Pete
Lying on his stomach, brambles tearing through his shirt and into his skin, Pete figured he'd pretty much had it. He was reloading his revolver, taking bullets from his belt to replace those spent.
For all the good it would do him. Zeke was probably dead, Kansas too, and Bill Coyle was without a shadow of a doubt dead as dead could be. He shuddered, recalling how the man had been blown to bits.
Once he'd been near a cannonball when it exploded. He had felt the impact as much as heard it, though he was too far away to be hurt by the blast. It was similar, being near Coyle when he'd died, though it was as if the big boom had been chopped up into hundreds of little ones.
Whatever weapon had taken Coyle down—Pete hadn't gotten a decent look—he was certain he couldn't stand against it.
"Hey, Injun!"
Pete grimaced. The voice calling him belonged to a woman, probably the one who'd shot Kansas. Anyone good enough to hit their mark from a hundred yards on the back of a galloping horse was probably dangerous.
"I know you can hear me, Injun!" she called again. "Listen up; We got your whole crew. You're the last man standing. Congrats to you."
He heard the sound of a match striking, and the acrid smell of smoke reached his nostrils.
"Here's the thing though," she said after a moment. "You're outnumbered, outgunned, and probably figger that it's either die here quick or rot in a cell until they decide to stretch you up. Well, it ain't necessarily so."
"Just kill him, Adiciopic." The second voice was deeper, and he recognized the cadence of one of the People. "James Dalton will tell us what we need to know."
"Jimmy Dalton's done clammed up, and I ain't for relying on torture to get my information. Just ain't civil."
"If I give up," Pete called out, straining to shout while lying on his chest "I walk outta here."
"Ain't gonna happen, son," the woman called back.
"Come on, honey," he said "you said it yourself. It's a choice between dying quick and dying slow. What would you do?"
"I would listen when a woman is talking, dumbass. I said that it ain't necessarily so. And don't call me honey, I'm a Federal Marshall."
"What's the 'ain't necessarily so' part entail?"
"I like this guy, Fox," said the Marshall. "He's pragmatic. I'd be willing to let you walk—not ride, and certainly unarmed—out of here, and not harm a hair on your pretty little head."
"He is a two face. Best to kill him and be done with it."
"Kill the dude, kill the dude," the Marshall said mockingly. "Yeah, I get the point yer trying to make, Fox. I just don't give a shit."
"Okay," Pete stood up slowly, dangling his piece from stiff fingers, well away from his body. "I'm willing to surrender on one condition."
His eyes fell on the Marshall and widened in shock, but not because she was quite pretty. The slightly upturned nose, the cinnamon hair...but for about twenty healthy pounds and a few years the woman was a dead ringer for Rose.
"Spit it out, pretty boy," the Marshall said. The big woman flanking her had him in the sights of her pistol. Her dark eyes almost begged him to make a move.
"There's a woman working for the Dalton gang," Pete said. "I walk, she walks."
"What, you bring your wife along on train heists?" The Marshall chuckled. "No promises, but I'll do what I can. You really ain't gonna get a better offer."
"Yeah. Guess I'm not." Pete let his gun fall to the dirt.
"Watch him, Fox," said the Marshall. Quickly, she crouched in the dirt and snatched up his weapon. Roughly, her hands patted him down, finding a knife used mostly for scaling fish and his tobacco tin.
"Okay," she said "we're gonna walk up to the cottage, nice and slow. Hear?"
Pete kept his hands in the air as he trudged toward the dwelling. The place had been almost homey the last time he'd been out this way. Now it was riddled with bullet holes, both windows were broken, and the smell of gunpowder and death hung in the air.
He was shut up in the pantry along with Jimmy. A fat, seemingly mute man with a shotgun stood by the door, eyes rarely leaving his charges.
"Pete," Jimmy said "they got us, Pete, they got us!"
"Let me see your hand, Jimmy," Pete said calmly.
"They got us," Dalton repeated, though he did offer his bandaged limb out for inspection. Gingerly, Pete unwrapped his hand, wishing they had more than the feeble light of an oil lantern.
Pete almost gasped in surprise. He quickly locked gazes with Jimmy, and the junior Dalton's left eye blinked.
"You're quiet, Pete," Jimmy said, shaking badly. "Why are you so quiet?"
"It's not good, Jimmy," Pete said, wrapping the hand again. "You need a doctor, bad. Don't go unwrapping this again till you get to a proper facility. Hear?"
"I hear you, Pete. Hey, you think the law will get me a doctor?"
"Most likely, but it'll be just to make sure you're good and healthy when they string you up."
"They got us, Pete." Jimmy put his head between his knees. Pete almost missed the sly smile before his face was hidden. "They got us."
They were left in the pantry for over an hour. He could just barely hear their voices through the thick wood. From what he could make out the Marshall and her posse were cleaning up the bodies for transport, probably looting as they went.
After a time the door swung open and they were ushered out at gunpoint. Pete's ankles were manacled together about two feet apart. The Indian woman—Fox, he thought her name was—was going to do the same to Jimmy but the Marshall shook her head.
Apparently, she figured that there was a good chance they'd be hauling a corpse back to trial.
The captives were set in the back of a large, flatbed wagon. Pete was jostled as the Marshall climbed in and sat across from him on an improvised bench.
"All right," she said. "Let's hear it. I wanna know where Big Man Dalton is, what he's done with the gold and how many men he's riding with."
"Don't say nothing, Pete," Jimmy said.
"Sorry, Jimmy," he said with a sigh. "I gave my word."
"Bullshit." Jimmy settled down a bit, tending his injured hand.
Pete took a deep breath, then rolled into his tale. "Big Man's camped out in a canyon in the Big Horn range. There used to be a coal mine there."
"Son of a bitch," the Marshall slapped her thigh. "That's why nobody could find the gold, why the Daltons disappeared."
"You're a dirty traitor, Peyote Pete," Jimmy said. "Dirty god damn traitor. The Injuns who marked you up knew what they was doing, all right!"
"Hush, you," the Marshall said with a glare. "So he's gonna bury the gold in the mine and come back when the heat's off? Does he have any idea of how long that's gonna take?"
Pete smiled. "No, not exactly. The coal miners ran into an underground river before the vein got tapped out. They sealed it off, but Big Man partnered up with the coolies who used to work in the mine and they're digging back down to it."
"For god's sake, why?"
"The river comes out in a gulley on the Wyoming side, a hundred miles from nowhere."
"Son of a bitch." The Marshall shook her head, a rueful smile on her pretty face. "While everyone's watching the border, the gold exchanges, he's gonna sneak out the back door and fly on down Mexico way."
She slapped her knee again and stood up swiftly. "Well, he ain't for doin' it on my watch!"
"Marshall," Pete said. She paused mid stride.
"Whatcha want?"
"Jimmy needs a doctor," he said. "Badly."
"I can see that readily enough," she said. "Reckon we'll be splittin' the party, with a couple of us taking care of Jimmy and the bounties, and the rest going after the Daltons."
Your 'bounties' are dead friends of mine, Pete thought.
"I want to come with you."
The Marshall cackled, and if Jimmy Dalton could kill with a look Pete would have keeled over right then and there.
"You must be out of your god damn mind!" she said, wiping her eyes.
"You can keep my gun," he said, spreading his hands. "I won't cause you any trouble."
"Pete, you've been riding with Big Man since you was knee high to a grasshopper." The Marshall shook her head sadly. "I know where your loyalties lay."
"Do you?" Pete felt his mouth twist up in a sneer. "Maybe my loyalties have changed."
The Marshall stared him down for a moment, then cocked an eyebrow. "The woman?"
Pete nodded.
"So you wanna tag along and make sure I keep my end of the bargain," the Marshall scratched her head. "All right, but we're gonna be watching you. Any bullshit and Fox will gut you. Gladly."
Pete rubbed the scar tissue on his cheek and nodded. "I thought she looked like a Crow..."
"She won't do it quick, neither. She'll take her sweet ass time. I've seen her work."
"I don't doubt you, Marshall." Pete looked past her to see Fox giving him the thousand yard stare. "I can't say I doubt you at all."