Sathow's Sinners (4 page)

T
hey were biding their time. The methods may have been heavy-handed and their precautions somewhat extreme, but that was all it boiled down to. In Nate Sathow's line of work, he gained the most ground through a simple talent of getting to the root of something and figuring out what needed to be done. Of course, one of those tasks was often much simpler than the other.

“I need to get up,” Nate said.

“Why?” Owen grunted as he sorted the five cards in his hand.

“To stretch my legs. I've been sitting here for over an hour.”

“We been sitting here a hell of a lot longer than that!”

“Then you must have chamber pots under your chairs because I've got to take a piss.”

“Why didn't you say so?”

Nate slapped his cards facedown as if he meant to shove them through the table and into the floor. “Because I'm not in the habit of explaining myself to the likes of you!”

“For Christ's sake,” Jim said. “There's an outhouse in the alley. Avery will show you.”

“I don't need an escort,” Nate said.

“And we don't need to let you leave this table,” Jim hissed.

After a small bit of consideration, Nate shoved his chair back and stood up. “Fine then. Let's go.”

Jim's eyes darted down to Nate's holster and back up again. “You've gone this far without trying anything stupid. Don't get any ideas now.”

“You've got me covered front, back and at least one side. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Whether Jim took any comfort from that was unclear. He eventually nodded to Avery who stepped over to Nate like the good attack dog he so obviously was. “This is nothing against you, Nate,” Jim said. “You just have bad timing is all. This thing here is almost over. Stick it through without a fuss and I may even pay you for your time.”

“Just let me keep my winnings. That should suffice.”

“Winnings?” Jim said through a chuckle. “That's funny.”

When Nate turned away from the table, Avery was on his feet and standing directly behind him. Not only did Avery outweigh him by at least sixty pounds, but his pistol was already drawn and held in an easy grip that kept the weapon near his side so as not to attract much attention.

“Your gun,” Avery said. “I'm taking it.”

Since there were still at least four other gun hands around him, not counting the other players at the table, Nate held his arms out to the sides and let the Remington be taken from him. “I was wondering when you might get around to that,” he said.

Avery stashed the Remington under his own gun belt and holstered the pistol he'd drawn. “Thought you might save me the trouble and do something stupid. Makes a mess, but at least I wouldn't have to drag you to no shit house.”

“Well ain't we both just inconvenienced?”

Pushing Nate in front of him, Avery herded him through the saloon toward a side door. Along the way, Nate spotted at least one familiar face sitting at one of the other poker games. He kept that bit of information to himself and quickly opened the saloon's side door before he was shoved through it by the hulking gunman behind him.

The outhouse was large enough to serve the needs of a place the size of the Three Dog. It was wide as a closet and about four times as long. As Nate discovered when he pulled open the only door into the structure that meant it could contain four times the stench of a regular outhouse.

“You coming in with me?” Nate asked.

“If you wanna crawl away through one of them holes in the floor, be my guest,” Avery replied. He then stepped back so he could get a look at a pair of saloon girls tempting passersby while also watching the alley.

Nate entered the outhouse and shut the door. One quick glance was all he needed to confirm that there was only one easy way in or out. Half of the squalid chamber contained a long bench sectioned into a row of five holes. Two men sat doing their business. One of them appeared to have fallen asleep sometime while answering nature's call. The other fellow stood facing the opposite wall which wasn't much more than a low trough with a long slit at the bottom that emptied into a ditch beneath the shack. After draining his bladder, that man wheeled around to walk past Nate and get back to whatever pleasures he'd put on hold inside the saloon.

The conditions were far from ideal, but at least Nate had a moment to himself so he could think. Also, it wasn't just a ruse that had drawn him away from the table. He stood at the trough and stared at the rotting wall directly in front of him. Within seconds, the entire shack rattled on its base as the door was opened so another man could step inside. He was dressed in black and stood directly beside Nate between him and the door.

“Naturally,” Nate grumbled. “A man can't get a moment's peace.”

“If you'd rather,” Frank replied, “I can leave. Thought you might appreciate a word. Isn't that why you came out here?”

“Partly.”

“What's going on in there? At first, I thought it was an ill-advised impulse that brought you to that card game but when I went to check on you I saw the armed men watching that table.”

“Pete's in trouble,” Nate said. “The men running that game don't want him to leave for some reason and I'm fairly certain they intend on killing him after they're through.”

“Through with what?”

“Don't know yet. But I'd wager those men inside are the only ones we need to worry about.”

“I didn't see anyone overly suspicious outside the saloon,” Frank said, “but that doesn't mean they aren't there.”

“If they had more men, they wouldn't be so hell-bent on keeping us at that table.”

Frank knew better than to question his partner's instincts on such things. Those instincts were what separated Nate from the common variety of bounty hunter. “I sent Grey in for a look as well,” he said.

“I saw him in there,” Nate replied. “Playing poker. Tell him to be ready.”

“For anything in particular or just the general readiness?”

“When I make my move, I'll need you both to follow my lead. We'll have to move quick and bring them all down at once before they get a chance to put a bullet into me or Pete. Or you, for that matter.”

“That saloon is a fairly public place for an execution,” Frank said.

“All those dandies will have to do is accuse me or Pete of cheating and they'll be justified in shooting us.”

The entire shack trembled as an impatient fist thumped against the door. “Hurry it up!” Avery said from outside.

The thumping was enough to rouse the man who'd fallen asleep. He snapped to attention, stood up and started grasping clumsily for his britches. “I'm comin', Margaret, I'm comin'!” he slurred.

Although the drunk seemed to be in a hurry, it was the man who'd been sitting on the bench to his right that got to the door first and hurried outside.

Having finished his business, Nate made himself presentable for the outside world and whispered, “Whatever happens, see to it the man in the blue suit stays alive.”

“I'd prefer if you all stayed alive,” Frank said earnestly.

Nate gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. “I know, Shep. That's what makes you a better man than me.” He left the outhouse and was immediately grabbed by Avery who slammed him against a wall.

“Just checking to see if you grabbed anything other than your pecker in there,” Avery said while patting Nate down. Once he was satisfied that Nate hadn't found a weapon hidden somewhere amid the filth, Avery spun Nate around and shoved him toward the door that led back into the saloon.

Without wasting a second, Nate spun around and slapped aside Avery's hand before delivering a sharp jab to the other man's stomach. Having already sized up his opponent, Nate knew better than to think that single blow would do the trick so he followed up with three more. His fists landed in a series of solid thumps against muscle that felt like bricks wrapped in a shirt and vest. Avery grunted as he absorbed the punches, which didn't stop him from reaching for his holster.

Not only did Nate get to Avery's gun first, but he also retrieved his Remington from where it had been stashed. Jamming both barrels into Avery's midsection, Nate said, “Tell me what's going on with Pete and those assholes at the card table.”

“Go to hell.”

“You really want to die for a dandy wrapped in a blue suit?”

It didn't take long for Avery to come up with an answer to that. Sneering down at Nate, he said, “The owner of the Three Dog hired Pete to find who's been stealing from every saloon in town. He found out who it was, but not before he got caught.”

“Caught by Jim?” Nate asked. “He's the one running the outfit, right?”

“That's right.”

“And Jim caught Pete while Pete was tracking him down?”

“Yeah.”

Nate scowled at the other man. Even more questions were coming to mind, but he knew he didn't have enough time to ask them all. “What's going on at that card game?”

“There's one more saloon robbery on Jim's slate,” Avery said. “It's a big one and he's not about to let Pete ruin it by talking to any law or causing a ruckus that will draw attention to what's going on.”

“And what happens once the job is through?”

“Hell if I know.”

Nate jammed the gun barrels in deeper as if he meant to dig two holes through the other man's torso. Thumbing back the hammers to get his point across, he said, “The hell you
don't
know. You aim to kill him.”

“It's Jim's idea,” Avery spat. “His plan. His call on whether Pete lives or dies. What's important is that plenty of folks see him at that game when the robbery is taking place so nobody can pin it on him and haul him away to jail.”

“He's getting hauled away, all right,” Nate growled. “If not to jail, then his carcass will be shot full of holes and hauled into a grave.” Before he could get much further along those lines, Nate felt a hand come to a gentle rest upon his shoulder.

“Easy, Nate,” Frank said. “Let's not attract any undue suspicion ourselves.”

“Too late for that.”

“Not as such. So far, we can be passed off as three men settling a disagreement. You go into that saloon guns blazing and we'll have to come up with a few answers of our own.”

“I can handle that,” Nate assured him.

“That tin you carry may not cut it if you show it while surrounded by a stack of dead bodies.”

Avery was starting to show some hope thanks to Frank's intervention, but Nate put a stop to that by pressing one of the gun barrels beneath his chin. Nate's glare left no room for doubt that he would pull the trigger if it came down to it.

“Who hired Pete to track down your employer?” Frank asked.

“The barkeep,” Avery replied. “That woman with the nice, juicy—”

“I know the one you're talking about,” Frank cut in. “And where is the place that's set to get robbed?”

“Across town,” Avery said. “Place called the Wagon Rut.”

“I saw that saloon when I came into town,” Nate said. “Didn't look like any sort of place worth robbing.”

“No, but the card game held in the back room sure is.”

“We can go there to have a look for ourselves,” Frank said. “And if this one is lying . . .”

Nate took a step back from the larger man. “If he's lying then he won't ever wake up.” With that, he snapped the pistol beneath Avery's jaw straight up and followed up by cracking the pistol against his temple. Avery dropped like a sack of rocks and Nate holstered his Remington. “They'll be expecting us back inside soon.”

“I doubt we'll be gone long,” Frank said. “Since you seem to scout every place that serves liquor as soon as you ride into a town, I'm assuming you know a quick route to the Wagon Rut.”

“I do.”

“Then you'll go there and brew up some trouble for your friend Jim.”

Nate's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What sort of trouble?”

“Remember how we brought in the Lowell gang up in Oregon a few years back?”

A smile crept onto Nate's face. “Ahh, yes. I see where you're headed.”

“You go take care of those robbers and I'll set things up here. Grey is already making himself comfortable inside, so it shouldn't be too difficult.”

“If I'm not back in a few minutes, you and Grey get out of town as fast as you can. I don't meet up with you in an hour . . . you'll ride on without me.”

“Things would be a lot simpler if I'd found a nice quiet congregation somewhere,” Frank grumbled.

“Yeah, but you'd be bored out of your skull in a matter of days.”

The preacher may have stalked away wringing his hands, but he didn't deny a word of what his partner had said.

A
s a testament to truth in advertising, the Wagon Rut was built in a large ditch. Despite the number of horses tied outside, Nate only found two men drinking inside the saloon when he stepped through the batwing doors.

“What can I get for ya?” the scrawny bartender asked.

There were three card tables in the place and enough dust caked on them to choke a buffalo. When he spotted the unmarked door at the back of the room, Nate strode past the bar and said, “I can help myself just fine, thanks.”

“Hey! You're not allowed back there!”

Nate ignored the bartender's protests. Before he got to the back door, however, he heard heavy footsteps approaching him from behind. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, Nate waited just long enough to read the harmful intent on the faces of the two men who'd been sitting with their drinks just a few moments ago. He snapped a straight punch to the closest one's nose, sending a spray of blood and a stream of obscenities from that one's face. The second reached for a pistol at his side, but wasn't quick enough to clear leather before Nate brought his Remington to bear. Even though the man in front of him knew better than to make another move, Nate smirked and took his shot anyway.

All three men flinched reflexively when the gunshot exploded through the saloon. The man standing in Nate's line of fire paled considerably. It wasn't until he felt the patter of wood splinters and grit from the ceiling against his face that he realized Nate had shifted his aim to send his bullet into the rafters overhead.

Nate stepped to one side while drawing the pistol he'd taken from Avery from under his belt. A heartbeat later, the door at the back of the saloon was pulled open so a small group of men could spill into the main room.

“What the hell?” bellowed a man with a round face and a mustache that had been waxed into a straight line below his nose. Upon seeing Nate, he said, “You'd best have a damn good explanation, mister.”

“These men are here to rob you,” Nate said while glaring intently at the group that was still inside the back room. The group stood gathered around two card tables that were piled high with chips, cash, a few gold coins and several other trinkets that had been tossed in to cover some major bets.

“Which men?” asked the fellow who'd been first to step through the door.

Staring into the next room as though he could see into the soul of every last one of its inhabitants, Nate said, “Jim sent them. The tracker hired by the barkeep at the Three Dog found out that him, Wilson and Owen all threw in together to clean out the lot of you.”

The round-faced fellow wheeled around to get a look at the group behind him. “I know it ain't the two of you, since you're my kin and . . .”

Nate didn't need to worry about figuring out who Round Face was talking to. A surprise visit from a stranger combined with the gunshot, some already highly strung nerves and guilty consciences were more than enough to flush out the ones he was after. Three of the gamblers who'd remained in the room separated from the group and drew their pistols.

Round Face turned his back on Nate so he could look directly at those three when he said, “You sons of bitches.”

One of the other men who'd stepped out of the back room with Round Face hadn't forgotten about Nate. He carried a shotgun in both hands, which he kept aimed at Nate's belly. Since it seemed he'd done more than enough already, Nate was willing to drop his guns and keep both hands held high.

“My cousin Jerry recommended you,” Round Face snarled. “I knew he needed money, but . . . robbing
me
?”

“It was Jim's idea,” one of the three bandits said. “This don't have to get bloody.”

“Jim means to see to it that you're run out of town with your tail between your legs!” Nate said.

After glancing over his shoulder at Nate, Round Face looked back at the bandits and asked, “That true, McNabb?”

Although McNabb had been the spokesman for the bandits until now, he suddenly seemed to be at a loss for words. “I don't—that's not—we ain't even seen that man before!”

“Bullshit!” Nate hollered. The plan was to stir things up at this saloon and all he had to do to make that happen was twitch just enough to be noticed, but not so much that it caused the fellow with the shotgun to pull his triggers.

Whether McNabb and the other two were responding to that movement or working on a schedule of their own would remain unknown. McNabb reached for his pistol and the other two bandits were quick to follow. After that, Round Face and everyone else who'd been inside that back room pulled their pistols and unleashed four kinds of hell.

Nate kept his hands where they could be seen and waited for the man with the shotgun to shift his aim toward the back room. By the time Round Face dropped, two of the bandits and half of the remaining gamblers were down as well. McNabb fired a shot a split second before the shotgunner could defend himself. Lead burned through the air to clip the shotgunner's upper arm and send him staggering back. Another shot came soon after, but didn't finish the shotgunner off. Instead, Nate had picked up his Remington and drilled a fresh hole through McNabb's head just above his left eye.

The shotgunner brought his weapon around while blinking in confusion. Although he could have been shot several times over by then, he was only worried about the deep gouge in his arm. Nate was still on one knee after scooping up his gun. He holstered the Remington and raised his hands once again.

“Goddamn it, God
damn it!
” Round Face hollered.

One of the surviving gamblers helped him to his feet. “You all right, Daniel?”

“Caught a bullet through a rib, but I suspect I'll live.” Looking around until he spotted Nate, he pointed his pistol at him and snarled, “You!”

“He's the one that finished McNabb,” the shotgunner quickly said.

“I know that! I just . . .” Suddenly realizing he wasn't just pointing a finger at Nate, Daniel holstered his pistol and asked, “How the hell did you know about this?”

“I'm a friend of the tracker that was sent to sniff out Jim and his men,” Nate explained.

“Well give him my thanks. If he wants to point me in the direction of the bastard who tried to steal from me, there'll be a payment coming.”

“That,” Nate replied, “will be no trouble at all.”