Chapter Five
Mike Wesson and his gang had just cleaned out the Adamsville National for $15,000. The town had about six-hundred people and they did have a sheriff—did. Not any longer. When they made their escape, the sheriff, along with half a dozen townspeople tried to stop them but when Mike put a bullet in the sheriff’s chest, the other folks scattered. Now, they were on their way to Brimstone Gulch, where they had one of five places they could hide out.
Two miles south of there was a smaller town where they would go to drink and raise hell since they had no law, but they did have women, and Mike made sure his men got what they wanted, or else he’d shoot a son of a bitch dead without so much as a blink of an eye. Fear has a way of getting the respect you demand.
Looking back on the last several months, Mike’s thoughts would sometimes go back to the future, a future he would never see again. There was one thing he did miss and that was good music. Here, the best he could hope for was maybe some Mexican or stray cowpoke playing a guitar or piano, and none of it had rhythm. If nothing else, Mike was a Blues man. In this era, it was all country, and he couldn’t stand that nasal twining.
Other than that, he had all he wanted here. Steal when he wanted, and no cops to hunt him down. No 911 calls from nosey or do-gooder neighbors, and since fingerprinting hasn’t been invented yet, he could leave his gloves off and touch anything he wanted without worrying that it would come back to haunt him. Yeah, Mike was content and in control with nothing to worry about.
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Adamsville has a train depot. The train though, only stops long enough to drop passengers and mail off, pick up any new passengers, then takes off. Ten minutes is about all it takes.
On this day, a man stepped off a train and headed back to one of the freight cars to get his horse, Midnight. Once Midnight was led down the ramp, he reached up inside the car and pulled out the blanket and saddle.
Throwing the blanket over Midnight’s back, he then swung the seventy-pound leather saddle over his back next. Grabbing the cinches underneath, he pulled them taut, and then belted them in.
Walking, holding the reins loosely. Midnight by his side, the first place he went to was the sheriff’s office. Tethering Midnight to a hitching rail, he stepped inside the office and saw a man sitting behind a small desk, sleeping.
“Excuse me, sheriff? Sherriff!”
The man in the chair stumbled awake, more frightened by the sound of the words.
“Yeah, mister. What’cha want?”
He didn’t see a tin star on the man. “You the sheriff?”
“Sorta. Ben Hanson got hisself killed a few days ago during a bank robbery. I was put in his place. Why?”
“I’m looking for this man.” He handed him a piece of folded paper.
Opening it, the acting sheriff said, “I know this man. He’s the one who kilt the sheriff. Cody Martin.”
“Then Martin was here a few days ago?”
“Let’s see; today’s Thursday and the sheriff got hisself kilt Friday if I recollect.” He started counting on his fingers when he said, “So, that would make it seven days ago he was here.”
“Any idea which direction he was headed?”
“Beats me, mister. There’s a lot of open territory out here. Could be anywhere.”
He thought, seven days. This is the closest he’s been to Cody Martin yet.
“But if it helps at all he went north but after that, it’s anyone’s guess where he went from there.”
“Thanks. Thanks for your help.” He started to turn to go to Midnight.
“Hey stranger, what’s yer interest in this Martin fella?’
Monte turned and with steely ice-blue eyes he said, “He killed my boss and several good men and when I find him, I’m going to kill him.”
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That very night, Mike was in a rundown, cheap and smelled too much like stale perfume and sweat boarding room with a Spanish girl maybe twenty. She did all she could to please him and he really liked what she did for him. Of course when she opened her mouth and talked, he didn’t understand one word she said.
Tonight, it was about doing what any real man would do. Fuck a woman until she couldn’t walk straight, then get some sleep. After all, tomorrow, he and the boys will ride over to Grand Island and check out their bank. It was time to get back to work.