Everett Brooks and the Dodge City Renegade: Part 4

Inside the fire.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

---

Come out of hiding, you're safe here with me

Out of Hiding (Father’s Song), Steffany Gretzinger

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash

The River City surgeon, a capable doctor named Watkins, had just finished extracting the bullet from Duncan MacTavish’s hip when the sheriff, along with two deputies, strode angrily into his office.

“What’s the meaning of this?!” the sheriff fumed. His seething countenance evaporated as soon as his gaze fell upon the bloody and wounded Scotsman laying on the table. “Mr. MacTavish! You alright there, sir?”

“I suppose I’ll live,” Duncan grunted.

Doc Watkins nodded his assent. “So long as you keep that wound clean, and take it easy for a few days, you should heal up just fine, Mr. MacTavish.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, doctor,” Duncan wheezed as he struggled to sit up. “I must get after those villains who shot up the hotel!”

Everett Brooks laid a firm hand upon the Scotsman’s shoulder, pushing him back down. “Not this time, Duncan. You need to stay and rest. We can handle it from here.”

“Nobody’s goin’ anywhere until I find out what the hell just happened,” the sheriff announced.

“Sheriff,” Duncan began, “this gentleman here is Everett Brooks. Those men at the train depot are in league with a brigand who has absconded with Everett’s woman. We believe their hideout is somewhere near River City.”

“I’ll be double dog damned!” one of the deputies marveled. “Everett Brooks? In my town? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“And, true to his reputation, trouble’s followed,” the sheriff drawled, somewhat indignantly.

“Listen, sheriff: we weren’t planning on startin’ a gunfight in the middle of town. They shot at us first. We’re within rights to defend ourselves,” Everett attempted to placate the man.

The sheriff grunted. “Regardless, you brought trouble to River City. And now, I’ve got a town full of frightened people. So, the question is, what are you gonna do about it?”

“Well, me and…Rudabaugh here” -Everett caught himself, making sure to use Pete’s pseudonym around the strangers- “are going to ride out after them and make them pay for what they done.”

“Seeing as how they terrorized my town, I’ll be sending these boys with you.” The sheriff motioned to the pair of deputies next to him.

“You should know that those men work for Jack Skinner.”

The sheriff paled considerably. “The Jack Skinner?”

“The one and only,” Everett confirmed. “Might be best to let me and Rudabaugh handle it. We’re already deep in this mess. But you might want to avoid doing anything that’ll get you on his bad side.”

“I ain’t yellow, if that’s what you’re tryin’ to say,” the sheriff growled. “And Jack Skinner might be a rich asshole with a hard reputation, but that don’t mean I got to turn a blind eye to what his boys done here today. My deputies go with you. End of discussion.”

---

Caroline awoke to the acrid smell of woodsmoke and the sickening stench of burning flesh. Groggy and nauseous, she sat up gingerly. Her head was swimming, and she felt something wet and sticky running down her face. In front of her, the dugout was on fire.

The evening’s events flashed through her mind. She realized the discharge from Randall Gibson’s pistol must have set his clothes aflame when she shot him point blank. Now, the flames had engulfed the small cabin, and were starting to spread to the sagebrush meadow in which she lay. Firelight glinted off a metal object nearby: Randall’s pistol. Behind her, she heard the sound of thundering hoofbeats and cries of alarm. Red Knife had returned at last.

Caroline grabbed the revolver. She winced at the heat the gun had absorbed, but refused to let go as she scrambled up the escarpment behind the flaming dugout. Six riders galloped into the guttering light of the blaze.

So, Caroline thought to herself, that’s why Red Knife left me alone with Randall. She smirked at the realization that her captors had been more afraid of Everett than they let on. Red Knife leapt off his horse, staring at the inferno in horror and dismay.

The Comanche let loose a string of profane maledictions in his native language before turning to the Regulators and snarling in English, “Find the bitch! Bring her to me!”

“What if she’s burned up too?” one of the Regulators protested.

Red Knife cursed the man violently. “She’s alive! I can smell the whore’s stench!”

With that, all six men spread out, scouring the meadow for any sign of her. It wasn’t long before someone found her hurried tracks up the hillside.

“She went this way!” shouted the man who found her trail. His head suddenly disappeared in a geyser of blood and bone as gunshots echoed through the night.

Everett Brooks, Pete Crosby, and the two River City deputies rode their horses pell-mell into the midst of the Regulators with a rebel yell that hearkened back to their days as Confederate partisans. Everett brandished both of his Colt Open Top revolvers and blasted the guns with reckless abandon. Stunned by the suddenness and ferocity of the ambush, most of the Regulators were gunned down by the time they knew what was happening. One or two managed to get off a few errant shots in return before they were felled.

Crouched amongst a thicket of sagebrush at the base of the escarpment, Red Knife managed to avoid the massacre. Now, as a deputy reined in nearby, the Comanche warrior emerged from cover. He plunged his knife into his unsuspecting victim’s thigh, dragged him from the saddle, and mercilessly slashed his throat. Red Knife swung up onto the dead man’s mount, wheeled the horse around, and spurred it into a full tilt gallop straight at Everett, who was too busy searching frantically for Caroline to pay attention to the threat barreling towards him.

She, meanwhile, had watched the whole grisly scene with the deputy play out less than a dozen yards away. Caroline tried to shout a warning, but her throat was hoarse from the smoke, and all she could manage was a barely audible croak. Then she remembered the pistol in her hand. She raised the revolver over her head and emptied the chamber.

Everett turned at the sound of the gunshots just in time to see Red Knife’s tomahawk hurtling through the air towards his head. He rolled off his horse, narrowly avoiding the projectile, and landed on his back. The Comanche launched himself into the air, plunging down with his knife. Everett tensed, waiting for the inevitable collision. A solitary blast rang out.

A bloody crater erupted in Red Knife’s side as he twisted sideways violently, He landed heavily next to Everett, dead eyes staring up at the night sky. Pistol Pete Crosby lowered his Winchester Yellow Boy rifle.

“You’re welcome,” he grinned roguishly at his surprised friend laying in the dirt.

“I was ready for him,” Everett protested mildly.

Pete smirked knowingly. “Course you were.”

Caroline staggered into view. Everett scrambled to his feet and ran to her. She collapsed in his strong arms, sobbing with joyful relief and tearful exhaustion.

“There, there. I’ve got you now,” he whispered reassuringly as he wet his bandana to wipe the blood from her lovely and delicate face. “I’ve got you.”

---

Afterword: To enhance the impact of this story, listen to the song below after you read.

---

If you enjoyed reading my Thoughts, consider showing your appreciation by contributing to my retirement fund.

---