Sathow's Sinners (5 page)

F
our men stormed through the front doors of the Three Dog saloon. Since all of them already had their guns drawn, they attracted plenty of attention from the men hired to keep the peace among the drunks and gamblers. When one of the saloon gun hands approached him, Daniel spoke to him in a voice that couldn't quite be heard. Whatever Daniel said was enough to get the other man to quickly back away.

Nate, Daniel, the shotgunner with the bleeding upper arm and one more of Daniel's men walked past the bar on their way to the card tables.

Frank watched all of this from his spot at the far end of the bar. Upon making eye contact with Nate, he waited for the signal before doing anything more. He got the nod right away and eased his hand down to one of the .38s holstered under his black coat.

“I see you back there, Jim Harrold!” Daniel shouted.

Still sitting at the table that was now in Daniel's sights, Pete turned to get a look at what was going on. There were still two of Jim's boys sitting behind him. When one of those gunmen made a move toward Pete, he was stopped by a short, narrow blade that suddenly poked him between two ribs. “Not another move, friend,” Deaugrey whispered as he tightened his grip on the knife in his hand. With a motion that was almost too quick to see, he reached over to snatch the pistol from the gunman's holster. Pointing the gun at the next closest of Jim's men, Deaugrey added, “You neither. Just sit back and keep still. Real, real still.”

A good portion of the customers within the saloon had stopped what they were doing. After getting a look at what was going on, many of them found somewhere else to be so they wouldn't be caught in an untenable position if things went from bad to worse. Frank navigated through the milling crowd to get closer to the poker table at the eye of the storm.

Jim leaned back in his chair with his hands flat on the table. The expression on his face made it seem as if he were simply enjoying a show instead of looking down the wrong end of several guns. “That you, Daniel?” he asked.

“You know damn well who it is,” Daniel replied. “I'm the man you meant to rob.”

“I've been here all night long. The only men I can rob are the ones who try to bluff me in this here game.”

“We don't want any trouble,” the barkeep said. When Nate walked over to her, she began to reach beneath the bar.

“Whatever weapon you mean to retrieve,” Nate said as he placed his Remington on the bar so it was pointed at her, “just leave it where it is while this plays out.”

She held her trembling hands where he could see them.

“What did you tell these men, Sathow?” Jim asked.

“Don't worry about him,” Daniel said. “Worry about
me!
Is it true that you sent those boys to rob me?”

“Get the hell out of my sight before I have my men burn you down.” When he didn't get a response from any of those men, Jim stood up and turned around to look behind him. Avery's seat was still empty, and one other sat with a shotgun across his lap. “Wake up, damn it,” Jim snapped as he swatted the shotgunner with the back of his hand.

Nate could already feel the tension in the air, and when the shotgunner behind Jim started to get out of his seat, one of Daniel's men didn't take too kindly to it and fired at the poker table, which sent everyone in the saloon scattering for cover. The gunmen sitting with Deaugrey tried getting up and turning to face the skinny man between them. Deaugrey was no stranger to using a blade, and he stuck it deep between one man's ribs to skewer his heart. He then grabbed the dying man's arm to swing him around and catch a bullet fired from a holdout pistol that had been kept in the second gunman's pocket.

Owen stood up and overturned the card table so it could be used as a barrier. Unfortunately, Wilson wound up on the wrong side of that barrier and caught the lion's share of a barrage of lead sent by Daniel and his men.

“Pssst,” came a voice from over Owen's shoulder.

When Owen turned to look, he was greeted by the sight of a madman crawling toward him like an animal. He squeezed off a shot, but was too rushed to hit its skinny target. Letting out a shrieking laugh that could barely be heard over the general insanity filling the saloon, Deaugrey grabbed a handful of Owen's hair, yanked his head back and slit his throat.

“Holy Lord!” Jim said when he caught sight of all that blood. “What the hell is happening?”

The shooting was over. The air inside the saloon was heavy with smoke that churned slowly around the heads of the men who were still on their feet. Everyone else was either huddled beneath something solid or would never stand again.

Nate was still at the bar with his gun resting on the polished wooden surface pointed in the general direction of the lady barkeep. He'd been ready to defend himself, but hadn't needed to move a muscle. “You happy with what you started?” he asked.

The woman behind the bar stood frozen with her hands stretched toward whatever weapon was stashed nearby. “I didn't—”

“Don't give me that. I just rode into town, but I can see clear as day that you're the one who put all of this into motion. Your place was probably the only one that wasn't robbed. That means not only do you get a cut of the haul from the robberies, but this saloon becomes the place where everyone wants to spend their money.”

“It . . . wasn't supposed to be like this.”

Daniel had stepped up to the bar as well, announcing his presence by slamming down his still-smoking gun. “McNabb is dead.”

Those words shattered her spirit just as surely as a brick shatters a plate-glass window. The expression on the bartender's face shifted from sadness all the way into fury as she said, “You shouldn't have started your own games, Daniel! I warned you not to draw so many gamblers away from the Three Dog and look what happened!”

“The gamblers go where they go, Rita. It's always been that way.” Daniel walked around behind the bar and helped himself to some whiskey. “That's why you sent Jim after me and mine?”

She didn't say anything to that, but the way she hung her head spoke volumes.

“And I suppose you were intending on backing any story Jim gave as to his innocence when it came time to hand someone over to the law?”

The barkeep hung her head so low that it seemed she would never find the strength to lift it again.

Jim was shoved forward by Pete who had the other man's arm locked behind his back. “I've been sitting here playing cards all night!” Jim said. “I've got witnesses!”

“Shut your mouth, Jim,” Daniel sighed. Looking past him to Pete, he asked, “Ain't I seen you around here the last week or two?”

“Probably,” Pete replied.

Waving a tired hand at the barkeep, Daniel asked, “Is this the woman who hired you?”

“That's right. After the second robbery in town, she put me on the trail of Cal Worsham. Took me just a day or two to find him holed up outside of town in a shed that could barely stop a passing breeze.”

“What did Cal do to anyone?”

“Not a damn thing,” Pete replied. “Near as I could tell, he didn't even drink, but Rita swore he was the man behind all of them robberies as well as the ones that happened later on. The only use Cal had for a saloon was to buy himself some company of the feminine persuasion, but he went to a cathouse out near the train station a few miles from here when the urge struck, and that place was never even robbed.”

“How do you know all that?”

“I tracked him there,” Pete replied simply. “It's what I do. Didn't take much to realize that was about the only place he ever went. After looking a bit closer at some things, it wasn't too hard to find out Jim was the man committing them robberies and someone from this saloon was setting them up.”

Keeping her head low, the barkeep turned so she didn't have to look at any of the men in front of her. Daniel wasn't having any of that and lunged over the bar to grab her chin and pull her around. “There was plenty of business to go around, you greedy bitch!” Daniel roared. “We all had a good thing going and you had to get greedy!”

“Here,” Pete said as he shoved Jim toward one of Daniel's men. “I was hired to find the ones responsible for robbing those saloons, and there's one of them. She's the other. I'm done.”

Daniel surveyed the saloon with careful eyes. “Where's the rest of your boys, Jim?”

“Forget about them,” Frank said while emerging from the crowd of customers that were leaving their various hiding spots. “If there's any more, they're too yellow to be a concern to us.” He held one of the men who'd been guarding Jim's table at the other end of his .38. Not only did the hired gun have no more fight in him but he seemed ready to face whatever indignity fate had in store for him next.

“Leave him,” Daniel said. “Is he the last one, Rita?”

“Does it matter?” she sighed.

Staring at her with cruel satisfaction, Daniel replied, “No. I suppose it doesn't.”

Slowly, Nate and Pete stepped away from the bar and headed for the front door.

Slowly, the rest of the customers in the saloon resumed whatever it was they'd been doing before the interruption.

Not so slowly, Frank handed his prisoner off to Daniel's man and snagged Deaugrey by the collar.

“What are you doing?” Deaugrey asked. “I'm about to get dealt back into my game!”

“We're leaving.”

“Do you know how long it's been since I've sat down to a decent game?”

“If we don't go right now I suspect we won't be able to go for quite a while,” Frank told him. “Men were killed here and questions tend to follow a thing like that. Unless you fancy being in yet another cage, settle up and come with me.”

Covered in blood and looking every bit like someone who'd elbowed his way through a brawl, Deaugrey looked at each of the gamblers at his table one by one. “Sorry, but I suppose I should leave. Are these my winnings here?”

“Yep!” one of the men said as he shoved some of the scattered coins and bills toward him. “That about does it.”

After scooping up the money, Deaugrey allowed himself to be led away from the table. Leaning over to Frank, he whispered, “I think I got more than my share.”

“I don't think they mind,” the preacher said while taking back the .38 he'd lent him.

Indeed, like many folks who found themselves suddenly not having to deal with Deaugrey Scott, the remaining gamblers at that table seemed much happier than they'd been before.

As the general commotion inside the saloon rose back to a normal roar, Nate and the rest of his group drifted toward the front door. Once outside, they wasted no time getting to their horses and getting the hell out of Marlonn.

F
ortunately, it was a clear night because Nate insisted on riding with nothing but light from the stars to guide them. The horses and the mule plodded along at an easy pace, which, combined with the general flatness of Kansas terrain, allowed the small group to get a few miles outside of town where they found a spot to camp.

The words passing between the men were clipped and concise.

Only the most necessary of facts were passed back and forth, half of which were repeated requests for Deaugrey to shut the hell up.

They'd all worked together enough to know better than to waste any opportunity to get a few hours of sleep.

*   *   *

The following morning started off just as quiet as the previous night had ended. All four men slept just past dawn before coming around, building a fire and digging through their saddlebags for fixings to make breakfast. Frank found some salted ham and beans while Nate brewed some chicory coffee. Deaugrey wasn't very fond of mornings in general and sat hunched over with his eyes trained upon the fire, looking every bit the opposite of the man he'd been the night before.

More than half an hour passed before the tranquil silence of a cool, sunny morning was broken.

“What,” Nate asked, “the
hell
was all that about?”

More silence.

Finally, Pete looked around as though he'd only just realized someone had spoken. “You talking to me?”

“Yes.”

“And you mean what was going on last night in the Three Dog?”

“Yes!”
Nate growled.

Pete shrugged and swirled his coffee within his dented cup. “I thought most of it came out before we left.”

“Why don't you clear it up for me?”

“I was hired for a job, but the job wasn't nothing but a way to draw attention from what was really goin' on. I was told Cal Worsham was responsible for robbing a string of saloons in these parts, but he didn't do anything of the sort. Nobody must've thought I'd find the real bandit because when I did, I was held at gunpoint until they could figure out what to do with me. More than likely, they were gonna shoot me after saying I cheated them or some other reason they pulled out of thin air. That asshole Jim already robbed me blind,” Pete said. “Took every last cent I had on me as well as everything I was paid for that job. Actually had the gall to call my hard-earned pay winnings from that sorry excuse of a game.”

“So was the lady bartender sharing a bed with the fellow who came to yell at her before the shooting started?” Deaugrey asked.

“That might explain a few things,” Frank said.

“Doesn't matter,” Nate said dismissively. “We showed up for the tail end of the affair and now it's over. Let's just—”

“She was getting a cut of the money that was stolen in them robberies,” Pete said as if Nate hadn't even spoken. “And since her saloon wasn't getting robbed, all of the paying customers and gamblers were headed there instead of taking their chances of getting caught in a shootout anywhere else.”

Deaugrey laughed heartily. “We saw how
that
worked out for them!”

“Yeah,” Pete replied with a grin. “I guess we did, at that.”

“It was fortunate we showed up when we did.”

Now it was Frank's turn to laugh, although his wasn't nearly as heartfelt as what had come before. “I would have been more surprised if either of you
hadn't
been in some sort of trouble when Nate and I came along.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Deaugrey asked. “That we're nothing but a bunch of sinners?”

“Man's got a point,” Pete grumbled. “Don't know if I'd say I'm a sinner, but we all do see more than our share of trouble.”

“And you know what all of us have in common?” Deaugrey asked. He then jabbed a finger at Nate and said, “
Him!
Me, Pete, a preacher and all the other misfits Nate Sathow pulls together got no business being mentioned in the same sentence unless it's to set up a bad joke.”

The three of them cut loose with enough genuine laughter to echo in every direction. Frank was caught so off his guard that he spilled a good portion of his coffee on his lap.

Instinctively reveling in the moment, Deaugrey added, “Nathan even turned a preacher into one of his sinners! I say this man is the devil himself but instead,
I'm
the one who gets locked away!”

Still laughing, Frank glanced over to see how Nate was taking the ribbing. His expression was plenty sour, but there was something beneath it that made it clear he was simply fighting the urge to join in the fun.

“Look at him,” Deaugrey continued. “Won't even admit when he's wrong. He seemed more comfortable when bullets were flying on all sides.”

“You're right about that,” Pete said. “He's always been that way. Ever since I known him.”

“You know what I was before I knew him?” Frank asked.

“Free from bullet wounds?” Deaugrey asked.

“Apart from that.”

“I can't imagine.”

Giving Nate a nudge with his elbow, Frank said, “Bored.”

“Well ain't none of us can say that no more,” Pete said. “And as for the sinning part, I'd say there's some truth in that as well. I tend to get into a fair amount of trouble with or without the lot of you bein' around to watch. Hey, Nate?”

“Yeah?”

“How'd you know where to find me, anyhow?”

“I make it my business to know where I can find a good sinner when I need one,” Nate replied.

Either that made complete sense to the others around the fire or they knew better than to ask the question again because the other three let the matter rest.

“Since we're all in such high spirits,” Nate continued, “now seems like a good time for me to tell you why you're all here.”

“Good Lord,” Deaugrey sighed. “I thought he'd never get around to that.”

“The man's a spigot clogged with molasses,” Pete said. “Ain't no rushing him.”

“I had a more colorful comparison in mind, but I suppose that one works as well.”

“You finished?” Nate asked.

Deaugrey shrugged and focused his attention on the task of cutting his ham into more pieces. “Go on and say your piece, spigot.”

Nate dug into one of his pockets while asking, “Did any of you men hear about the killings that took place in Gentry County, Missouri?”

“I heard some bit of nasty business happened out that way,” Pete replied. “Probably was something in the newspapers, but I don't got no use for reading them things.”

“And I never got any papers in McKeag's,” Deaugrey said. “Not after one of the patients rolled up a Sunday edition to be used as a club against the orderlies.”

“I wonder which patient could have possibly been responsible for that?” Frank mused.

“Why, I am appalled, sir!” Deaugrey said in a voice that seemed to have been pulled straight from the fertile soil of a Virginia plantation.

“Are you idiots gonna listen or not?” Nate bellowed.

The other three quieted down.

“Good,” Nate said with exasperation. “Now where was I?”

“Killings,” Pete grunted. “Gentry County.”

“Right. Have any of you heard mention of a jailbreak in that region of Missouri?”

Frank's head perked up. “I did hear something about that! Very bloody business from what I understand.”

“Bloody doesn't begin to do it justice,” Nate said. “Three prisoners were tortured and killed. After that, two guards were strung up and whittled down to nothing with knives from the kitchen.”

“Good Lord above,” Frank said.

Nate nodded. “And that was just meant as a distraction. When the rest of the guards came running, they were ripped to pieces by prisoners who were so riled up they damn near busted the walls down with their bare hands. More prisoners were killed. More guards were killed. Even a few normal folks wound up dead just because they happened to be there visiting family that was locked up.”

Pouring himself some more coffee, Deaugrey asked, “If this is what you consider friendly breakfast conversation, I'd rather go back to you being quiet while the rest of us enjoy ourselves.”

“I take it these things are connected somehow,” Pete said.

Nate nodded. “You got that right. One of the few men to make it out of that bloody jailbreak is the same one who tore through a good portion of the rest of the county to kill those poor souls that were written about in the papers. Casey Pescaterro.”

Any bit of remaining frivolity around the campfire dried up and blew away with the mention of that name.

“Casey Pescaterro,” Pete said. “The same Casey Pescaterro who rode with the Youngers?”

“Yep. Rode with them for a short while, anyhow.”

“Right. He was booted out of that gang when Cole Younger said he made things too difficult for the rest of 'em. When Cole Younger says somethin' like that about a man . . . let's just say that's no man you wanna meet.”

While Pete had been talking, Deaugrey tapped his head in an ever-quickening rhythm. The force with which his finger met his forehead grew until it became loud enough for all of the other men to hear. When it stopped, Deaugrey said, “Wait a second! Casey Pescaterro?”

“That's right,” Nate replied with a half grin that showed he knew all of what was going through Deaugrey's mind.

“As in, Casey ‘
Dog Ear
'
Pescaterro?”

“The very same.”

“Dog Ear?” Frank asked.

“I've heard of that one,” Deaugrey said.

Nate helped himself to some more coffee. “Thought that you might.”

Since Frank so rarely lost his patience, it caught everyone's attention when he snapped, “Is someone going to tell me what the ‘Dog Ear' is about?”

“I've heard a few different tellings of the story,” Deaugrey replied. “All of them start off with him robbing just about any old place he could find. Dressmakers, feed stores, even a schoolhouse.”

“What's there to rob at a schoolhouse?”

“Hell if I know!” Deaugrey said with a smile. “Isn't it just perfectly random? One of those stories goes on to say that he was fed up with not being recognized for his crimes like the men who robbed banks and such, so he started marking each of his jobs. Or rather, he started marking the folks he met while on those jobs. Bit some of their ears off. Must've gotten a taste for it because he kept doing it everywhere he went. Left those poor bastards looking like raggedy stray dogs. That's my favorite story.”

“I heard another one,” Nate said. “Something about him losing his mind while on a stagecoach to Cheyenne. Don't know what set him off, but he tore into everyone in there with him . . . tooth and nail. When he was done, he set the coach on fire from the inside and stayed there until he was through with the last passenger. The only thing that wasn't covered in blood or burnt to ash by the time he managed to get the door open was a dog-eared copy of the Bible.”

“Perhaps even a man like him holds favor with the Lord above,” Frank offered.

“You ask me,” Nate said, “that don't say much about the Lord's choice of friends. Casey's been locked up a couple of times and every time he escapes, he runs off like a wild dog. Even howls at the moon along the way.”

“That could also explain the Dog Ear name,” Pete said.

Deaugrey shook his head. “I like my story better.”

“Me too, actually.”

“I've also heard that he was raised by wolves.”

“Is that a fact?” Pete asked.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Deaugrey admitted. “It's just one of those things I heard somewhere.”

Pete was about to continue with the conversation until he saw Nate glaring at him. “You were saying?”

“Thanks, Pete,” Nate replied. To everyone, he said, “Pescaterro needs to be brought in and we're the ones who get the job. The pay is two thousand each.”

“Does that include the bounty on any of Dog Ear's associates that we happen to bag along the way?” Pete asked.

“No,” Nate replied with a grin. “That's just the pay for bringing in Dog Ear. Anyone else we find who has a price on his head, and there's gonna be more than a few I'd wager, is a bonus.”

Deaugrey's narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he asked, “There's an eight thousand dollar bounty on Pescaterro? He's a killer who may also be a cannibal by now, but that's a mighty big bounty for someone who hasn't even bothered to rob a bank. Who's offering that kind of money?”

“It's not a bounty,” Nate said. “Not all of it anyhow. Pescaterro is a cold-blooded murderer and a menace, so there is a price on his head. Fifteen hundred, I think. Maybe two thousand. The lion's share of that money isn't being offered to just anyone. This is a special job and we're the only ones who are gonna cash it in.”

“That's not an answer to my question,” Deaugrey prodded.

“It's a real offer,” Nate said. “And we will get paid. That's all we need to know.”

“That's not all
you
know, however,” Frank said.

Pete looked over to the preacher and said, “I thought you'd know too.”

“Do you think I'm always riding by this one's side?” Frank asked while hooking a thumb toward Nate.

Looking between Nate and Frank, Pete said, “Well . . . yeah.”

“If you must know,” Nate cut in, “the rest is being offered by a group of men who have a professional interest in seeing Pescaterro brought to justice. Who they are, exactly, isn't important. I'm the one who was called in for this venture and I only met one of these fellows. Discretion is a big part of this deal, you understand?”

“Oh yeah!” Deaugrey said. “I understand all right. It certainly wasn't any bounty hunters offering that sort of money because that just wouldn't make sense. Politicians or anyone in the government like mayors or the like would turn to the law. That means these concerned citizens you're referring to are lawmen! Am I right?”