Beyond the Pale —Part 20
Aug. 17th, 2005 10:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
secret_historyHere we go, Part 20. I know you're poised, waiting for all hell to break loose, and so I hope you won't be disappointed.
Onward!
*****
They dismounted as quickly as they could, and began a slow advance toward the cave mouth, taking as much advantage of what small cover there was as they could. The two fugitives kept up a steady stream of fire, making up in quantity what they lacked in accuracy. Not for the first time, Vicky found herself immensely grateful that her opponents were lousy shots. Apart from a few scrubby bushes and some rocks protruding from the snow, there was no cover to speak of, and the snow made the going a lot more difficult than it would have been otherwise.
Trying to make herself fit behind a bush one quarter her size, Vicky stared intently at the cave mouth, rifle to her shoulder, waiting for one of their opponents to reveal himself. She was rewarded with a spurt of flame a moment later, and took her shot. There was a yelp of surprise and outrage, but it didn’t sound as though her bullet had hit home. Cursing under her breath, she reloaded and crawled forward another few paces, flinching as another bullet churned up the snow less than a foot away. They might be lousy shots, but at this distance it would get increasingly easier to hit an exposed target.
Around her she could see Monroe and Liza Jane inching their way forward as well, while Fletchley and Beauregard had apparently opted to stay near the trees, perhaps to “guard the horses.” She saw no sign of O’Malley, then put all thoughts of him out of her mind as the bullets increased in frequency. She got to her feet and ran another few yards, willing to risk getting shot in order to gain some ground, then threw herself forward behind a rock as more bullets spat in her direction. She pulled up her rifle, trying to put her finger on what it was about this gunfight that felt wrong to her. She traced the outline of the rock blocking her view of the cave mouth with the sight on her rifle, but no immediate target presented itself, and she still couldn’t get rid of that insistent feeling that something about this whole thing wasn’t quite right.
A few more bullets came out of the gloom, breaking through the ice near where Liza Jane and the Marshal had managed to gain a few yards themselves. Her mind worried at the problem like a dog with a bone, and she fired another shot, sending a large chip of stone flying. There was another yelp, but again she was reasonably sure she hadn’t done any real damage. That’s when it hit her. She grinned, and turned to Monroe, signalling her discovery as best she could. When he finally understood what she was trying to say, he grinned back, then nodded at her. She reloaded her rifle, gauging the distance remaining to her target.
“Cover me,” she signalled.
Once her colleagues had started firing as fast as they could, forcing anyone behind the rock to keep their heads down, she sprang to her feet and sprinted the last few yards. She leaped toward the rock, scrambled up its uneven face, and jumped down behind it, levelling her rifle at the stunned-looking bandit crouched on the ground.
“Drop your weapons! Drop ‘em!” He obeyed hastily. Vicky grinned mirthlessly, feeling vindicated as she glanced around the makeshift campsite. “I knew there was something wrong about all this.” She jerked her head at the prone body lying propped up against the cave wall, not taking her eyes away from her quarry. “How long has your friend been dead, then?”
The man shuddered, keeping his hands up. “Last night. We ran into Injuns.” The corpse did have what appeared to be the shafts of several arrows broken off in places.
“You brought him all this way on his horse? Why not leave him behind?”
“It woulda tipped you off I was alone. Being two of us mighta convinced you it wasn’t worth comin’ after us, you know. Too much risk.”
Monroe and Liza Jane came running up at that moment, followed by O’Malley, who came from an entirely different direction, having apparently tried a failed flanking manoeuver.
“You ain’t got much experience in this, I take it,” Vicky commented dryly, and her prisoner merely glared in response.
“You got a name, son?” Monroe asked, and Vicky drew back, content to let the Marshal do the rest of the interrogating.
“Buchanan. Mick Buchanan.” The reply was sullen, grudgingly given, but Monroe’s authority was undeniable at that point. Besides, having Liza Jane’s sawed-off shotgun pointed at his face at a distance of less than two feet must have made the thought of cooperating seem a lot more appealing.
Without waiting to be told, Vicky stepped around Buchanan and pulled his hands into a heavy set of handcuffs she’d brought along in her pack. Monroe had an identical set, but she was pretty sure Buchanan’s partner wouldn’t be needing them. Almost sure.
“All right,” the Marshal nodded approvingly. “You already know you’re under arrest. We’ll stay here for the night, and head back to Silver Springs come first light, where you’ll wait for the circuit judge. If you’re lucky, Mayor Quarrie will survive what you did, and you’ll be up for attempted murder. If not, well, it’ll be the hangman’s noose for you. Shakes, Fletchley, Beauregard, would you help me fetch the horses? Victoria, I mean, deputy, I’m leaving you in charge of the prisoner until we get back. I aim to see where Old Eli’s got to while I’m at it.”
“Sure thing, Marshal. I’ll see what I can do about getting that fire rekindled, too.”
Vicky knew Monroe was leaving her with the easy job, but for once she didn’t resent it in the slightest. Even though the temperature had risen somewhat, she was still freezing, and the thought of going back out into the wind was a daunting one. Liza Jane pulled some dry kindling from the back of the cave and knelt beside her to help restart the fire. After a few seconds, they had a small but determined blaze going, and Vicky sat back on her heels, enjoying the warmth.
“Tell me, Mick, what the hell were you doing in Silver Springs, anyway? You got a grudge against the Mayor, or what?”
Buchanan shook his head. “No ma’am. I never seen the man before in my life. Me and Sean,” he jerked his chin toward his dead partner, “we just got paid to do a job. I don’t even know who it was that paid us: Sean handled all that. All I know is that someone paid us a fair sum because they didn’t want that Quarrie fella meddling in their business and bringing the railroad to the area.”
The railroad again. Vicky sighed. The rail wars had been raging for years, and even now they were taking a deathly toll on anyone even remotely connected with the various railroad companies. It was said that there were a hundred deaths for each mile of railroad that had been laid, although to Vicky the number was patently absurd, an obvious exaggeration. Liza Jane seemed to be of a like mind with her.
“Goddamn railroads. That’s all a body ever hears about nowadays. They’re sheddin’ enough blood drown the whole goddamn country, is what I say. Someone oughta take ‘em and shake some sense into ‘em. All I know is, if any of ‘em gives me any trouble, I’ll fill their backsides full of buckshot before they even know what hit ‘em.”
Vicky chuckled, then turned her mind to more pressing matters. “So them Indians you say attacked you, how many were there? Who were they?”
“Damned if I know who they were. Maybe Sioux? I can’t tell the difference, anyhow. There were maybe five or six in the raiding party that surprised us, and before I knew it they’d filled poor Sean full of arrows. They got me in the arm, too, but it wasn’t serious.” Victoria realized with a start that she hadn’t noticed the bloody bandage tied around the man’s upper arm. Mick didn’t notice her discomfiture, or if he did, made nothing of it. “I’m almost glad you caught me. They were vicious sons of bitches, shrieking and yelling and whooping. It was like they were trying to scare us to death before actually trying to kill us.” He shuddered and shook his head. “I was glad to see the back of them, let me tell you.”
“Mm-hmm. Well, as long as there were only five or six, we should be safe enough. We outnumber them now, even if some of us are more useful with a gun than others,” she grinned at Liza Jane. “After all, the Indians don’t know our photographer can’t shoot for beans.”
“What’s that about the photographer?” Beauregard had picked that moment to come back, leading the way for Monroe, Fletchley and O’Malley.
“Just that you ain’t exactly a top hand with a gun,” Victoria said mildly.
To her surprise, Beauregard smiled. “The only shooting I like to do is with my camera. State of the art, she is, direct from Smith & Robards.”
Victoria shrugged, although she was secretly rather impressed. Smith & Robards produced some pretty fine-quality materials, when you came down to it.
“Did you make out where Eli got to?” she asked the Marshal, not wanting to confirm Beauregard’s sense of self-importance by dwelling on his equipment.
Monroe shook his head disapprovingly. “He’s out by that copse of trees and won’t budge. Neither will that old drunken mule of his. He claims he was brought out here against his will and that he won’t stand a minute in the company of the folk who dragged him along. He won’t see reason at all.”
“Damned old coot,” Victoria swore under her breath. “I wish someone’d beat some sense into him. It ain’t safe out there, not for a geezer like him, not for anyone. Not right now.”
As if to confirm her words, a low, sobbing cry filled the air. Soon it was echoed by others, stretching all along the plains.
In the dark of night, the wolves were howling at the moon.
*****
Onward!
They dismounted as quickly as they could, and began a slow advance toward the cave mouth, taking as much advantage of what small cover there was as they could. The two fugitives kept up a steady stream of fire, making up in quantity what they lacked in accuracy. Not for the first time, Vicky found herself immensely grateful that her opponents were lousy shots. Apart from a few scrubby bushes and some rocks protruding from the snow, there was no cover to speak of, and the snow made the going a lot more difficult than it would have been otherwise.
Trying to make herself fit behind a bush one quarter her size, Vicky stared intently at the cave mouth, rifle to her shoulder, waiting for one of their opponents to reveal himself. She was rewarded with a spurt of flame a moment later, and took her shot. There was a yelp of surprise and outrage, but it didn’t sound as though her bullet had hit home. Cursing under her breath, she reloaded and crawled forward another few paces, flinching as another bullet churned up the snow less than a foot away. They might be lousy shots, but at this distance it would get increasingly easier to hit an exposed target.
Around her she could see Monroe and Liza Jane inching their way forward as well, while Fletchley and Beauregard had apparently opted to stay near the trees, perhaps to “guard the horses.” She saw no sign of O’Malley, then put all thoughts of him out of her mind as the bullets increased in frequency. She got to her feet and ran another few yards, willing to risk getting shot in order to gain some ground, then threw herself forward behind a rock as more bullets spat in her direction. She pulled up her rifle, trying to put her finger on what it was about this gunfight that felt wrong to her. She traced the outline of the rock blocking her view of the cave mouth with the sight on her rifle, but no immediate target presented itself, and she still couldn’t get rid of that insistent feeling that something about this whole thing wasn’t quite right.
A few more bullets came out of the gloom, breaking through the ice near where Liza Jane and the Marshal had managed to gain a few yards themselves. Her mind worried at the problem like a dog with a bone, and she fired another shot, sending a large chip of stone flying. There was another yelp, but again she was reasonably sure she hadn’t done any real damage. That’s when it hit her. She grinned, and turned to Monroe, signalling her discovery as best she could. When he finally understood what she was trying to say, he grinned back, then nodded at her. She reloaded her rifle, gauging the distance remaining to her target.
“Cover me,” she signalled.
Once her colleagues had started firing as fast as they could, forcing anyone behind the rock to keep their heads down, she sprang to her feet and sprinted the last few yards. She leaped toward the rock, scrambled up its uneven face, and jumped down behind it, levelling her rifle at the stunned-looking bandit crouched on the ground.
“Drop your weapons! Drop ‘em!” He obeyed hastily. Vicky grinned mirthlessly, feeling vindicated as she glanced around the makeshift campsite. “I knew there was something wrong about all this.” She jerked her head at the prone body lying propped up against the cave wall, not taking her eyes away from her quarry. “How long has your friend been dead, then?”
The man shuddered, keeping his hands up. “Last night. We ran into Injuns.” The corpse did have what appeared to be the shafts of several arrows broken off in places.
“You brought him all this way on his horse? Why not leave him behind?”
“It woulda tipped you off I was alone. Being two of us mighta convinced you it wasn’t worth comin’ after us, you know. Too much risk.”
Monroe and Liza Jane came running up at that moment, followed by O’Malley, who came from an entirely different direction, having apparently tried a failed flanking manoeuver.
“You ain’t got much experience in this, I take it,” Vicky commented dryly, and her prisoner merely glared in response.
“You got a name, son?” Monroe asked, and Vicky drew back, content to let the Marshal do the rest of the interrogating.
“Buchanan. Mick Buchanan.” The reply was sullen, grudgingly given, but Monroe’s authority was undeniable at that point. Besides, having Liza Jane’s sawed-off shotgun pointed at his face at a distance of less than two feet must have made the thought of cooperating seem a lot more appealing.
Without waiting to be told, Vicky stepped around Buchanan and pulled his hands into a heavy set of handcuffs she’d brought along in her pack. Monroe had an identical set, but she was pretty sure Buchanan’s partner wouldn’t be needing them. Almost sure.
“All right,” the Marshal nodded approvingly. “You already know you’re under arrest. We’ll stay here for the night, and head back to Silver Springs come first light, where you’ll wait for the circuit judge. If you’re lucky, Mayor Quarrie will survive what you did, and you’ll be up for attempted murder. If not, well, it’ll be the hangman’s noose for you. Shakes, Fletchley, Beauregard, would you help me fetch the horses? Victoria, I mean, deputy, I’m leaving you in charge of the prisoner until we get back. I aim to see where Old Eli’s got to while I’m at it.”
“Sure thing, Marshal. I’ll see what I can do about getting that fire rekindled, too.”
Vicky knew Monroe was leaving her with the easy job, but for once she didn’t resent it in the slightest. Even though the temperature had risen somewhat, she was still freezing, and the thought of going back out into the wind was a daunting one. Liza Jane pulled some dry kindling from the back of the cave and knelt beside her to help restart the fire. After a few seconds, they had a small but determined blaze going, and Vicky sat back on her heels, enjoying the warmth.
“Tell me, Mick, what the hell were you doing in Silver Springs, anyway? You got a grudge against the Mayor, or what?”
Buchanan shook his head. “No ma’am. I never seen the man before in my life. Me and Sean,” he jerked his chin toward his dead partner, “we just got paid to do a job. I don’t even know who it was that paid us: Sean handled all that. All I know is that someone paid us a fair sum because they didn’t want that Quarrie fella meddling in their business and bringing the railroad to the area.”
The railroad again. Vicky sighed. The rail wars had been raging for years, and even now they were taking a deathly toll on anyone even remotely connected with the various railroad companies. It was said that there were a hundred deaths for each mile of railroad that had been laid, although to Vicky the number was patently absurd, an obvious exaggeration. Liza Jane seemed to be of a like mind with her.
“Goddamn railroads. That’s all a body ever hears about nowadays. They’re sheddin’ enough blood drown the whole goddamn country, is what I say. Someone oughta take ‘em and shake some sense into ‘em. All I know is, if any of ‘em gives me any trouble, I’ll fill their backsides full of buckshot before they even know what hit ‘em.”
Vicky chuckled, then turned her mind to more pressing matters. “So them Indians you say attacked you, how many were there? Who were they?”
“Damned if I know who they were. Maybe Sioux? I can’t tell the difference, anyhow. There were maybe five or six in the raiding party that surprised us, and before I knew it they’d filled poor Sean full of arrows. They got me in the arm, too, but it wasn’t serious.” Victoria realized with a start that she hadn’t noticed the bloody bandage tied around the man’s upper arm. Mick didn’t notice her discomfiture, or if he did, made nothing of it. “I’m almost glad you caught me. They were vicious sons of bitches, shrieking and yelling and whooping. It was like they were trying to scare us to death before actually trying to kill us.” He shuddered and shook his head. “I was glad to see the back of them, let me tell you.”
“Mm-hmm. Well, as long as there were only five or six, we should be safe enough. We outnumber them now, even if some of us are more useful with a gun than others,” she grinned at Liza Jane. “After all, the Indians don’t know our photographer can’t shoot for beans.”
“What’s that about the photographer?” Beauregard had picked that moment to come back, leading the way for Monroe, Fletchley and O’Malley.
“Just that you ain’t exactly a top hand with a gun,” Victoria said mildly.
To her surprise, Beauregard smiled. “The only shooting I like to do is with my camera. State of the art, she is, direct from Smith & Robards.”
Victoria shrugged, although she was secretly rather impressed. Smith & Robards produced some pretty fine-quality materials, when you came down to it.
“Did you make out where Eli got to?” she asked the Marshal, not wanting to confirm Beauregard’s sense of self-importance by dwelling on his equipment.
Monroe shook his head disapprovingly. “He’s out by that copse of trees and won’t budge. Neither will that old drunken mule of his. He claims he was brought out here against his will and that he won’t stand a minute in the company of the folk who dragged him along. He won’t see reason at all.”
“Damned old coot,” Victoria swore under her breath. “I wish someone’d beat some sense into him. It ain’t safe out there, not for a geezer like him, not for anyone. Not right now.”
As if to confirm her words, a low, sobbing cry filled the air. Soon it was echoed by others, stretching all along the plains.
In the dark of night, the wolves were howling at the moon.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(psst, last line....)
Date: 2005-08-18 02:55 am (UTC);)
Re: (psst, last line....)
Date: 2005-08-18 02:56 am (UTC)Re: (psst, last line....)
Date: 2005-08-18 02:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-04 06:04 pm (UTC)Funny... here I was thinking that Vicky wasn't interested in any man's equipment.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-05 03:51 am (UTC)