Bucking the Tiger (20 page)

“Those sons of bitches are going to pay for this,” Stakely growled. Looking up to the side of the Theatre Comique that faced the street, he shouted, “You all hear that? Nobody spits in my face and gets away with it! If anyone's hiding Holliday or that accomplice of his, you'll earn a pretty penny by handing them over right now! Otherwise, stay out of our way and watch what happens to cowardly killers like them!”

Drinking in the silence that had fallen onto the street, Stakely looked around at the men surrounding him. There were seven of them, not counting Stakely himself, and every last man was armed to the teeth. They stood in the middle of Blake Street, tightening their fists around their weapons.

“I can't allow this,” huffed the same dapper lawman who'd disarmed Caleb earlier that night.

Stakely shot half a glance toward the lawman before shifting his eyes back toward the Theatre. “You're paid to allow whatever I want, so that's just what you'll do.”

But the lawman stood his ground and rested his hand on his holstered pistol. “You and your men will have to move on.”

“Have you been to Babbitt's?” Stakely asked.

“Yes, and the sheriff himself is doing all he can to find whoever killed those men.”

“I know damn well who killed them, but Holliday's still roaming free.”

“There hasn't been anyone to back that story up. A few even said they shot each other during some sort of an argument.”

Wheeling around to face the lawman, Stakely started to snarl something, but was cut short at the sound of horses thundering from a nearby alley and veering onto Blake Street. Stakely only managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of who was riding those horses, but that was all he needed. “That's them! They're making a run for it!”

The lawman was pushed aside as Stakely and the rest of his men dashed for the horses that they'd tied up only a few moments ago. As the group tore down the street after the two riders, the lawman fumed to himself and watched them leave. He then ran across the street and charged into the Theatre.

“Where's Holliday?” the lawman asked the bartender.

“If he's not dealing faro at his table during his shift, it ain't my business.”

“What about his accomplice?”

Even though the lawman didn't know exactly who Stakely had been referring to, throwing out that term was a gamble that paid off with a nod from the barkeep.

“If you mean the one who Doc was expecting earlier, he rented a room a while ago and took Lottie Deno up there. It's up the stairs and all the way down the hall, but you might want to stay out of there if you know what I mean.”

“Just give me the key.”

Doing his best to ignore the lurid chuckle coming from the barkeep, the lawman took the spare key, bolted up the stairs, and headed for the room. Rapping on the door, he asked, “Miss Deno? Are you in there?”

The lawman fitted the key in the door and opened it. He found Lottie alone in the room with a Smith & Wesson in her hand.

“Put the gun down, ma'am, I just—”

Before he could finish, the lawman saw a plume of fire erupt from the barrel of Lottie's gun. Thunder filled the room as he reflexively dropped to the floor. When he was finally able to open his eyes, he saw Lottie still in her spot with the smoking gun in her hands.

Since he wasn't hit, the lawman went for his own pistol. That's about the time he heard the heavy thump of something hitting the floor behind him. The lawman swiveled around and saw a large man slumped against the railing of the balcony overlooking the main floor.

The dead man was one of the hired guns who routinely made collections at the Theatre and delivered more than a few payments to sworn deputies.

“I think it'd be safer for you to hand over that gun and come with me,” the lawman said.

Lottie lowered the pistol and calmly stepped forward. “Yes,” she said while placing the gun in the lawman's hand. “I believe you're right.”

There were times in Caleb's life when he felt like he was running in the dark without knowing if he was heading for a stretch of open road or the edge of a cliff. Lately, he'd felt more like he was charging through the dark on the back of a wild horse toward what might just be a rock wall.

Oddly enough, now that he actually was on the back of a horse and charging through the night, he felt more in control of things than ever.

There was always something special about being on the back of a horse running full-out with the wind in his face. It was something that normal folks simply didn't do, which made doing it all the more satisfying. Given the fact that the men who'd put the price on his head were following him like a good bunch of doggies doubled that sense of satisfaction.

The well-kept Denver streets had disappeared from under his horse's hooves and the lively fronts of the saloons and gambling halls were behind him. After that was a good stretch of darker stores that were closed for the night, followed by clusters of houses on the outskirts of town. Caleb's horse was going so fast that the tents pitched around Denver's city limits fluttered past him like dirty laundry hanging from a line.

Now that the trail was opening up in front of him, he could make out the distinct pounding of several sets of hooves riding up on his tail. Caleb took another look over his shoulder and saw the riders tearing after him like wolves chasing down fresh meat.

With more riders coming after him, that left fewer men to go after Lottie. But now wasn't the time to worry about her. She could take care of herself, leaving Caleb to take care of his own business.

Now that his eyes had had a chance to adjust to the utter darkness outside of town, Caleb could see the looming shapes of the rock formations around him. One in particular caught his eye and when he passed it, Caleb shifted in his saddle to watch the trail behind him.

Sure enough, after the other riders passed that rock formation, another shadow swung in from the side of the trail and sent a few shots into the larger group. There was some shouting back and forth between the other men, and some of them peeled off from the main group to chase the solitary figure that now rode back into the shadows.

Caleb shook his head and grinned as he looked back toward the trail ahead. “Punctual as ever, Doc,” he said to himself. “Now let's see if I can hold up my end.”

As soon as he picked out a safe spot to break away from the trail, Caleb steered his horse into a thick group of shadows being cast by a tall bunch of rocks. Stopping just short of those rocks, he pulled back on his reins and swung down from the saddle. Caleb's boots hit the dirt before his horse had even come to a stop. While drawing a rifle from the scabbard on the side of the saddle, he smacked the horse's rump and stepped back.

The smack, combined with the thunder of approaching riders, was all Caleb's horse needed to send him galloping around the rocks.

Caleb dropped to one knee, pressed the rifle to his shoulder, and sighted along the top of the barrel. He was able to take two full breaths before the riders stampeded into his sights and veered to avoid the rocks while chasing the fleeing horse. His first shot blazed through the air in front of one of the riders. Although that bullet didn't draw any blood, it came close enough to one horse's ear to stop it dead in its tracks and make it rear up nervously. With that rider perched up high, Caleb sent a round into the man's skull.

One of the three riders was too far ahead and kept charging after Caleb's horse. The other two brought their horses around and started firing the instant they were facing in the direction from which those rifle shots had come.

Caleb pulled his rifle in close to his body and backed into the shadows until his shoulder bumped against the rock. Sparks flew over his head and bullets ricocheted noisily all around him. Forcing himself to ignore all the noise and chaos drawing closer to him, Caleb aimed and fired at the nearest rider.

That man hollered in pain and fell awkwardly from his saddle. He hit the ground hard enough for Caleb to hear the wet snap of a breaking bone.

“Goddammit!” the rider howled. “My leg's busted!”

“I see him,” the other rider said as he aimed his pistol in Caleb's general direction. “He's right there!”

Since both men were now looking directly at him, Caleb got both feet dug into the dirt and lunged straight for them. His first shot was rushed and thrown off by his sudden movement, so the bullet hissed through empty air.

Quickly levering in a fresh round, Caleb fired again and got close enough to force the rider to hunker down over his horse's back. With the scent of fresh blood in his nostrils, Caleb reloaded and fired as quickly as he could while rushing toward the riders.

The echo of gunfire was still rattling in his brain as Caleb pulled his trigger a few times without any more fire coming from his barrel. Fortunately, the riders were so thrown off by Caleb's suicidal move that they noticed his current predicament a heartbeat after he did. By that time, Caleb had wrapped his fist around the rifle's barrel and swung its stock toward the closest rider's chin.

Heat from the barrel seared into Caleb's flesh. Since he wasn't about to let go of the weapon, he gritted his teeth and followed through until he felt the satisfying crack of the rifle's stock against flesh and bone.

The rider's head snapped back, throwing a streak of bloody spit into the air. He kept right on going until he dropped off the other side of his horse to land with a thump.

Suddenly, another shot blasted through the air. Caleb instinctively dropped to the ground as the incoming bullet whipped past the side of his neck and slapped into the horse directly in front of him. The animal let out a pained groan and started bucking and kicking wildly.

Although Caleb meant to draw his pistol, he found it difficult to drop the rifle since his fingers were partially stuck to the hot barrel. The iron wasn't exactly seared onto him, but it stuck just long enough to throw off his draw. The rifle finally dropped away and knocked against his legs before hitting the dirt.

By that time, the man with the broken leg had sucked in a breath to steady his hand and take aim. Before he could pull his trigger, he let out a surprised scream and rolled to one side as the wounded horse thrashed straight toward him and slammed both hooves into the dirt less than a foot away from him.

Caleb was still taking in that sight when he felt an iron grip clamp around his shoulder. The next thing he felt was a fist slam into his freshly stitched back, followed by a wave of pain that brought the bile up from the pit of his stomach.

“You like that?” the man behind him snarled.

As much as Caleb wanted to answer that punch with something of his own, his body wasn't obeying a single one of his commands. Instead, his knees were becoming wobbly under him and a wave of dizziness rolled through the inside of his head.

Laughter drifted through the air as the man tightened his grip on Caleb's shoulder. “Let's see if you like this any better.”

When the second punch landed in the same spot, Caleb heard it more than he felt it. The sound was a dull thump resembling the stomping of the wild horse nearby, mixed with the crunch of bones grinding together. Although there was another wave of burning pain, it was quickly followed by a numbness that engulfed most of Caleb's body.

Without being weighed down by such things as pain or common sense for the moment, Caleb twisted out of the other man's grasp and drove his elbow into his attacker's gut. Caleb saw the man double over and even draw his gun, but he didn't pay either of those things too much attention.

All Caleb wanted was to get his hands around the man's throat, which was exactly what he did. As the numbness subsided and the pain came back, Caleb locked his left hand around the other man's neck and squeezed with everything he had.

The man tried to peel away Caleb's fingers, but they wouldn't come loose from his throat. He then started to bring up his gun, which was about the time he heard a loud thump and felt a quick, intense pain in his chest. Soon, smoke drifted up from the pistol in Caleb's hand.

Caleb held on to the man's throat for a few seconds, until he was certain the man was finished. After the life drained from the man's eyes, Caleb let go of him and turned to check on the one with the broken leg. All he found was a bloody mess that had been stomped into pulp by the wounded horse.

Caleb put the animal out of its misery and chased down his own horse for the ride back.

When Caleb got back into Denver, he was surprised to find someone already waiting for him at the agreed spot.

“Back so soon, Doc?” Caleb asked.

Doc sat with one hand draped casually on one knee and the other holding his horse's reins. His horse was still breathing heavily and shifting nervously. With a cigarette clenched between his teeth, Doc replied, “Those fellows should have been more careful when charging into the dark like that. Those trails outside of town can be awfully treacherous.”

“You managed to shake free of them?”

“And took two of them out for good. I take it you fared just as well?”

“Burned my hands and reopened my stitches, but I made it.”

Doc nodded and took another pull from his cigarette. “With all this stagecoach riding, I'd nearly forgotten the feel of riding on your own. It's quite exhilarating.”

“Yeah, well we can reflect on it later. Was Stakely one of the men you took out?”

Doc shook his head. “I checked.”

“All right then,” Caleb said. “We should head back to the Theatre, since Lottie is still there.”

“Agreed.”

Nothing else needed to be said before both men snapped their reins and rode toward the Theatre Comique.

After scuffling with those riders, Caleb could still feel his blood burning through his veins. That fire was stoked even more by the throbbing in his shoulder and the sharp pain coming from the burns on his hands. That pain was like the pain a man felt when he was pulling an arrow out of himself. It was bad now and was going to get worse, but there was no way in hell Caleb was about to give in until the arrow was out.

Looking over at Doc, Caleb expected to see the same intensity on his face that he, himself, was feeling. Doc, on the other hand, looked as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself. His eyes were alight with an excited glint and he rode his horse as if he owned the streets of Denver.

There was something more than a little disconcerting about that glint in Doc's eye. Before Caleb had a chance to think it over, they were arriving at the Theatre and climbing down from their horses. Just as their boots hit the street, the door to the Theatre swung open and two men stomped outside.

“If you're looking for the redheaded bitch, she's not in there!” Stakely roared. “Where is she hiding?”

“Even if I knew where she was, I wouldn't tell you,” Caleb said. “Besides, she's the least of your worries.”

“I suppose you also don't know about the man she killed,” Stakely said.

Doc's eyes narrowed as if he were looking at Stakely under a magnifying glass. “What man did she kill?”

“One of my boys! That bitch shot him dead and there's a witness to the crime, so don't play dumb with me, Holliday. You two already owe me for the blood you spilled and now she owes me, too.”

“Take it out of the taxes you've been collecting,” Caleb said, “because nobody owes you a damn thing anymore.”

Stakely wore a wild, twisted smile as he nodded slowly to himself. The man next to him was one of the gunmen that was always at Stakely's side, and he shifted on his feet while waiting to see what his boss would say next. The crowd that had formed around the front of the Theatre also waited.

Dropping his voice to a low whisper, Stakely asked, “You think you can just put me out of business?”

“It's already done,” Caleb replied. “Those men you sent after us won't be coming back.”

“And neither will your man Morris,” Doc added.

Stakely fumed and shifted on his feet while his eyes darted to glance at the people gathering along the street. “You men made a big mistake in starting this.”

Suddenly, Doc stepped forward. Holding his arms out as if to address everyone within earshot as well as Stakely, he said, “Really? If it's such a big mistake, then where's the divine retribution? Where's the punishment from on high?”

Stakely straightened up and stared at Doc as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. “Do you know who I am? Do you know how easy it would be for me to—”

“I know who you are! Unfortunately for you, I just don't give a damn!”

Even though the fire was still burning inside of him, Caleb wished he could reach out and pull Doc back a few steps. Since that wouldn't have done any good, Caleb let Doc walk right up to place one foot on the bottommost of the steps leading to the Theatre's front door. Stakely stood at the top of those steps with his hired gun standing next to him.

“Plenty of these people don't have the first clue who you are,” Doc said while looking directly into Stakely's eyes. “And the ones who do wish they could do exactly what I'm about to do.”

Those words hung in the air, and everyone who heard them fell silent.

While Stakely did his best to stare a set of holes through Doc's head, Doc's only response was a smug grin and a subtle nod.

After that, there wasn't anything else to be done except let the fire burn.

Stakely's gunman was the first to reach for his weapon, but Stakely was only a heartbeat behind him. Both men had their sights set on Doc, who'd already conceded the lower ground by remaining with one foot perched on that bottom step.

Things happened too quickly for Caleb to even think about them. As he watched the men at the top of the steps draw their weapons, Caleb pulled his gun from its spot at his side.

Doc stood perfectly still until the last possible moment. When the time came, he snapped the pistol from where it had been tucked under his belt and hefted the weapon up while thumbing the hammer back. It was a slightly older model and almost caught on his belt as he drew it. For a fraction of a second, Caleb wondered if that old pistol would slow Doc down long enough to catch a bullet from Stakely's gunman.

It didn't.

Doc drew, aimed, and fired in a set of motions that was almost as finely honed as the way he handled his cards. At that same time, Caleb sent a round into the chest of Stakely's gunman, knocking him solidly against the front of the Theatre.

As he slid down the wall, the gunman's finger tightened around his trigger and sent a bullet into the boardwalk.

When the gun bucked against his palm, the first thing Doc noticed was the surprised look on Stakely's face as hot lead drilled through his skull. Stakely gritted his teeth while still trying to take his shot. Doc fired again and dropped Stakely into a heap at the top of the steps.

Only then did Doc look over to see that Stakely's gunman was down. Nodding, Doc looked at Caleb and said, “That poor Tiger. Still trying to bite even after his fangs have been pulled.”

Caleb stood his ground and didn't allow himself to think about what Doc was saying. His eyes were darting back and forth among the faces in the crowd, waiting for one or more of them to step forward and take a shot at him. He looked to the upper windows of the Theatre as well as the other windows overlooking Blake Street, but saw nothing more than several frightened eyes staring back at him.

When he finally heard the sound of footsteps stomping toward him, Caleb spun on the balls of his feet and turned to face them.

Three lawmen approached the Theatre with their guns drawn. One of them was the man who'd disarmed Caleb and Doc. The other two were fresh faces.

“You men throw down your weapons!” the oldest of the lawmen said. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties with a clean-shaven face and streaks of gray in his hair. Even after Caleb and Doc complied with the order, the lawman kept his gun trained on them. “What the hell went on here?”

Doc blinked and looked at the lawmen before looking at Caleb. “We heard the commotion and thought we could be of some help.”

“What?”

“That's right,” Caleb said. “I came to check on Lottie Deno after hearing some men were after her.”

“You expect me to believe that line of crap?”

Next, the younger lawman who normally patrolled that part of town spoke up. “It's true, Dean. I have Miss Deno in protective custody.”

“So who shot these men?” Dean asked.

“More than likely, they shot each other,” Doc offered. “Much in the same vein as those fellows at Babbitt's. It truly is disgraceful how animals like these insist on gnawing at each other.”

Shrugging, Caleb added, “Better that they kill each other than anyone else.”

As Dean was soaking that up, Andrew Corday stepped out of the Theatre and approached the lawmen. “I saw everything, Dean. These men got into a squabble and started shooting. I was lucky to push them out the door before things got too bad.”

“Do you know who they are?” Dean asked.

“Here. Take a look for yourself.” With that, Corday put the toe of his boot against Stakely's shoulder and rolled him onto his back. The body flopped over so Stakely's dead eyes stared up at the Theatre's front awning.

Dean, as well as the other lawmen, stared down at the corpse just a bit too long before glancing nervously at one another.

“I think this is a simple matter of things resolving themselves,” the familiar lawman said. “That is, unless you think we should look into who these men were…as well as what their business was here in Denver.”

Dean looked over at the third deputy, who had yet to say a word and didn't seem too interested in breaking his silence now.

“You'll produce witnesses to verify that story?” Dean asked.

Corday nodded immediately. “Some of my dealers saw what happened earlier, and my partner was inside by the front window the whole time.”

“Well,” Dean muttered, “I guess that's the end of it.”

The look of relief on the quiet lawman's face was as unmistakable as the relief in Dean's voice.

“Excuse me,” said a man from the crowd that had gathered a little farther along the boardwalk. “But I saw what happened, and it wasn't—”

“I said that's the end of it!” Dean barked.

After that show of support from the local law, the bystander shrugged and walked away.

Turning to Doc and Caleb, Dean said, “Hand over those guns and you can collect them on the way out of town. And if I were you, I'd be collecting them real soon.” With that, Dean and the silent lawman left the Theatre to round up someone to clean up the mess on the boardwalk.

When the younger lawman came by to take his guns, Caleb smiled and said, “Disarming me seems to be your biggest job.”

“Yeah, well, after we clean up this mess, we should be able to get back to more important matters. By the way, Miss Deno is asking about you. She's at a little place just down the street.”

“Is she all right?”

The lawman nodded. “That hotel doesn't serve liquor and doesn't have any card tables, so it's not known to anyone associated with the likes of Morris or his men. Even though nobody's sad to see these men go,” he added while glancing toward the two bodies in front of the Theatre, “I'd still recommend that you take the marshal's advice and find somewhere else to be. At least, for a little while.”

“I'll do that.” Caleb extended his hand and said, “I never did get your name.”

“And you don't need it,” the lawman said. “Just like I don't need yours.”

“Fair enough.”

Looking around at the dark street and the rapidly thinning crowd, Caleb still felt like he was charging forward on the back of that wild horse. This time, at least, there wasn't anyone chasing him.