Everett Brooks and the Midnight Riders
The whole story.
Prologue.
I could possibly be fading
Or have something more to gain
I could feel myself growing colder
I could feel myself under your fate
Into Dust, Mazzy Star
He stood over her grave, the bodies of her killers strewn about, and blood trickling into his eyes.
Their first shot had grazed his forehead, then they ambushed her. They took him for dead, but he rose from the dust, unloading his pair of Army Colts with vengeful fury. The murderers fled in terror as half of them met their bloody demise.
He held her as she died. The end of their outlaw days had been so close. He buried his revolvers with her so she could keep part of him forever.
He kept her Remington for the same reason.
I.
“The good sheriff usually doesn’t let folks walk around the town heeled, but he seems to have made an exception twice over in your case.”
Everett Brooks looked up from his breakfast to see a well dressed, barrel-chested man standing over him and studying the two Colt Open Top revolvers holstered in his belt.
“Three times over if you count that,” Brooks motioned to a rifle leaning against the wall behind where he was sitting.
“A Henry repeater, eh?”
“Vintage 1860.”
“Get that in the War, did you?”
Everett Brooks nodded perfunctorily.
“Fought for the Union, judging by the Henry.”
Brooks’ face darkened slightly, and he shook his head before answering, “On the losing side, matter of fact. I was one of Mosby’s boys.”
“How in God’s name did a militia boy like yourself come by such a fine specimen?”
“Took it off a dead Yank at Loudoun Heights.”
“Did you also come by that scar at Loudoun?” The stranger pointed at the old wound that slashed its way across Everett Brooks’ forehead.
“Was a different scrum where that happened. One I’m not too inclined to talk about, truth be told.”
The stranger stuck out a bearish hand, “My apologies, sir. Here I’ve been bombarding you with questions and I’ve yet to introduce myself. The name’s Duncan MacTavish, but most people around here just call me The Scotsman.”
“Most people everywhere call me Everett Brooks.”
“May I join you?” MacTavish gestured at the chair opposite Brooks, who gave a cursory nod as the big man settled into his seat. “I must confess I already knew who you were. I’ve seen your face staring out from many a Wanted poster over the years, which is why I’m surprised the sheriff’s allowed a well known troublemaker such as yourself to wander the town armed to the gills.”
“My troublemaking days are over. These days I hunt bounties. Sheriff’s got no cause to deny me the tools of my trade. Anyways, what’s your excuse for carrying that .45?” Brooks nodded at the nickel-plated revolver in a cross-draw holster on The Scotsman’s left hip.
“Oh, this? Well, being the richest man in town has its privileges,” MacTavish grinned broadly.
“I can see that,” Brooks grunted as he took a sip of coffee.
“So what brings you to Heaven’s Hollow?”
“I already told you: hunting bounties.”
“Anyone in particular?”
Brooks took another swig of his coffee, set the cup down, and fixed The Scotsman with a pointed stare, “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. MacTavish?”
For the first time since he had interrupted Everett Brooks’ breakfast, Duncan MacTavish fell silent. Brooks could see turmoil playing out behind the man’s eyes as he wrestled with himself over what to discuss with the bounty hunter. Finally, The Scotsman sighed in resignation and leaned forward.
“I own a saloon just down the street. You might’ve seen it: The Scotsman’s Hall? I also own a large cattle ranch a few miles outside of town, as well as a majority stake in the gold mine in the hills above Heaven’s Hollow. As I said before, I’m the richest man in this town. That means I’m used to getting what I want. And what I want right now is to hire you.”
“To do what, exactly?”
“You’re a gunslinger, and a killer. A damn good one too, if the stories about you are to be believed. I want to hire you to do what you do best.”
“I’m not a killer-for-hire, Mr. MacTavish. Not anymore.”
“Strictly speaking, I’m not asking you to kill anyone.”
“Then what is it you want from me?”
“There’s a gang of road agents been terrorizing this town for a few months now, attacking miners, travelers, and traders. They’re starting to seriously cut into my profits from the gold mine, as well as threatening the prosperity of the rest of the town. I want you to deal with them.”
“Get the sheriff and his deputies to handle it,” Brooks waved dismissively.
“For all his bluster, our good sheriff is a lazy coward. He wants the glory of the job without any of the responsibility that’s supposed to go along with it. As far as his deputies go, I think they’re working with the gang.”
“So then hire Pinkertons.”
“I’ll pay you twenty dollars a day!” MacTavish declared earnestly. “That’s more than a Pinkerton makes.”
“But not more than I’ll make if you’d just let me deal with my bounties.”
“I’m not asking you to give up on your damned bounties! As a matter of fact, I think you’ll find I’m trying to make your life easier.”
“How’s that?” Brooks raised an eyebrow quizzically.
“I know what happened between you and the Midnight Riders. Bloody hell, everyone west of the Mississippi knows about that. I also know it’s them you’re hunting, and they’re the reason you’ve found yourself in our little frontier paradise.”
“You sure do seem to know a lot for a pampered, rich son of a bitch.”
Duncan MacTavish let out a burst of good natured laughter, “You’re not wrong. A man in my position has to be well informed. It doesn’t hurt that you’re famous, like it or not.”
“I used to like it. Not too sure how I feel about it these days.”
“If you’ll permit me to get to the point: I think these road agents are members of your old gang.”
“So that’s what he meant,” Brooks whispered enigmatically.
“Who meant what now?”
“Oh…an old friend of mine who lives in town. He wrote me a letter about a month ago telling me I should visit Heaven’s Hollow as soon as struck my fancy. Though he recommended sooner than later.”
“I see. And who is this erstwhile compatriot of yours? Maybe I know him, and can point you in his direction.”
“You ought to know him. He works for you: Pistol Pete Crosby.”
Duncan MacTavish roared with laughter once again, “My good man, I think I would know it if a gunslinger of such renown as Pete Crosby worked for me.”
“Pistol Pete Crosby,” Brooks corrected. “And he does work for you, except you know him as Rudabaugh Jenkins.”
MacTavish was stunned, “Rudabaugh Jenkins is Pistol Pete Crosby?! That…shaggy, wild haired mountain man is one of the deadliest gunfighters in the Territory? Why, I had no idea!”
“I expect that’s on purpose. There’s a lot of folks out there who are keen to bury him.”
“And how is it you came to make his acquaintance?”
“He’s a Virginia boy, like myself. We both rode with Mosby during the War, then we came out west together and ran a crew for awhile. I haven’t seen him in years, so you can imagine my surprise when I got his letter.”
There was a sudden commotion outside, followed by a woman screaming, and a solitary gunshot echoed in the tranquil morning air.
“Everett Brooks! I know you’re in there! You get on out here, you yellow bastard! NOW!” The words were bellowed in a rickety cadence of slurred speech. Everett Brooks narrowed his eyes in suspicious familiarity. Without saying a word, he got up from the table, walked out of the hotel’s plush dining room, through the elegantly appointed lobby, and out onto the wooden sidewalk. Duncan MacTavish followed right behind, a mystified expression on his face.
It was early fall in the Montana Territory, and the first hint of snow lingered on a mild breeze. Everett Brooks stood with his arms crossed on the top step of the sidewalk, and a haggard looking cowhand standing just below him in the muddy street. Passersby gave them a wide berth even as they watched the unfolding drama with curiosity.
“Well, if it ain’t the great outlaw hisself,” slurred the clearly intoxicated man. Brooks regarded the disheveled stranger with a bemused stare.
“Tommy Tramer, as I live and breathe. Never thought I’d see the unfortunate day we’d cross paths again.”
“You gonna wish we hadn’t. I hate your yellow guts for what you done to me.”
“Tommy, you were a useless and stupid drunk then, and it looks like you’re still a useless and stupid drunk. Much as I’d like to do otherwise, I’m gonna let you walk away. This time.”
“You know he let me back into the Riders after they done in you and your woman? Whole gang knows you’re here, Everett Brooks, and they’re gonna come for you.”
“Good, you saved me the trouble of having to find them.”
“You’re damn right, cause I’m fixin’ to deliver you myself.” Tommy Tramer tightened his grip on his revolver. Everett Brooks didn’t move, and his arms remained crossed.
“Walk away, Tommy. It ain’t going to end well for you if you decide to be dumb and draw down on me.”
Tommy Tramer was deaf to reason, his face red with drunken fury. He started to raise his gun. Before Duncan could register what happened, a thunderous crack rang out, and Tommy Tramer dropped in the mud, writhing in agony as he clutched a bloody hole in his thigh. Meanwhile, Everett Brooks stood impassively on the sidewalk, a smoking Colt Open Top held in his right hand. He holstered the revolver, stepped into the street, and crouched down next to Tommy.
“You sonofabitch!” his victim howled. “I’m gonna lose my leg!”
“Relax, Tommy. I shot you in the meat of your thigh. Worst you’ll have is a limp for the rest of your life, which won’t be very long if I ever see your sorry ass again.”
Everett Brooks regained his feet and turned to Duncan. “Let me get my jacket and my rifle, and we’ll go see what old Pistol Pete knows about the Riders.”
II.
“You shouldn’t have let him live,” Duncan MacTavish observed as they squelched their way through the muddy thoroughfare, dodging fellow pedestrians and piles of horse droppings. “He’ll bring the Riders down on you for sure now.”
“He was gonna do that anyway. You heard him.”
“I heard a drunk man making drunken boasts. He might have been lying.”
“Tommy Tramer is a lot of things, but he ain’t a liar. If he says the Riders know I’m here, then that’s the truth.”
“You seem to know the man much better than I. My impression of him is that he’s nothing more than a raving, imbecilic drunk.”
“Well, your assessment ain’t terribly far off.” A quizzical look crossed Everett Brooks’ face. “I thought you said the sheriff don’t like to let just anyone walk the town heeled.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“So what in the hell is Tommy Tramer struttin’ around with a Navy six for?”
“You know, I have seen him out on the town with the deputies. Boozing in the saloons, frequenting the hog ranches. That sort of thing.”
“If he’s in good with the deputies, that goes along with your theory about them working with the Riders. If it turns out they are your road agents.”
As they approached the steps leading up to MacTavish’s saloon, The Scotsman’s Hall, the doors to the establishment swung outward, and an intoxicated miner was deposited unceremoniously into the mud at their feet. Standing in the doorway stood a savage figure clad top to bottom in fringed buffalo leather. His dark hair was streaked with gray and hung down to the small of his back, while a bushy beard that matched in both color and length covered his face. A Schofield revolver with a walnut grip sat holstered on his right hip, a Bowie knife sheathed on his left, and a Winchester Yellow Boy rifle lay across his back. The fury in his blazing eyes, ostensibly at the drunk man he’d just ejected, disappeared as soon as his gaze fell on the duo standing at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’ll be damned! That really you, Everett Brooks?!” Pistol Pete Crosby, otherwise known to the locals as Rudabaugh Jenkins, exclaimed.
“In the flesh,” Brooks replied nonchalantly. “Still raising hell, I see.”
“Matter of fact, this gentleman right here pays me to keep the hell-raisers out.” Pistol Pete inclined his head deferentially at Duncan MacTavish, then gestured aggressively at the man still laying in a disheveled heap. “This one was gettin’ handsy with the ladies and tryin’ to buffalo his fellow card players.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we,” MacTavish stated rhetorically. “I’ll trust you not to let this man back inside The Scotsman’s Hall again, Mr. Jenkins…er…Crosby.”
Pete Crosby laughed good naturedly, “I see our friend here has spilled the beans. If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d prefer it if you kept callin’ me by Jenkins. Pistol Pete Crosby’s got a lot of old enemies that’re probably gunnin’ for him, and he wouldn’t want to make it too easy for them to learn his whereabouts.”
“As you say. Shall we go in and get a drink?” Duncan MacTavish led the group into his saloon. Inside, The Scotsman’s Hall was bustling with activity as dozens of roughneck patrons sat playing cards, leaned on billiards tables, and caroused with the numerous women clothed in colorful bustiers and frilly petticoats. The trio made their way over to the bar. The barman gave MacTavish a respectful nod and poured three shots of whiskey.
“Mr. MacTavish!” The delighted squeal rose above the din, and Everett Brooks looked up from his drink to see a sensationally beautiful blonde weaving through the crowd.
“Caroline, lass!” The Scotsman was equally thrilled to see the beguiling woman.
“It’s been so long since you’ve visited us,” Caroline pouted coquettishly. “Me and the girls were beginning to think you didn’t love us anymore.”
“Nonsense, I’ve simply been busy dealing with other affairs.”
“Are you going to introduce me to your new friend?” Caroline asked as she stared hungrily at the stranger standing next to her boss.
“Ah, yes! Where are my manners? Caroline, meet Everett Brooks, bounty hunter extraordinaire.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Caroline presented Brooks with a graceful hand that was gloved in delicate lace. “You can call me Sweet Caroline.”
Despite his best efforts, Everett Brooks couldn’t keep his eyes off of Caroline’s heaving bosom. When he finally met her gaze, his cheeks flushed slightly as she flashed a dazzling smile, a knowing twinkle in her eye.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”
“He’s a bit shy, isn’t he?” Caroline remarked as she fingered Everett’s vest and button down shirt with deliberate coyness. “I like him.”
“Sweet Caroline here will cure what ails you, and then some,” MacTavish said wolfishly.
“Thanks, but I don’t partake.”
Caroline planted her hands on her shapely hips in a posture of mock defiance. “You got a problem with us trollops, mister?”
“I got no problem with anyone trying to make an honest living the best they know how. But I don’t believe in paying for what should be given freely in love,” Brooks opined. “Plus I just don’t like to share.”
Pistol Pete guffawed, “I seem to remember a certain harlot you sure didn’t mind wastin’ all your money on at that hog ranch in Virginia City.”
“That was before I knew better.”
MacTavish laid a strong, friendly hand on Everett Brooks’ shoulder. “You agree to work for me, you can have Sweet Caroline all to yourself, as well as a room here, free of charge. Provided she agrees to that, of course.”
Caroline nodded vigorously, for she was thoroughly intrigued by Brooks, but before she could voice her consent, two men wearing deputy badges barged through the doors, their faces twisted in rage. The whole room went deathly quiet as everyone anxiously held their breath to see what would happen next. The deputies strode angrily towards Brooks.
“You! You’re under arrest for attempted murder of a citizen in good standing.”
Everett Brooks arched an eyebrow, “Tommy Tramer? A citizen in good standing? Can’t say I’ve heard that one before.”
The deputy closest to Brooks slammed a fist on the bar top, “Hand over your guns and come with us. Peaceably.”
“Ain’t neither one of you gonna take my guns from me,” Brooks stated flatly, all trace of amusement gone from his voice. He studied the adjacent deputy closely. “You look awfully familiar. I know you?”
“If you’d met me before, you wouldn’t be alive today,” the man said menacingly.
“I swear I’ve seen that mongrel face of yours somewhere.” Brooks slowly and deliberately reached into the pocket of his buffalo plaid jacket and pulled out a folded up stack of papers. He quickly rifled through them before slapping one down on the bar. “That’s you, ain’t it?”
Both deputies looked at the paper. A familiar face glared out at them from a Wanted poster: the same malevolent gaze, the same drooping mustache. The apparent fugitive reached for his revolver, but Brooks kicked the man’s feet out from under him, and he flopped to the ground like an unwieldy sack of potatoes. His pistol went flying and clattered several feet away. Brooks had one of his Colts drawn in a flash, pointing the barrel at the still standing deputy who was in mid-draw himself.
“I told you: I ain’t giving up my guns, and I ain’t turning myself in. Tommy Tramer drew down on me. In public. He’s lucky I just winged him. I’ve got witnesses that plainly saw I acted in self-defense. You go back to your boss, whether it be the sheriff…or someone else…and tell them if they got a problem with that, they’re more than welcome to come down here and force the issue. This one, however,” Brooks kicked the prone man in the side with the toe of his boot, “stays with me. I aim to collect the hundred dollars Uncle Sam’s gonna pay me for…Otis Hauser here.”
“This ain’t over,” the remaining deputy threatened ominously as he retreated out of the saloon.
“No, it certainly ain’t,” Brooks agreed as he hauled Otis Hauser to his feet. Hauser growled in indignation and scrambled desperately to break free of the bounty hunter’s grasp, but Brooks casually clubbed his hostage over the back of the head with the butt of his revolver, and the man crumpled to the floor once again, this time unconscious. The racket of gambling and carousing resumed as everyone returned to their business now that the commotion was over.
Nonplussed, Brooks turned back to Duncan MacTavish, “Guess that confirms Tommy Tramer’s standing with the locals. Now, where were we?”
The Scotsman cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, “We were discussing the terms of your employment.”
“Yes, we were. I’ll take the twenty dollars a day, and the free boarding at this swanky establishment of yours. However, the girl don’t need to be involved in our arrangement, sweet as she might be. Also, if I’m going after an outfit of road agents, and if that outfit is indeed the Midnight Riders, I’m going to need some help. I want to enlist my good friend here,” Brooks nodded at Pistol Pete. “And I expect you to pay him what you’re paying me.”
“That’s almost twice as much as I’m paying him now!” MacTavish protested.
“That was before you knew who he really was. Truth be told, he’s probably worth more than I am.”
“Very well, I agree.”
“Excellent. I’ll let you and Rudabaugh keep an eye on Hauser while I collect my belongings from the hotel and bring them on over.”
“Fine, fine. Caroline will show you to your room,” Duncan MacTavish said as a mirthful look spread across his face. Sweet Caroline reached into her bustier, pulled out a key, and motioned for Brooks to follow her with a puckish grin.
“Right this way, sugar.”
III.
Sunlight filtered in through the gauzy curtains over the window, and Everett Brooks woke the next morning to find Caroline standing over him with a familiar Remington 1858 revolver in her hands. From his spot on the couch, Brooks’ initial dismay turned to curiosity as he watched Caroline run her delicate fingers over the nickel plated cylinder, blued steel frame, and the initials etched into the walnut grip: K.V.
He had spent the night in Caroline’s room because, as she so eloquently put it, every other room was occupied by “paying customers.” Caroline had coyly insisted the bed was big enough for the both of them, but Brooks opted for the couch regardless.
“You best have a good reason for riflin’ through my bags,” he said, somewhat more brusquely than he intended, though Caroline seemed not to notice. She turned to face him, the gossamer frills of her nightgown shimmering in the morning light, hinting at the sensual body underneath.
“I’d recognize this pistol anywhere,” Caroline whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Brooks was puzzled. “Should I?”
“I remember you.” Caroline’s gaze returned to the Remington. “And I remember her.”
Everett Brooks tenderly placed his rough gunslinger’s hands over her flawless ones. “What is it you remember, Caroline?”
Sweet Caroline took a shuddering breath as the memories flashed through her mind. “Three years ago, you and your Midnight Riders robbed a train a few miles outside of Dodge City.”
“We did,” Brooks acknowledged. He remembered the job well since it was the last train heist the outfit had pulled before their falling out. “What do you know about it?”
“I was on that train with my fiancé. He was a cavalry officer, and he’d been deployed to Fort Dodge, so we were headed there to get married. Start our life together.” Caroline paused to wipe away tears that sprang unbidden to her eyes as long suppressed emotions boiled up inside her. “Anyways, you and your gang stopped the train, hopped onboard, and you promised nobody would get hurt as long as we cooperated. So we did. Everyone on that train handed over whatever you decided was worth taking.
“But when you left for the luggage car, a man with wicked eyes, wearing a black hat and black duster, decided he wanted more. He told me I was just too damn pretty for him to pass up a chance for a tumble. He meant to have his way, but my fiancé, brave fool that he was, leapt to defend my honor. You came back when you heard the gunshots, and she came with you.
“I’ll never forget how you pulled him off me and kicked him halfway down that train car. Nor will I ever forget the genuine kindness and concern in your eyes as you helped me to my feet, which surprised me because you’d just robbed a whole train’s worth of innocent folks without batting an eye. And I’ll never forget the righteous fury blazing in her vivid blue eyes as she pulled out this gun and jammed the barrel against his head before you stopped her.”
“That was you?” Everett Brooks murmured in disbelief. “I always wondered if our paths would cross again.”
“I loved my fiancé, and I would have sacrificed my honor, and my virtue, if it meant he’d still be alive. I thought for sure my life was over, but you saved me. And I’ve thought about you and that fierce woman of yours every day for the last three years. I never thought I could love another man after what happened. When I saw you with Mr. MacTavish and Rudabaugh yesterday, I realized that I’ve loved you all this time because of what you did for me, I just didn’t know it.”
“All things bein’ equal, it was my actions that led to you falling from the respected wife of a cavalry officer to…well…”
“A harlot? A painted lady? Trust me, there are girls out there got it a lot worse than we do here at the Hall. Mr. MacTavish only takes a small portion of our pay, he treats us with respect, and allows us to choose who we let into our beds. He provides us with the best medical care in Heaven’s Hollow, and, most importantly, he never touches us or takes advantage of us.”
“You don’t say.” Brooks had never heard of a man who ran girls and didn’t sample the merchandise from time to time.
“And it’s got nothing to do with his condition. Even without that, he still wouldn’t lay a hand on us.”
“Wait…what condition?”
“Oh…right…you wouldn’t know. Mr. MacTavish suffered a wound during the War that made him…impotent.”
“MacTavish fought in the War?”
“He was wounded at Shiloh, fighting with Grant.”
“Well now, he conveniently left out the fact that he was a damn Yankee when he was bein’ ever so loquacious yesterday!”
“War’s been over for ten years, and he’s paying you right generously. Does it matter?”
“No,” Brooks admitted. “No, I suppose it don’t.”
He reached out for the Remington, and Caroline handed it over after a moment’s hesitation. It was Brooks’ turn to study the revolver, a faraway look in his eyes. She sat next to him on the couch, intertwining her fingers with those of his free hand. He accepted her touch without protest.
“I was sorry to hear about her murder. Truly. Most everyone thought you were dead too. And then rumors of Everett Brooks roaming from town to town, taking bounty jobs and hunting the Riders, started swirling,” Caroline gripped his chin and turned his bearded face towards her. She leaned in until her lips brushed against his. “I’m glad the rumors were true.”
For one uncertain, blissful moment, Caroline thought Everett Brooks was going to let down his guard and kiss her with passionate fervor. Instead, he abruptly pulled away and reached for his boots.
“I’ve got to go check in with Teddy,” Brooks said hoarsely as he stood and buckled his gun belt around his waist. And just like that, he left Sweet Caroline sitting forlornly on the couch.
Teddy Freeman sat on the porch of the Heaven’s Hollow jail, sipping on a pleasantly steaming cup of coffee, and enjoying the crisp morning air. Unlike the day before, the sun was shining and there were few clouds to be seen. The ivory grip of his long barreled Colt .45 poked out from under his wool jacket, and a Winchester Mare’s Leg rifle lay across his lap. Teddy was fond of this time of the morning; when he could drink his coffee and watch the town wake up as people went about their daily business.
It was the worst kept secret in Heaven’s Hollow that the town’s deputies were in cahoots with the road agents that had terrorized citizens and travelers alike for almost six months. The sheriff turned a blind eye because he was old and fat and cowardly, wanting nothing more than to spend his twilight years enjoying the privileges of being chief lawman. Teddy was pretty sure the Sheriff was on the take as well, but he couldn’t prove it. The former slave was the only honest deputy in Heaven’s Hollow, and that was why Everett Brooks had entrusted Teddy Freeman to keep an eye on Otis Hauser until his business in town was concluded.
Teddy savored another swig of coffee…and stopped mid-gulp. Above the usual clamor of passersby going to and fro, he heard the rhythmic pounding of dozens of hooves beating the ground all at once. He looked to the northeast and saw an ominous cloud of dust rising from the road as a large group of horsemen galloped in the direction of the town. Teddy Freeman dumped the rest of his coffee, retreated into the jail, and frantically barred the door. Behind him, Otis Hauser laughed menacingly.
“They're comin’, Teddy, and ain't nothin’ you can do to stop them.”
Lost in thought, Everett Brooks trudged towards the jail, absentmindedly meandering among his fellow pedestrians. His thoughts were scrambled and confused after the morning's revelations. The Dodge City train incident had been the catalyst for he and Kat leaving the Midnight Riders, a decision that ultimately led to her death. Finding out Sweet Caroline was the woman he saved from the depredations of Amos Blackburn was a shock he had been unprepared for.
The crack of gunshots rolling down the streets, reverberating off the wood and brick buildings, pulled him out of his melancholy reverie. Bloodcurdling whoops and howls filled the air, and more than a dozen riders thundered into view. Everett Brooks’ blood ran cold.
The Midnight Riders had come to Heaven’s Hollow.
IV.
The townsfolk of Heaven's Hollow cleared the streets in a panic, and Everett Brooks watched from afar as a figure he recognized all too well dismounted and approached the jail.
“Otis, you in there?!” Amos Blackburn shouted in a gruff, gravelly voice.
“Yeah, can you believe it?” Otis Hauser responded after a moment of hushed arguing with Teddy Freeman.
“Well, I can if the story I heard about you squarin’ up with Everett Brooks is true,” Amos drawled. “Now why in the hell would you do somethin’ stupid like that for?”
“He shot Tommy,” Otis responded indignantly.
“Tommy Tramer ain’t worth gettin’ yourself jailed over, so let’s see what we can do to get you out. Who all’s in there with you?”
There was another tense moment of muffled disagreement before Otis Hauser called out, “It’s just me and the darkie.”
“Teddy Freeman!” Amos Blackburn boomed, addressing the law-abiding deputy. “I’ve always sorta admired your stubborn honesty, but you ought to let go of that just this once. You ain’t gonna stop us from bustin’ Otis out, so don’t even try. You let him walk free, and we’ll do the same for you. Otherwise, you will die today, and Otis will be free anyways.”
“I appreciate the offer, Amos, but you never could persuade me to look the other way, and I don’t intend to start now.”
“Yeah,” Amos scratched his stubbled chin in mild annoyance and jerked his head towards the jail. “I thought that might be your answer. I’ve brought someone to help you see reason.”
A short, rotund man shuffled awkwardly out of the crowd of horsemen. “Teddy, it’s Sheriff French. You do what these boys say, you hear? I know you don’t want to die today, or put the townspeople in harm’s way.”
“Sheriff, you damn coward,” Teddy Freeman scolded. “You’ve been putting the townspeople in harm’s way for months, what with your wheelin’ and dealin’ with these scoundrels. It’s time somebody took a stand.”
“Don’t be foolish, Teddy,” Sheriff French pleaded. “Just let these boys go about their business.”
A solitary gunshot rang out, kicking up dirt at the sheriff’s feet. He hung his head in resignation and turned to Amos Blackburn, who stood glowering nearby. “Well, that’s that. He won’t budge.”
“Then you’re not much used to me, are you?” Amos sedately drew his revolver and shot Sheriff French point blank in the face. “Alright boys, let’s tear it down!”
Before any of the Midnight Riders could budge, Everett Brooks, who now stood twenty yards from the grisly scene, hollered coolly, “Whatcha say there, Amos?”
His longtime nemesis turned in disbelief at the sound of Everett’s voice. “Well I’ll be a son of a bitch, it really is you.”
“You expectin’ someone else?”
“Got to admit, when Tommy told me he’d seen you ridin’ into town the other day, I was certain he was just hallucinatin’. You know how that boy loves his drink. Then, when I heard about you wingin’ Tommy and throwin’ Otis here into jail, I still couldn’t quite bring myself to believe it.”
“Well, here I am.”
“Yes, there you are.” Amos’ gun hand started to move. Everett’s pistols sprang from their holsters, and gunshots thundered back and forth. A Rider went down as bloody craters erupted in his chest, and Amos Blackburn clutched his arm as a bullet tore deep into his bicep. Brooks ran for the safety of a side alley while bullets whizzed by, dangerously close. Meanwhile, Teddy Freeman shot his Mare’s Leg rifle out of the jailhouse window, hitting several Riders before they could register what was happening. Wood splintered and glass shattered as the nearest Riders unloaded on the building, and the rest scattered, hunting for Everett Brooks.
Hunkered down in the alley, reloading his pistols, a shadow fell across Brooks and he looked up to see Pistol Pete Crosby on the roof of the building behind him. Everett's fellow gunslinger rapidly worked the lever action of his Winchester Yellow Boy as he discharged the rifle repeatedly into the dispersing crowd of outlaws. Sensing movement to his left, Brooks was astonished to find Caroline crouched next to him. She wore his buffalo plaid jacket, which he had evidently left behind earlier, overtop of her silken nightgown. She clutched his Henry in one hand and Kat’s Remington in the other.
“What the hell you doin’ here, woman?!” Brooks shouted over the roar of gunfire.
“Thought you might need this!” she shouted back and shoved the rifle at him. Brooks holstered his Colts, checked the Henry was loaded, and stepped out of the alley. He advanced steadily down the street, firing with meticulous precision at the few Riders still in the open, and those that occasionally emerged from cover to take potshots at him. Amos Blackburn was nowhere to be seen.
Pain flared in his left arm as a bullet grazed him, and, a moment later, searing agony burned through his chest when another bullet ripped through the same shoulder. Everett Brooks collapsed against the wall of the nearest building, letting his rifle fall to the ground, and breathing heavily as blood leaked from his wounds. Gingerly, he checked his shoulder, and was grateful to find that the bullet had gone clean through.
The volley of gunfire slowly faded as Amos stepped into view, dragging a struggling Caroline roughly behind him.
“This belong to you, Everett Brooks?!” the gang leader called out with malevolent glee. His right arm was a bloody mess and hung limply at his side.
“Let the girl go, Amos. This is between you and me. She’s got no part in it.”
“Oh, I beg to differ. I’d recognize this little girlie anywhere,” Amos Blackburn gave Caroline a lecherous grin. “You remember me, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Let her go, and let’s finish this.”
“Don’t you worry, Mr. Brooks, we’re gonna finish this alright. But first,” Amos leaned down and licked Caroline’s cheek salaciously, “I aim to have me that bit of fun you denied me all those years ago.”
Everett Brooks regained his feet and began a slow, deliberate walk towards Amos and his captive. One of the other Riders raised his pistol and fired. The round hit Brooks on the outer part of his thigh, and he staggered.
“Damn, just barely winged him.” the outlaw chuckled. Brooks straightened upright and shot the man between the eyes. Without hesitation, he swiveled his sights to Amos Blackburn and pulled the trigger. The gang leader yelped in surprise as the bullet grazed his temple, and he lost his grip on Caroline. The rest of the gang opened fire, and Brooks stumbled for cover. When the barrage subsided, and the smoke cleared, Amos Blackburn and his few remaining Midnight Riders were gone.
Eight outlaws lay dead in the streets. In the jailhouse, Otis Hauser’s body was riddled with bullets from his fellow Riders as they unloaded into the building. Teddy Freeman had gotten a bit luckier and suffered a gunshot wound to the stomach, which, while extremely painful, the doctor assured him he would survive. Pistol Pete Crosby emerged from the whole ordeal unscathed. The only thing wounded was his pride. He had been pinned down by a couple of Riders, and was unable to assist in the final showdown.
Sunlight filtered in through the gauzy curtains over the window, and Everett Brooks woke to find Caroline standing over him with a look of fretful concern on her exquisite face. She tenderly checked his bandages, and the gossamer frills of her nightgown shimmered in the daylight, hinting at the sensual body underneath.
“It appears you’ve saved my life yet again, Mr. Brooks,” Caroline purred affectionately. “Do you plan on making it a habit?”
Though his body was racked with pain from his wounds, confined as he was to Caroline’s bed, Everett Brooks understood the hidden meaning in her question.
“Well, let’s hope I don’t have to. But I think I will stick around, just in case.”
Sweet Caroline beamed with delight, and leaned down until her lips brushed against his.
This time, Everett Brooks didn’t pull away.
Epilogue.
Catch a train on a silver afternoon
A thousand miles and I'm getting there too soon
Take me there when I should be going home
Tell me why I'm still feeling all alone?
I’ve Been Let Down, Mazzy Star
Grunting with effort, a one-armed Amos Blackburn lowered himself into the tub that had been prepared for him. It was one month since the shootout in Heaven’s Hollow, and he still was getting used to the absence of his dominant limb. Amos plunged under the soapy water and let the warmth seep into his bones, easing the aches and pains brought on by the frigid Colorado weather outside.
When Amos surfaced moments later, he was astonished to see an unfamiliar figure wearing an oversized buffalo coat and a wide brimmed hat pulled down low seated on a stool next to the tub. The stranger reached into their coat and pulled out a Remington 1858 revolver. Amos cast a glance over to where his own pistol lay, just out of reach. He laughed bitterly.
“Should’ve known you’d catch up to me sooner or later, Everett Brooks.”
The stranger didn’t respond, but rather thumbed back the hammer of the Remington with an ominous click.
“Dammit, Brooks, I know it’s you! Show yourself, yellow-belly!”
The interloper swept off their hat…and lustrous blonde locks came tumbling out as a radiant female countenance was revealed.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Sweet Caroline said with a grin.
“You?!” Amos Blackburn exclaimed in shock. “How’d you find me?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she responded cryptically.
Amos eyed the revolver in her hands warily. “I imagine you’re here for a particular purpose, but you should know there’s a half dozen hardened killers waitin’ downstairs, and they’ll come runnin’ soon as they hear your six shooter go off.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that, sugar.” Caroline stomped on the plank floor as hard as she could. The jaunty piano tune that had been filtering up through the floorboards from the saloon below stopped abruptly, and several gunshots that Caroline knew for a fact blazed from a pair of Colt Open Top revolvers thundered in rapid succession, followed by muffled voices in vehement disagreement, and, finally, menacing steps slowly climbing the stairs to where Amos and Caroline waited. There was a firm knock at the door.
“Your turn, darlin’,” Everett Brooks stated matter-of-factly from out in the hallway. Caroline tightened her grip on the Remington and winked at Amos Blackburn as she fingered the trigger.
“Guess this is goodbye…sugar.”
The End
Everett Brooks will return.
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