Everett Brooks and the Midnight Riders: Part 4
High noon in the Hollow.
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue
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.
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.
It comes full circle as two men meet
out in the middle of the street
over a woman one of them saved
from a horrible fate.
Time stands still as one bad man
once again threatens the dame
This time the hero puts one across his scalp
All guns fire, and a twist of fate.
The bad men gone, the good men here
The dame rewards the hunter
with a touch of lips gossamer.
Brilliant again Josh 👍🏼
Read this with a big goofy grin on my face. Been thinking a lot about westerns lately after my last article, and who I’m writing about in my next one and this was just what I needed
I’m sure that’s not the last we’ve seen of Amos Blackburn!