Brothers in Arms Ch. 06

Meanwhile, Sean had spent the entire day practicing with his carbine and his new pistol. With the pistol he became somewhat accurate, but gave up trying to be fast and settled for being able to pull it out and hit what he wanted most of the time. With the carbine, however, he practiced and practiced until he could hit a small target very accurately at over 75 yards. He would need that for what he was planning. Who did they think they were that they could do that to him and get away with it? It wasn't going to happen. He would make sure of that. At least one of them would end up dead. Maybe both, probably both. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. But if it had to be, he hoped like hell it would be one, only one. The right one.

He drove slowly back to town in the rented buggy, laying his plans thoughtfully and carefully. He would set himself up on the roof of the hotel. From there he would have a clear view of much of the town, and a short clear shot to the front of their home and office From which he would make sure that Preston emerged at the appropriate time and day. The rest would be easy. Even if it took two shots, he would have plenty of time. And if necessary he could make his getaway down the back of the hotel. Now he just had to pick the right time and day, to convince the two of them to emerge as he required, to act in his best interest rather than their own. It would be tricky, but he thought he could pull it off. Preston would be so vulnerable, so open to attack. He had to do it. They wouldn't listen to him so he had to act. They were forcing his hand. It wasn't his fault. Finally he had it solid. He knew he could make Prest emerge at just the right time and place. He smiled at the simplicity of his plan.

That night was their night to be at Larsen's, the night of the big pay day for mill workers and lumberjacks and longshoremen. The boys had agreed on the importance of their both being there on the first such occurrence. Both were afraid Mason Hart would willfully challenge their authority to keep the peace at the Cairo Inn. Sean had notified the Police Sergeant Campbell that tonight would be their first night at Larsen's and was hoping he could count on the cops cooperation.

The boys arrived early and Pete burned them each a huge steak for supper. Drinks were always on the house for them, but neither boy was drinking tonight. Coffee would have to do. The joint was packed with workers out to blow their hard earned pay on some hard drinking, fine eating and finer women. Many worked loading and unloading supplies for the Union Army, as Cairo was a major

staging area on the junction of two great rivers. Others worked in logging or in the many lumber mills powered by the rivers and their tributaries. They were hard men, strong and dirty and unschooled. They didn't come to the Cairo Inn for conversation and most did not intend to take away any money when they left. Whiskey ran freely. There were roulette, poker, and dice games. It was a normal occurrence for several fights to break out on any given night, but Pete Larsen was usually able to steer the fights outside before much damage was done to his place.

A small band played and a female singer in a ruffly dress sang songs the men knew well and wanted to hear. Other scantily and suggestively dressed women worked the floor, obviously their favors were for sale and traffic to the upstairs rooms was heavy.

The police Sergeant was not in evidence, but neither was he interfering, so Sean figured they had free rein to conduct business.

There was a sudden subtle change in the sound of the place. A kind of cautious attention ran through the rooms and Sean knew that Mason Hart and his crew had arrived. There were eight of them, this time. This group was harder than most; If they wanted a woman, they took her. They drank their booze by the bottle and often remembered nothing of what they had done on any given payday. Much of their fun on any given night consisted of causing pain to someone and any or all of them might beat, stab, or shoot a man for the slightest pretense. Sometimes they might even knock each other unconscious, then rise to drink some more. Everyone said this group had been responsible for several deaths in the past year. Some said it was as many as eight. But no one said it out loud in Mason's presence. He himself had outdrawn and shot two men in the Cairo Inn, one fatally, in the past few months. Twice in the past year the rowdy group had caused more than five hundred dollars in damage to the Cairo Inn, including the destruction of an elaborately crafted framed mirror reportedly brought over all the way from Sweden.

Sean unobtrusively slid the Sharps from its cloth bag, nestling it easily in his lap and Preston unhooked the safety loop from the hammer of his pistol. Mason and his friends approached their table. Jake moved silently and cautiously from behind the bar and several women and men moved away.

"Well,"Mason said, "So you two are the big 'protectors'. Don't look like much to me. Anyway, we aren't lookin' for any trouble, we just came to have some fun. Ain't that right boys?" A chorus of 'yeah's and 'that's right's answered.

"Well, in that case," Sean responded. "You won't mind leaving your guns behind the bar with Jake until you leave."

"I think we'll keep our guns," Mason replied. "Someone might try to hurt us." Preston rose slowly to his feet, his gun hand resting on the table. Mason watched Preston's hands. Preston watched Hart's eyes.

The noisy crowded saloon had grown suddenly silent. All eyes watched the scene unfold.

When he had risen fully, Prest held out his hand. 'Mister Mason Hart, Ah presume. Ah am Preston Dalton and this here is ma patner, Sean Mc Fadden. We have been employed by da owner a dis here establishment to keep da peace and protect propety. Now Ah know ahll y'all gentlemen jus wanna have a li'l fun. Ya won need yer guns fer dat, so why don' ya coperate and jes meander on over and

give 'em to Jake. He'll make sure ya'll gets 'em back afore ya leave."

Hart ignored the outstretched hand. Leaning toward Preston, he issued a challenge. "Why don't we just see if you are fast enough to make me."

Before he could finish the sentence, the end of Preston's gun barrel was pressed firmly against his nose. Mason's eyes got large and Prest could see a short flash of fear in them before they hardened once again. His men started to move for their weapon's, but Preston shouted "Don't! If anyone draws, this gent'eman's nose is gonna be ahll ova dat wall over yonder." To emphasize Preston's point, Sean slid the carbine from his lap and laid it on the table.

Cautiously Sean rose, reaching out and slipping Hart's gun from its holster and laying it on the table. Now gentlemen, if you would all be so kind, unbuckle your gun belts and lay them here on the table," gesturing with the rifle. "Jake, come over, its okay now. Come and pick up these weapons and give these gentlemen a slip to redeem them when they leave. And Jake, give each of these gentlemen a drink on me. Welcome to the Cairo Inn, gentlemen. Enjoy yourself. Thank you for your cooperation in making the Cairo Inn a safe place to enjoy."

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, though Hart and his boys kept up a loud mocking of Sean and Preston, hoping they could provoke something and challenging their manhood when they could not. As Sean had counted upon, once the initial challenge had passed the rowdy workers were far more interested in liquor and women than in risking their lives for a point. About midnight when the crowd had died down and most of Hart's men were passed out or upstairs, Preston approached Sean.

"Kin you handle things okay from here on out? If it's awrite, Ah'm goin' over ta Mike's ta see what's goin on over dere." When Sean responded in the affirmative, Prest continued, "Ah'll see ya later."

"Oh, Preston," Sean said loudly enough for everyone to hear, including Mason Hart who sat weaving drunkly on his chair across the room, "Don't forget about breakfast at The Depot at ten in the morning. I will be up and about before you, so don't forget, ten A.M. Sharp. It's important, don't be late! And don't forget to bring Cassandra along, I promised to buy her breakfast as well, remember?"

"Okay Partner, ten o'clock. Ah'll be there. You can count on me."

Sean sat for a time in the rapidly emptying bar as they cleaned up and closed down for the night. Jake returned Hart's gun belt and the asshole tottered out the door. Sean called out,"I'll have a drink now Jake. Just one, so make it a good one. Some of that good French brandy please. When Jake brought the drink, Sean surreptitiously palmed him a two dollar gold piece. "Good job tonight Jake. You kept your cool. You are a good man to have around in a pinch and I appreciate your support. I suspect, though, that we have not seen nor heard the last from Mr. Hart."

"Thank you Mr. McFadden. And you are right. Hart's type is always around, always trying to make trouble. I would watch my back if I were the two of you. He didn't take too kindly to being made a fool of, especially by Preston. From the look of Mr. Dalton you wouldn't think he was so dangerous, but he really is handy with a gun. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so fast." Laughing, "I'd give a five dollar gold piece to see that look on Hart's face again, with that gun barrel against his nose. I don't think he believed Preston was so fast until he experienced it for himself. Anyway you have a good night. And thank you for makin' my job easier.

Sean arrived to find their home empty and dark. He wasn't sure that he was going to be able to handle many nights like this. But what was he to do? He had hoped that he would have had the comfort of Prest's body one more time before the fateful work of the coming day, but it was apparently not to be. Well, it wasn't his fault. He would dearly miss Preston's small tight body enfolded in his. A moment of red-hot anger flashed through him. But then his rational mind reassumed control. Before tucking in for the night, he sat at the desk in the office part of their home and ran through the plans for the following morning. He had told Preston at least three times, stressed the importance of timeliness. He was sure Prest would show up, would be emerging from the front of this very house at ten this morning. He had rechecked his access to his spot on the hotel roof. His rifle was zeroed in perfectly. Every thing was planned, set up perfectly. He could not fail, dared not fail. And after tomorrow, then they would know, then every one would know, that he was not a man to be trifled with. If things didn't go as planned, if they wanted to stop him, arrest him, well, he had plans for that too. His alternate plan was set up with Li'l Mike, who would help him escape north on the route of the underground railroad.

He fell asleep with his hand wrapped around his hefty cock. He slept soundly, even though he dreamed of perfect white bodies and large square hands touching him, and little mulatto girls weeping beneath him.

In the morning, Preston was lying beside him snoring lightly and smelling of the rose water Cassandra was so fond of wearing, but he slipped out of bed without waking the boy, washed and slipped out of the house, carrying his carbine and wearing his belt with his new revolver. He went to the Cairo Inn for coffee and ham and eggs, then worked his way slowly, checking carefully so as not to be seen, climbed the makeshift ladder he had fashioned at the rear of the Two Rivers Hotel and took up his position across from where Preston would emerge. This early, he would have time to relax and smoke an undetected cigar. He settled in place and waited. He had nothing to do for nearly an hour. This was going to be so sweet, so just. They had it coming. He could not stop grinning and hoped it would not affect his aim. He hated having to act as judge, jury and executioner, hated violence, but he could see no other way it could be done. And it had to be done. Even for his own safety, it had to be done!

After a while, he saw Cassandra arrive for work. That was as planned. He had made sure that Preston was taking her to breakfast. At Ten sharp they would emerge. He waited. He slid the nose of the carbine out onto its resting place, firm and secure to allow for maximum accuracy. He drew his pistol and laid it next to him on the roof. He would not trust himself to draw it quickly if he needed it. He was not a gun fighter like some people. He would have it ready if he should need it.

He waited. After a bit he saw the young Negress enter the office. He could see, just barely, the forms of the two of them moving inside. Their shadows moved toward the door. They were coming out. His finger slid to the trigger.

end of chapter 6