancing with the saloon girls and loosing their money on all sorts of different games of chance.  At least the ones that weren’t already drop dead drunk yet.

Now that he had some free time, Yuma considered going to see his brother.  He hadn’t seen Johnny in a while and he wanted to see him before he did something stupid, like get involved in this war the north and south were trying to pick with one another.

A sultry voice cut in on his thoughts.  “Buy a lady a drink.”

Yuma turned to find a gorgeous woman with lustrous blonde hair and seductive green eyes standing next to him.  Her dress looked like it was bursting at the seems trying to keep her bosom contained and Yuma found himself eager to help it escape.

“Bartender,” Yuma called.  “Drink for the lady.”

“So what brings you to town, cowboy.”

“Dropping off a prisoner, Miss- ”

“Call me Bliss,” she said smiling coyly behind her glass.  “Prisoner, huh?  You don’t look like a lawman.”

“I ain’t.  Too many rules.”

“Ooo, bounty hunter, huh.”  Bliss looked him over approvingly.  “Well Mr. Bounty Hunter, what do you say we find somewhere a little more private.”

Less than half an hour later, she was riding Yuma’s shaft like a bucking bronco.  He could see why she had earned the name Bliss.  She rocked wildly on his pole taking in as much as she could.  Yuma clutched her hips and squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on her movements.  Bliss moved so violently Yuma was afraid the bed would collapse.

“You ready to go to heaven,” Bliss panted.

“Yeah,” Yuma grunted, not wanting to talk.

“Whatever you say.”

Bliss pulled a long sharp pin out of her hair and plunged it into his chest.  Yuma screamed with a mixture of surprise and agony.  He saw Bliss, with a look of ecstatic joy, stab him again.  Before she could do it a third time, Yuma threw her off and rolled off the bed, desperately trying to get to his gun.  Bliss jumped on Yuma and stabbed him over and over with screams akin to sexual rapture until his struggles became spasmodic muscular twitches, then he stopped moving all together.

When Yuma’s movements ceased, Bliss lay back down on the bed breathing heavily with a huge grin of satisfaction.  “So, was it good for you too?”

Bliss remained where she was, just enjoying the afterglow.  When she got enough of her breath back, she got up and put on Yuma’s clothes.  She stuffed her hair inside the army cap and calmly walked out of the rented room.  Everyone would assume she was just another satisfied customer.  Yuma’s trademark cap would be proof enough he was dead.

Opal Jones made her way to the first real bed she’d seen in months.  After dropping off her charge at the jail, she’d taken a nice long bath and was going to get some much-needed sleep.  But she planned to be up early tomorrow.  Four of the bastards responsible for the death of her family had swung that left just one to go - Dan Dickerson, aka Dr. Dynamite.  She knew where he was heading and she intended to get there ahead of him.

Approaching her room, she saw a couple kissing madly in the doorway of another room.  As she drew closer she got, she recognized the woman as another bounty hunter, Cat Morgan.  Opal tried to sneak by without being noticed.  Just as she approached the door to her room, she heard Cat squeal, “Opal Jones!  Is that you?”

Opal cringed at the sound of her name on Cat’s lips.  She cursed under her breath at not being quick enough, then put on a pleasant smile and turned around.  “Hi Cat.”

“Why don’t you go on in ahead in and warm up the bed for me, okay baby.” Cat whispered to her youthful companion, then bounced over to Opal.  “So what brings you to Cedar Creek?”

“I’m on somebody’s trail,” she said shortly.  Opal didn’t want Cat involved in her hunt.  Cat had a tendency to be more of a hindrance than help.

“Really,” Cat said excitedly.  “I just got off one.  Netted me a hundred dollars.  Aim to enjoy myself for a coupla days.”

“Well that’s nice,” Opal said distractedly, jiggling the doorknob, trying to get it open.  She indicated the boy waiting in Cat’s room.  “So who’s that?”

Cat shrugged.  “I don’t know.”  A smile creeped across Cat’s face.  “”You want him when I’m finished.  You know, the younger they are the more they have to offer.”

“No,” Opal said quickly.  The last thing she wanted to get involved in the night before the most important hunt on her life, was one of Cat’s sex-Olympics.  In a calmer voice, “No thank you.  I really gotta get some sleep.”

“Suit yourself.  Let me know when you’ve change your mind.”  Cat walked back to her room.  Opal rolled her eyes and went to get ready for bed.

Opal was up early the next morning and ready to go.  She didn’t hear any noise coming from Cat’s room and guessed the lewd woman was sleeping last night off or just taking a break.  Either way, Opal decided to tiptoe as quietly as possible past her room.  Passing Cat’s room, there was a tremendous explosion.  The door was ripped off it hinges and crashed into Opal.  Before she passed out, she saw smoke and flame where Cat’s room used to be.  A few hours later when she came around, she learned that someone had planted a bomb in Cat’s room, killing her and her companion for the night.

Meanwhile, across the street, a plain looking young woman with owl-like eyes in an equally drab grey dress watched as smoke billowed out of the hotel window like a chimney.  Miss Dinah Mighty looked at her watch and tutted to herself.  The detonator should have gone off four seconds ago.  It was something she was going to have to work on for next time.  In the milling confusion, Dinah walked calmly up to Cat Morgan’s bay stud and hitched it to the back of her buggy, and rode unchallenged out of town.

A rickety old wagon being pulled by an ornery old donkey rattled along a lonely muddy road.  The sole occupant of the wagon was an old woman with steel grey hair and sunburn leathery skin.  Her name was Nettie Whitefield and she was just as ornery as her donkey.

She’d seen a lot of years.  She’d been married four times. She left her first husband because of his drinking.  He hadn’t been a violent drunk, just a lazy one.  Nettie’d run off with a stagecoach driver, and became the manager of his home station.  Together they had five children and made many happy memories.  After twenty-two years of marriage, he was killed in an accident.  It was the grief of that loss that had lead to husband number three.  And the less said about him the better.  Nettie had remarried mostly out of loneliness.  Her forth husband, a widower like herself, had died last winter.  So, alone and with all the kids grown up and no longer needing her, Nettie decided to go west to California and see the Pacific ocean.

Mrs. Whitefield noticed something hanging from a tree.  The closer she got, she realized it was a body.  Wanting to get a better look at it, she told her donkey to ‘whoa’.  The ass didn’t stop.  She said ‘whoa’ again, but it still showed no signs of slowing down.  Losing her patience she screamed, “Stop you stupid, scum sucking, piece of left over cow manure!”  That got the animal’s attention.  It stopped and brayed loudly with complaint.  “Ah shut up,” Nettie cussed.

Nettie stood up in the box seat and got a good look at the poor soul who’d been lynched.  He was a handsome lad, or at least he had been.  His face was purple, which meant amateurs had hanged him.  Probably some half-ass vigilance committee.  Instead of his neck being broken in the drop, he’d been dangling there slowly having the life choked out of him.  She could see other cuts and bruises on his face, which meant he hadn’t made it easy for them.

Nettie decided that no matter what the boy had done, nobody deserved to be left for the birds.  So she pulled out her Bowie knife and cut him down.  The boy plopped to the ground in a great heap.  Nettie thought it was a good thing the boy was dead or that ankle of his would be smarting now.  Mrs. Whitefield climbed down and cut the noose off from around the boy’s neck.  Suddenly the boy’s eyes snapped open and he took a deep, desperate breath.

“Jesus Christ!” Nettie fell back onto her rump with shock and disbelief.  The boy struggled to get up, but Nettie eased him back down and held him firmly by the shoulders.  “Easy, take it easy,” she said soothingly, trying to calm her nerves as much as his.

When the boy calmed down he moved his mouth trying to talk.  All that came out were a few strangled gasps and croaks.  The boy’s face scrunched up in pain and dropped his head to the ground.

“Best try not to talk just yet, sonny.”  Nettie pulled out a canteen and offered him some water.  The boy drank gratefully, the cool liquid easing his burning throat.  When he had finished, Nettie turned him over to untie his hands.  She found scrapes on his knuckles showing he’d given almost as much as he’d got.  “You got a name, sonny?” 

The boy nodded.  He wrote his name in the mud.

Nettie cocked an eyebrow.  “How ‘bout I just call you Sonny for now okay?  Less trouble that way.  Where’re you from?”

The boy wrote ROCK CREEK.

“That near here?”  The boy nodded.  “Well, tell you what, I’ll give you a lift back tomorrow, okay?  We’ll camp here tonight.”

Nettie got out some blankets from the back of her wagon.  The two of them wrapped themselves in their blankets and slept underneath the wagon.
 

Chapter Two - SECRET MEETINGS

Deputy Sheriff Nichols sat at his regular table, eating his supper.  The Silver Spoon was busier than usual, but not hectic.  Normally he would be home right now, enjoying his wife’s cooking and maybe a little later on, the rest of her.  But tonight he was here to meet someone, and when the person he was suppose to meet sat down across from him, he didn’t look up.

“You’re late.”

“I ain’t late,” Jake Coulter groused.  “I’ve been keeping out of sight.  So what have you got to tell me.”

Nichols quickly filled Jake in on the latest killing.  Jake shook his head in frustrated bewilderment.  “Randall, Tanner, Sonnet, Yuma, Blassingame.  Damn it, who’s killing us off?”

A lot of possibilities came to mind, but Nichols couldn’t think of any one with the resources to pull off an operation of this scale.  “Don’t know.  All we know is that someone is having bounty hunters killed.  There doesn’t seem to be a pattern or reason to the killings.  Nobody’s claimed responsibility.”

That last part was unusual.  These men were well known with a gun and they all had enemies.  If somebody had managed to kill one of those bounty hunters, particularly Randall or Sonnet, Nichols’ would’ve expected them to brag about it to who’d ever listen.  But so far - nothing.  Jake thanked Nichols then got up to leave.

“Where’re you headed?” Nichols asked.

“Rock Creek,” he replied.  “There’s someone there I know can help.”

No matter how hard he tried, Eddie Peters couldn’t stop shaking.  He wasn’t sure if it was from fear or from the fact that he needed a drink.  Damn, he could hear the clinking of glasses and bottles pouring in the saloon he was standing behind.  It took every ounce of will power not to go in and try to bum a drink off someone.  But he dare not.  If he wasn’t here when Macabre showed, Eddie Peters’ life was over.

“Eddie.”

The derelict jumped out of his skin at the sound of the hollow, muffled voice.  Eddie did his best to compose himself.  He turned around to face his employer.  He hoped he would sound more confident than he felt.  “Good evening sir.”

“Well,” Macabre said expectantly.  “Do you have anything for me?”

“First,” Eddie said.  “I think were should discuss payment.”

In a blur of movement, Macabre wrapped one hand around Eddie’s throat and drove him into the wall.  “Now listen to me you greasy little rat.  Don’t try and shake me down.  I was dealing with scum ten times worse than you, when you could own slaves in Texas and no one cared.  If what you have interests me, I’ll consider giving you a fair price.  Understand?”

Macabre emphasized the last sentence by squeezing his hand around Eddie’s throat just a little bit harder.  Macabre suddenly released Eddie causing him to fall to the ground, gasping for air.  Macabre took a few steps back and glowered contemptuously at the filthy figure huddling at his feet.

“Now, tell me what you know.”

Rubbing his throat, Eddie gasped,  “I know where Coulter is.”

“I’m listening.”

“He’s on his way to Rock Creek, where he’s gonna try and get help from Wild Bill Hickok.”

Macabre snorted.  “A tinhorn dime novel gunslinger is no concern of mine.”  Macabre pulled out a coin and held it up.  “”You’ll go to Rock Creek.  Learn everything you can about Wild Bill or whoever Coulter’s meeting.  I want to know just how much of what’s written about Hickok is true.”

“Now look,” Eddie protested.  “Our agreement is-”

“Our agreement is whatever I say it is!  Got it?”

“Yes,” Eddie whimpered.

Macabre dropped the coin at his feet.  Eddie crawled quickly to collect his payment.  As his hand clasped the coin, Macabre placed his foot on the snitch’s hand and applied pressure.  Eddie did his best to stifle a cry of pain.

“Oh, and Eddie,” Macabre hissed, bending down to Eddie’s ear.  “Don’t disappoint me.  Remember, I own you.  You are mine to dispose of as I see fit.”

Macabre got off Eddie’s hand and vanished. 

When Nichols finished his meal, he started his journey home.  Suddenly he stopped.  Years of experience told him he was being watched.  He looked around and saw nothing, but the feeling wouldn’t go away.

“Call yourself a lawman.”  A voice oozed out of the darkness contemptuously.  “Mixing with scum like Coulter.  He’s no better than the men he shoots in the back.”

A beautifully sculptured porcelain mask appeared out of the night.

“Now just wait a minute,” Nichols said, his hand inching to his gun.  But he never got a chance to draw.

A slug got him in the chest.  He’d never seen his opponent draw.  Maybe he hadn’t drawn.  Maybe he’d already had his gun out.  But all this really didn’t matter.  Right now all Nichols could think about was his Sarah, and he wondered if he told her he loved her before going out tonight.

The ethereal figure walked up over to where Nichols was lying in the muddy street.  Ripping off Nichols’ badge, he rasped, “You have no right to wear this star.”  Then he vanished.
 

Chapter Three -  TRIAL BY BLOOD

The Spencer brothers were robbing the St. Louis stage.  The shotgun had been wounded in the holdup and the driver was tending to him.  All the occupants had lined up outside the stage and were in the process of handing over their valuables.  All the occupants that is, accept an old man that had refused to leave the coach.

Judd Spencer, the leader, had finally gotten fed up with the old buzzard’s stubbornness.  He pointed his gun through the window at the old man’s head and said threateningly, “Alright old man, you got to the count of three to get out here.”

The old man acted as if he hadn’t heard him.

“One.” Still no reaction.  “Two.”  Judd eased back the hammer.  “Th-” Judd was interrupted by the roar of a shotgun blast.  The stage door splintered and Judd was thrown back, a huge red mess where his chest used to be.

The old man jumped out from the stage, leveled his modified shotgun at the nearest outlaw and blew him away.  The weapon was a sawed off shotgun with the rifle butt removed and replaced with a pistol handle.  Tossing the empty weapon aside, the old man pulled out a Remington and shot the other two.  Seeing how things were going, Cam Spencer tried to run, only to be shot in the back.

The old man walked up to the withering figure on the ground.  “Get up.”

“You shot me in the back!”

“There’s nothing wrong with your legs is there?  Now get up.”

As Cam got to his feet, the old man said, “Now, by the authority granted to me by the United States Supreme Court, I, Judge Micah Blood, find you guilty of stage robbery and murder.  I sentence you to hang.”

“What right have you-”

Micah swatted him across the ear with his pistol barrel.  “I just told you, stupid.  This isn’t the first stage you’ve robbed and during the last one, three people died.”

Cam tried to make a break for it, only to be shot in the back of the head by the Judge.  “Court’s adjourned.”

Blood surveyed the bodies of the dead outlaws.  When the driver asked about them, Blood told him to leave them where they were (buzzards needed to eat too).  Right now, Judge Blood had an appointment to keep in Rock Creek.
 

Chapter Four -- FAR TOO CLOSE TO HOME

A somber mood hung over Rock Creek Station like a rain cloud.  Ike McSwain was dead.  The bald, silent, gentle rider had been gunned down by a murdering card sharp called Neville.  Ike’s best friend, Buck Cross, had since killed him.  But Neville’s death had brought no peace to the half-Kiowa pony express rider.  Buck had left the station for a time to try and sort himself out.  He had left three weeks ago, and people were beginning to doubt whether or not he was coming back.

Things around the station had fallen back into a usual pattern of routine.  The Kid and Jimmy Hickok were on separate runs, Noah Dixon and Jesse James were doing their chores, and Billy Cody was complaining and generally dogging the work assigned to him by the station mistress, Rachel Dunne.

Louis McCloud was sitting on the coral fence watching the horizon for her lover, the Kid.  They hadn’t seen each other in weeks and she was going crazy.  The last time they had spent any “quality time” together had been a month ago in the hayloft, and she had to leave as soon as they were finished.  Lou folded her arms on the fence railing and rested her chin on her forearms.

The other boys watched Lou pining away and snickered softly.  Lou was wound up as tight as a spring and if she didn’t release soon, somebody was going to get hurt.  Unfortunately the only one who could get Lou to relax was not here.  Teaspoon saw the boys had stopped doing their chores and barked at them to get back to work.

The girl rider saw movement on the horizon.  At first she thought it was Kid, but it was moving too slowly.  The closer it got, she could see it was a wagon.  “We got company.”

Aside from other riders, the station rarely had visitors.  Curious, everyone stopped what they were doing and came to see who it was.  When the wagon stopped just in front of the bunkhouse, everyone could see it was actually an old woman in loose men’s range clothes.  She took one look at Teaspoon and broke into a wide sardonic grin.

“Well, well, well.  As I live and breathe, Aloysius Hunter.”

Teaspoon went white as a sheet.  “Nettie?!”

Nettie chuckled.  “It’s good to see the years have been as good to you as they have to me.”

Snorts of contained laughter bubbled from the other riders, but Teaspoon was too stunned to notice.

Nettie nodded towards Rachel.  “This your latest prize.”

Rachel bristled.  “No, I’m-”
“I like her already.  Thought you looked a little to smart for the likes of him.  Probably see right through him.”  She looked Teaspoon over critically.  “And given his present state that can’t be easy.”

More contained laughter motivated Teaspoon to speak up.  “What the hell are you doing here?”

Nettie gave Teaspoon a swat.  “Don’t talk to me in that tone, buster.  Just because I had the misfortune of being married to you, doesn’t mean I have to take your bull.”

“Married!” the members of the Rock Creek crew chorused.

“You must be his fifth wife,” Cody announced.

“Fifth,” she said.  “I didn’t know there were that many women stupid enough to marry you.  I just thought it was just that foreigner and that squaw whore you ran off with.”

“And you,” Teaspoon shot back.

“I was drunk,” Nettie said flatly.  “Anyway, as it happens I found something of yours hanging in a tree.”  She pulled back the blankets on the back of her wagon.

“Kid,” Lou screamed and hopped into the back of the wagon.  Teaspoon ordered Noah and Cody to carry him inside, Lou not leaving his side.

When Nettie began to climb from the box seat Jesse reached to help her down.  Nettie slapped his hands away.  “I’m old not crippled, boy.”  She turned to Teaspoon.  “That boy your son?”

“No.”

Nettie nodded knowledgeably.  “Shoulda guessed.  He’s too good looking to be the fruit of your loins.”

Once again Teaspoon was zinged to silence as Nettie walked into the bunkhouse.

Mrs. Whitefield found Kid lying on one of the bunks, Lou sitting on the edge of the bed tending to him.  “You his girl?”

“Yes.” Lou didn’t see much point in lying or even asking how Nettie had known she was a girl.

“Well,” Nettie said.  “He should be fine.  His neck’ll be stiff and he’ll only be able to eat soup and broth for coupla days.  But other than that he should recover.”

Louise gave Nettie a grateful look.  After Nettie left, Lou continued to try and make Kid as comfortable as possible.  Kid hadn’t looked this bad since that time he’d been railroaded into prison.  All Louise could think was, Who would want to do this to the Kid, and why?
 

Chapter Five -- ALLIANCES OF NECESSITY & LOYALTY

Regrets hadn’t changed one bit.  At least as far as James Butler “Wild Bill” Hickok could tell.  Men still got drunk on poisonous homemade brew that could melt through a steam engine and they fought in the street, breaking anything that got in their way.  Jimmy stepped over someone who’d just been thrown through a bar window.  After pausing long enough for two men fighting to pass in front of him, he continued to the church.

The church seemed to be largely untouched by the chaotic inhabitants.  Which was odd given the drunken rowdiness of the citizens of Regrets.  He was surprised that no one was shooting out the windows or using the front door for knife throwing practice.  It looked just the way it did the last time Jimmy had been here it was just as foreboding and unwelcoming as the rest of the town.

Inside Jimmy found the Preacher kneeling in front of the altar, praying frantically.  As Jimmy got closer, the Preacher didn’t seem to know he was there.  He just stared blankly ahead reciting the words of God in a voice so low he couldn’t be understood.  Jimmy came to the conclusion that the priest had gone mad.  The months living in a godless town like Regrets had finally pushed the Preacher over the edge.

Jimmy turned to leave, but halfway down the aisle the Preacher called, “Have you put your trust in God, Hickok?”

Surprised, Jimmy spun around to see the Preacher getting to his feet.  He hadn’t changed a bit.  About ten years older than Jimmy, he was a pale man with fanatical, vacant eyes that seemed to see nothing and everything at the same time.  But what really set this Preacher apart from the other preachers was the colt pistol strapped to his hip.  As Jimmy had rightly guessed when they first met, this man was priest, lawgiver and undertaker all in one.

“I trust God, fine,” Jimmy said calmly.  “It’s man I don’t trust.”

Jimmy thought he saw the Preacher crack a small smile but it was hard to tell with his icy features.  “What brings you back to Regrets?”

“Guess I’m looking for purpose.”

Glancing at Jimmy’s pearl handle colts, the Preacher said, “I’d say you’ve already found your purpose.”

“Killing ain’t a purpose!” Jimmy exploded.  “I want a life beyond that.  “Like-”

“The Kid,” the Preacher interrupted.  “The friend your jealous of and whose woman you lust for.”

“That ain’t true!”  It was a lie, of course.  He was jealous of Kid.  Everything he did, the Kid had always done just a little bit better.  He could shoot three for three.  Kid could shoot six for six.  Jimmy had dropped the mochilla once during their pony express training.  Kid hadn’t made one mistake.

Kid, the one who never lost his cool or picked a fight.  The one everyone turned to in a crisis.  The one who could do things without even trying.  Damn it he, Wild Bill Hickok, should be the leader of the riders.  He was the oldest, the fastest draw, and the one with the most experience.  But no, whenever they were sent to deal with outlaws or Indians, it was Kid they followed.

And as for Lou, Kid didn’t deserve her.  Trying to change her and run her life.  And after a couple of months apart, one pitiful apology and they were back to sneaking off to the barn when they thought nobody was watching.  Hell, just before he’d left he’d heard the sounds of heavy breathing and slapping skin coming from the hayloft.  Why she had so readily taken him back Jimmy just couldn’t understand?

“Feel better now?”  The sound of the Preacher’s voice caused Jimmy to realize that everything he had been thinking, he’d just said aloud.  Jimmy slumped into one of the pews, the Preacher sitting in the one in front of him.  “God gives each of us a purpose from birth.  What we want is not always what God has planned for us.  It is clear that you must take this path alone.  Can you really give her what she needs?  Yes, it could be blissful, but in the end would she be happy being Wild Bill’s woman?”

The Preacher’s words cut deeper than he thought they could.  Jimmy had never been one for sticking around in one place for very long, even before he became Wild Bill.  He wanted Lou so much and was sure if he tried he could have her.  But for how long?  In the end she’d want something from him he couldn’t give.  It would get ugly, there’d be fights (and with Lou they’d probably get physical), things would be said that couldn’t be taken back and neither would want to see each other again.

Jimmy felt drained after finally getting this all off his chest.  He also came to a realization: he was Wild Bill Hickok.  Always had been, always would be.  No matter what Lou, Teaspoon or the others said.  It was his destiny.

Jimmy bid farewell to the Preacher, who replied, “Go with God, my son.”

Jimmy decided he needed a drink.  As he entered the nearest saloon, many of the patrons who recognized him got out of the way.  In truth Jimmy had grown quite comfortable with his reputation.  When hardcases found out who he was they immediately backed down and people gave him a wide berth.  There were definite advantages to being a notorious gunslinger.

“Hey, Hickok,” someone challenged.

And one distinct disadvantage.  Jimmy turned around to find a cocky looking gunslick standing in the doorway.

“Go for your guns Hickok.  I’m the Kansas Kid and I’m going to be the one who kills you.”

Jimmy sighed.  Everyone seemed to have a really stupid nickname these days.  When Jimmy finally faced his opponent, he knew something was wrong.  This guy (Jimmy had already forgotten his name) was just a little too cool and too cocky.

Suddenly he caught movement out of the corner of his eyes.  It was an ambush!  Jimmy had to act fast.  He never gave the Kansas Kid a chance to draw.  He just drew and fired, simultaneously drawing his second pistol to shoot the man to his right.  Then swung around and gave the man to his left both barrels.  An explosion behind him forced Jimmy to spin around guns ready.  He saw someone fall off the balcony and land on the bar.

Wild Bill Hickok looked around for other challengers.  Then he saw a familiar face.  “Coulter.”

Jake Coulter put his gun away.  “Hickok.”

Jimmy let his guns train on Coulter for a second later, before putting his pistols away.  “What’re you doing here?”

Coulter smiled.  (Never a good thing as far as Jimmy was concerned.)  “Believe it or not Hickok, I was on my way to see you.”

“What for?” Jimmy asked cautiously.

“I need you help.”

Back in Rock Creek

Teaspoon grumbled to himself as he sat down behind his desk.  He’d been in a foul mood all morning and he knew the cause: Nettie Whitefield.  Of all his ex-wives that had to turn up in Rock Creek it had to be her.  Why couldn’t it be Beatrice or Polly?  Why did it have to be her?

“Hunter,” a familiar voice bellowed.  “Come out here you flea-bitten whore monger!”

“No,” Teaspoon yelled back, his mood brightened slightly.  “You come in here you lowlife, crooked sidewinder.”

A pause.  “Alright.  I will.”

A tall slightly overweight man with white hair and a neatly trimmed white goatee entered the marshal’s office.  “Marshal Teaspoon Hunter.”

“Judge Micah Blood.”

Teaspoon got up and walked around the desk.  The two elderly lawmen regarded each other standoffishly, before Teaspoon face broke out into a huge grin.  Micah returned the grin and the two grabbed the other’s hands in a firm handshake, while bursting into loud laughter.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Teaspoon demanded.  Finally someone from his past he wasn’t embarrassed to see again.  Judge Blood quickly filled him in on the bounty hunter killings.  “That’s a little out of your league isn’t it?  I mean, you’re used to people bringing the criminals to you.”

Micah’s mood became somber.  “I think one of the bastards behind this, killed my son-in-law.”

“I’m sorry.”  Teaspoon put his arm around Micah’s shoulders companionably.  “C’mon, you tell me about it over lunch.”

Later that night…

Jimmy and Coulter had stopped off at a small settlement.  So small in fact, it didn’t even have a name.  It was just a stagecoach station, a hardware store and a saloon.  Most of the patrons in the bar were already passed out on the floor or across the tables.  Except for two who were fighting drunkenly, throwing wild punches and tripping over there own feet.  Coulter, meanwhile, had retired for the day with a bottle of whiskey and a willing woman.  Wild Bill Hickok didn’t particularly care. 

Hickok was nursing a drink thinking about what Coulter had told him.  Who would want to kill bounty hunters?  Perhaps a better question was, wouldn’t?  But it was the organization and scale that got to Jimmy.  It was like someone was working to some sort of ultimate goal.  But what was it?  What could someone possibly gain by killing bounty hunters?

Jimmy’s mind then drifted to the aftermath of the gunfight in Regrets.  When the guns had silenced and the killing finished, the Preacher had appeared in the saloon entrance.  The saloon went deathly quiet.  When he moved to the bodies, everybody moved out of his way.  He each gave them last rites then said, “Bring them to the church.  I’ll see to their proper disposal.”  It wasn’t a request.  After he left, some of the patrons picked up the bodies and carried them out.  It was then Jimmy learned who the real power in Regrets was.

The two fighting cowboys stumbled up against Jimmy.  Annoyed, Jimmy emptied his glass then smashed it over the nearest ones head.  That one out of the way, Jimmy slugged the other one in the gut then drew his pistol and bashed its barrel over his skull.  Two more bodies on the filthy floor.  Jimmy didn’t particularly care and ordered another drink.

“Hey cowboy.”

Jimmy looked up to see one of the saloon girls.  She wasn’t an unattractive woman, a bit heavy in the thighs, but Jimmy found that oddly attractive.  “What the hell,” Jimmy mumbled, then finished his drink and let the woman lead him upstairs.  If either Jake or Jimmy had paid more attention to their surroundings than to the girls, they might have noticed a greasy little rat of a human being scurrying out the door.