Sathow's Sinners (19 page)

T
he wagon wasn't exactly racing through the streets of Joplin, but it wasn't nearly as slow as Nate had expected. He caught up to it in short order, his path lit by the few sporadic fires set along the way. When he rounded a corner, Nate got a better look at the wagon and the infernal contraption bolted on top of it. A narrow stream of fire erupted from the nozzle, licking an awning and the front of another shop as the wagon trundled along. Folks screamed at the sight of it and scattered in every direction, but the fire itself was confined to the very edges of the buildings it had touched. By the time Nate rode past them, the owners of the buildings had already come outside to get a good start at dousing the flames.

“Get a little closer if you like!” Pescaterro shouted from his station atop the wagon. The outlaw turned the contraption to face directly behind the wagon and added, “We'll even slow down for ya!”

Nate smelled the pungent odor of kerosene scant moments before he felt a wave of heat wash over the front of his body. He gripped his reins tightly and steered his horse toward an alley on the left side of the street. When the horse got a sample of the flame on its hind end, it charged down the alley at nearly a full gallop. Fortunately, Nate was able to get it calmed down before his commands were ignored altogether. When he reached the end of the alley, Nate circled behind that building and charged down the next alley so he could meet up with the street once again. He saw the wagon roll past the mouth of the alley before he'd made it halfway down the narrow space.

Holding his Remington in a steady grasp, Nate waited until he got a clear shot at Pescaterro and then took it. Between the motion of his horse, the rocking of the wagon and the outlaw's erratic movements, Nate's shot had little chance of success. Even so, he managed to get close enough to draw Pescaterro's attention before he could set fire to whatever was in his sights at the moment.

“There you are!” Dog Ear said as he cranked the upper portion of the contraption around. “Stop this thing, Talman!”

Apparently, Talman was the wagon's driver because after Pescaterro's order, the team was brought to a noisy stop.

Nate took quick aim and fired a shot meant to pick Dog Ear from his perch. Instead, it hissed through the air above Pescaterro's head. The outlaw grinned like the madman he was and started working the pump connected to the fire-spewing device bolted to the wagon. Nate's next shot clipped that device in a spot that sent a thin fan of fire spraying from one side instead of through the nozzle.

Pescaterro bared his teeth and ducked behind the contraption while drawing a pistol from his holster. Before he could pull his trigger, he was reminded of Pete's presence when Pete fired a shot behind him. Pescaterro grunted in pain, but refused to drop. Wherever he'd been hit, it didn't wound him enough to keep him from twisting around to fire a series of shots at the alley on the opposite side of the street from Nate's.

“Get 'er movin' again, goddamn it!” Pescaterro roared.

Talman snapped his reins to get the wagon lurching forward. Pete took his chance to fire again. At least one of his bullets found its mark because a pained groan came from the front of the wagon as it was drawn down the street and out of Nate's immediate line of sight.

Pulling back on his reins, Nate slowed his horse without bringing it to a stop. Whatever Pescaterro had in store for him, he wasn't about to charge straight into it without giving himself at least a little time to react. He emerged from the alley and was almost immediately joined by Pete.

“I've got a plan,” Nate said to the tracker.

Pete nodded once and fired a shot at the wagon. “I was hoping to hear something like that.”

“I believe there's a nice open spot a few streets down where a corral or two butt up against an empty lot. You know the one I mean?”

“Yeah.”

“We need to get that wagon into that spot,” Nate said, “and then hit the fire spout with all we've got. Should blow that thing to hell without taking any more of this town along with it.”

“Good plan,” Pete replied. “Except for one part. That lot is in the other direction.”

“Can you think of any other place we can bring that wagon?”

Pete didn't have to think for very long before he shook his head and said, “Nope.”

“Then since you know where that lot is, you can drive the wagon there. I'll deal with Pescaterro.”

Pete snapped his reins and rode ahead.

Nate urged some more speed from his horse and easily caught up to the wagon. Ever since Pete had fired at the driver, Pescaterro was nowhere to be found. The top of the wagon was empty except for the contraption that rattled and shook like so many spare parts piled on top of a mess of copper tubes. When he got a little closer, Nate could see the outlaw climbing over the front of the wagon to drop down into the driver's seat.

“Hey, asshole!” Nate shouted as he drew up alongside the wagon. “You about ready to turn yourself over and face the rest of your jail sentence like a man?”

Pescaterro had been tending to the slouching driver. As soon as he heard that question, he stood up in the driver's seat and pointed his pistol at Nate. Dog Ear unleashed a torrent of obscenities which couldn't be heard since he'd also unleashed a barrage of gunfire at about the same time.

Ducking down over his horse's neck, Nate steered down another street and tapped his heels against its sides for a bit more incentive. The bullets from Pescaterro's gun burned through the air, each one getting closer to drawing blood before Nate was finally out of the outlaw's range. Instead of waiting to get another shot or even steering the wagon to follow his target, Pescaterro climbed right back on top of the wagon and allowed Talman to slump over.

While Pete had also been hunched over his horse, he rode forward instead of following Nate. Now that Pescaterro had found something else to do, Pete drew up until he was even with the driver's seat. Then, he pulled one foot from his stirrups and pushed off of the other to leap from his saddle. He reached out with both hands to catch the handle on the side of the wagon meant for the driver to pull himself up when climbing into his seat. One of Pete's boots rattled against the front wheel and came dangerously close to getting snagged before his other foot found something more stable that he could use as a step. Using muscles fueled by a good amount of desperation, he hauled himself up and onto the wagon.

Talman turned to look at the uninvited passenger. Although he attempted to lift a shotgun to repel the boarder, he was too weak to raise the weapon more than a few inches before allowing it to fall from his grasp. He groaned and pressed a hand to a bloody wound on his right side.

“Looks like you got hit pretty good,” Pete said as he sat down beside the driver. “If you want to see a doctor, you'll have to do what I say. Otherwise I'll toss you from this wagon right here and now.”

Letting out a breath that seemed to have been the only thing filling his body, Talman shuddered and started to roll toward the open side of the wagon. Before he could fall to the street, Pete grabbed his shirt and pulled the driver back up beside him. “Not just yet, friend,” the tracker said. “I got a question or two to ask.”

*   *   *

Nate might have been able to pick off the outlaw from the top of the wagon if he could take a moment to aim. Instead, he was forced to control his horse while charging down a slender portion of a busy street. The wagon took up most of the path through town, which left Nate with precious little space to maneuver. When he wasn't forced to weave between folks trying to walk on the boardwalk, he was doing his best to keep his horse from getting tripped up by a water trough or a poorly placed barrel.

When he finally found a stretch of road that was mostly clear, Nate raised his Remington to fire. Pescaterro had made it to the contraption on top of the wagon and begun furiously working the pump. Only a trickle of kerosene was being fed to the nozzle, so he reached down to fiddle with the tubing connected to something near his feet. Just as Nate found his shot, the contraption on the wagon spewed a long tongue of flame toward the street directly behind them. Nate fired up at the outlaw and saw his bullet spark against the side of the contraption.

“You're a persistent cuss, I'll give you that!” Pescaterro shouted while he brought the nozzle around toward Nate.

The road widened as it crossed another street. Since he only had another second or two before he would need to break off and circle around again, Nate aimed the Remington as if he were pointing his finger and fired up at Dog Ear. His bullet snapped Pescaterro's head back, but the outlaw quickly recovered. When he brought his head up again, he was wearing a wide smile as blood flowed from the grazing wound he'd been given on his left cheek. Pescaterro swung the fire spout around with renewed vigor and was only distracted when the entire wagon lurched to one side.

“Watch it up there!” he shouted at the driver's seat.

The team of horses was verging on turning wild and it was all Pete could do to keep them from stampeding out of control as he convinced them to round the next corner. Once they'd completed the sharp turn, Pete flicked his reins and shouted for anyone walking the street nearby to clear a path for him.

All this time, Nate had drawn up close enough to the wagon to get a better look at the contraption on top of it. As far as he could tell, it was basically just a pump connected to a supply of kerosene with some sort of flint near the end of the nozzle. Like any weapon, it wasn't very complicated once it was seen as a machine instead of something terrible in itself. Nate didn't know all there was to know about Caster Grunwaldt's contraption, but he had a good idea of how to keep it from working. Pulling back on his reins, Nate slowed his horse just enough to get a look at the fire spout from a different angle.

“Where you goin'?” Pescaterro shouted as he turned the nozzle to keep Nate in his sights. “We ain't through yet, bounty hunter!”

Nate watched Pescaterro carefully. When the outlaw started working the handle that would get the kerosene flowing, Nate took aim and fired every last one of his bullets into the pump that drew the combustive liquid from its supply. His first round sparked against a copper pipe. The next punched a hole through a small metal cylinder. The next hit the top of that same cylinder, doing enough damage for the pump to come out in Pescaterro's hand.

“What in the hell?” Pescaterro said while looking at the broken pump handle as if it were a severed limb. Before he could say much of anything else, the wagon turned sharply again onto a course heading back in the direction from which it had come.

Since the flames had stopped spewing from the contraption, Nate allowed his horse to slow down while he reloaded the Remington. When Pescaterro looked at him from atop the wagon, Nate gave him a casual wave. That was more than Pescaterro could take, and he threw the handle away so he could draw the pistol tucked under his belt. He fired a few shots at Nate, none of which came close to hitting him. When the wagon slowed to make another turn, the outlaw shifted his attention toward the driver.

“All right,” Nate said while snapping the Remington shut. “Let's put an end to this madness.”

Pete kept his head down, his grip tight on the reins and both feet propped against the boards in front of him. When Pescaterro shouted at him, he acted as though he hadn't heard anything. Soon, there was no possible way to ignore the raving killer as he pounded his pistol on top of the wagon like a crazed judge with a gavel.

“I said stop this damn wagon!” Dog Ear hollered. When the wagon kept rolling, he crawled toward the front to get a look at the driver. “You ain't Talman!” he said.

Sneaking a quick glance over his shoulder, Pete replied, “And you ain't very bright.”

The road in front of the wagon was now clear. Pete had driven off the busier street onto a path that provided easy access to the backs of several of Joplin's liveries and feed stores. Now that he had a wider road in front of him and didn't need to worry about as many people crossing in front of him, Pete snapped the reins to get the team working as hard as they could. That first surge not only shook the wagon, but also sent Pescaterro sliding back toward the contraption that was now so much useless metal.

“You're dead!” Pescaterro swore.

Pete had heard that threat several times while riding with Nate Sathow, and he figured he'd hear it a few more before he decided to part ways with him for good. Hearing it from someone like Dog Ear, however, didn't sit well with any man who put much of a value on his life. Pete's spirits lifted somewhat when he spotted the old fence surrounding the open lot coming up on his right. The only reason that spot had stuck in Pete's mind at all was because it had seemed like a nice little bit of quiet in the middle of a thriving town. He'd passed it by when scouting Joplin on his first day there and thought he might come back if he needed somewhere to stash everyone's horses in a pinch. Now, he leaned forward in his seat and gauged how much longer he could allow the team to go full steam before reining them in.

Behind him, Pescaterro scraped at the roof of the wagon while pulling himself closer to the front. Pete took that as his cue to pull back hard on the reins. Dog Ear cursed one more time as he flopped onto his side and dropped his pistol while scrambling to grab hold of something so as not to fall off the wagon completely.

Nate thundered into the lot and circled around the wagon so his horse could burn through its last bit of steam before coming to a stop. Its hooves were still kicking up dust when Nate swung down from the saddle and reached for the rope hanging near his right leg. He kept his eyes on Pescaterro while easing out the lasso and giving the rope a few twirls.

“What the hell you gonna do, bounty hunter?” Dog Ear snarled as he reached for his pistol. “Take me in like a calf?”