Chapter 4

The abrupt, flat bang of Dove Ed’s pistol slapped the walls of the tiny shed, and a miniature rain cloud of black powder smoke rose over the boy’s head.  Putney screeched and reeled backward, clutching his left side.  His revolver and the poke full of money he let fall as he stumbled over the old stove, knocking the chimney loose and sending the empty whiskey bottle spinning into the shadows.  Trying to regain his balance, Putney struck the wall and slumped down by the door, moaning.  Dove Ed waved his Remington about, trying to decide who to cover: Putney, or Tom and Cash.

            Over Putney’s whimpers, Tom said, “All right, son, you can put that away now.”  Dove Ed fixed his sights on Tom, who still held his shot glass as though there were whiskey in it.  Behind him, Cash had his hand on his own gun and looked as undecided as Dove Ed felt; only Tom seemed unconcerned.

            “Don’t you move, now,” Dove Ed said.  “I’d just as soon shoot you as your friend.”

            “In that case, you’d best cock the hammer again,” Tom said, with the air of a man commenting on the weather.  Dove Ed flushed as he realized that he’d forgotten to cock his pistol after his first shot.  He thumbed the hammer back and pointed it at Tom again, but by now Tom was moving to kneel beside the stricken Putney.

            “Son of a bitch shot me!” Putney said through clenched teeth.  His breath came in quick gasps and sweat sheened his face even in the chilly shed.

            “What did you expect?” Cash said as Tom eased Putney’s hand away from the wound so he could get a better look.  “I’d of done the same, you tried to steal my stake.  Ain’t that right, Tom?”

            Tom said to Putney, “Don’t look at it, Jacob.”  Then he peeled the bloody cloth of the shirt away from the ribs, tearing it a little to get at the injury.  “Does it hurt much?”

            “Of course it damn well hurts!  Get Doc Ellstrom; he’s still inside the saloon.”

            Tom shook his head.  “I’m sorry Jacob, but Doc Ellstrom can’t do much for you now.”  He tugged the bandanna from his neck and folded it into a rough pad which he pressed against Putney’s side.  “Hold that there; that’s all anyone can do.”

            Dove Ed stepped closer, craning his neck to look at the man he’d shot.  His pistol hand hung at his side, the weapon forgotten.  Cash put up an arm to stop him.  “You don’t want to see, boy,” he said.

            Dove Ed felt sick inside.  “I didn’t mean to kill him,” he said.

            “Yes you did,” said Cash.  Dove Ed glanced at him, an angry retort on his lips, but Cash continued, “He meant to kill you too.  You just beat him to it.”

            “And a handy bit of work it was, too,” Tom said.  He put his hand on Putney’s forehead.  “Jacob, I hate to ask this, but time’s short and might could be somebody heard that shot.”

            Putney rolled his eyes to look at Tom.  “Ask me what?”

            “We broke all sorts of laws here today, us and the boy.  We’ll be leaving soon, but if the marshal should find you…”

            Putney nodded, then winced.  “Oh God,” he said, “I think I’m losing feeling in my side…”

            “Look at me, Jacob,” Tom said.  The fierce urgency in his voice brought Putney’s gaze back to him.  “If the marshal should find you…!”

            “Don’t worry, Tom,” Putney said.  “I won’t tell him nothing.  Innocents!”

            “Innocents,” Tom repeated.  He rose from the man’s side and looked over at Dove Ed and Cash.  “You got a mount, boy?”

            Dove Ed couldn’t answer, staring speechless at the man sprawled on the floor of the shed.  Cash shook his arm until he had Dove Ed’s attention and asked, “You got a horse?” 

            “Livery stable,” Dove Ed said.

            Tom bent and scooped up the fallen poke and Putney’s revolver and held them out to Dove Ed.  “You might need these if you’re coming with us,” he said.

            “Coming with you?”  Dove Ed gathered in the bag and gun without thinking.

            “Would you rather stay here with him until the marshal finds you?”  At last it dawned on Dove Ed exactly what he had done, and how much trouble he was in.  Never mind selling stolen whiskey; he had shot a man.  He, a vagrant, had shot and killed a local man over stolen whiskey.  The room whirled around him as he realized that in the blink of an eye he had become an outlaw.  Tears welled up in his eyes and he felt Tom, or maybe it was Cash, clap him on the shoulder and squeeze.

            From down on the floor behind them, Putney said, loud, “Son of a bitch!”

            They all turned to see Putney sitting bolt upright on the dirt floor of the shed, gaping in furious incredulity at the bandanna in his hand, the one Tom had pressed to his wound.  Only the smallest spots of blood stained it; through his torn shirt Dove Ed could see the wound it had covered—a thin red line, no longer than his little finger, just along the outside of Putney’s rib cage.

            “Shitfire,” said Tom Mulvehill.

            Putney glared at him, cold hatred flying from him like froth from a mad dog.  “You told me I was dying, you dirty bastard!” he said.

            Tom shook his head, holding up his hands to placate the man.  “No, I said Doc Ellstrom couldn’t do nothing for you,” he said.  “Since the ball only grazed you, I figured there was no need to bother the doc…”

            Putney heaved up to one knee, reaching with his right hand for his revolver.  “I’ll kill you, you liar,” he said, but stopped when he found his holster empty.  “Where’s my Navy Colt?”

            This time Dove Ed remembered to cock the weapon before he aimed it at Putney.  Confusion, fear, and pure blood lust fought for control of Putney’s face; in the meantime he held still.  “Now what?” said Cash.  “We leave him here, he’ll have the marshal on us fore we make the livery stable.”

            “I could try shooting him again,” Dove Ed said.  He was amazed at how quickly he’d gone from remorse at killing the man to wanting another chance at it.  The big Navy Colt revolver weighed a ton compared to the Remington and he reckoned even a graze from it would prove fatal.

            Tom lowered his hands and crouched down so he could see eye to eye with Putney.  “You’re upset, Jacob,” he said, “And I guess you got a right to be.  I thought we’d be out of town before you felt well enough to stir and then you’d be too ashamed to send the marshal after us.”

            Putney’s face seemed to have settled on a sneer of contempt as a happy medium as he said, “You’re wrong, Mulvehill.  I got friends in this town, and when I tell them I was set upon and robbed by three outlaws, you’ll be attending your own hanging tomorrow.”

            Dove Ed cut his eyes at Cash to see the lean man looking grim.  It was just as Cash predicted; they would have to kill Putney to keep him silent.

            Tom let out a long sigh of weariness.  He said, “I’d rather you didn’t do that, Jacob.”

            “No?”  Putney’s sneer deepened.

            “No.  See, if you set the law on us, I’m sure we’ll swing.  But before I do, I’ll be overcome with remorse at my wicked deeds, and I’ll have to confess to them…all of them.”  The sneer departed Putney’s face to be replaced by severe apprehension.  “I’ll have to confess to the killing of Deputy Bill Dillingham in Bannack, Montana, but that I only followed the instructions of the chief assassin—one Jacob Putney.”

            The battle for possession of Putney’s face ended, with horror claiming the field.  His jaw flapped, but no words came forth.  He slumped back to the floor of the shed since his arms and legs would no longer hold him upright.  Dove Ed had never seen Putney so completely unstrung; he found it even more disconcerting than when he thought Putney was dying.

            “We’ll be going now, Jacob,” Tom said.  Putney did not respond, but drew up his knees, folded his arms across them, and let his head sag down to hide his eyes.  Tom gestured Cash and Dove Ed out the door, keeping his eyes on the man sitting in the dirt with his shirt bloody and torn and his holster empty.  Dove Ed slid past Tom, then paused outside to look back, just in time to hear Tom bid Jacob Putney farewell.

            “Innocent,” Tom said, and stepped out, closing the shed door behind him.