The Gun & The Whip

The Questor walked down the stairs to the saloon, the party had gone on for hours and there was plenty of evidence of the results. Bodies were laying in corners, a few bleary eyed trailhands were still wandering aimlessly around the main room and even the bartender looked like he was two sheets to the wind. The only exception was a poker game going on in the corner, a girl moving back and forth between the table and the bar bringing bottles and Rog sitting on the stool in the shadows under the stairs.

The Questor nodded to Rog, watching the man for a second and shaking his head again at the familiar face and mien that he couldn't quite place. He strolled over to the bar and asked for a glass of water, then moved slowly toward the poker table. He sat down right outside the small circle of men playing and watched for a few minutes until one of them stood up with a curse, threw his cards on the table and staggered out the door. The house dealer glanced at him as he rose, and nodded when he looked questioningly at the empty seat. A reach into his black jacket pocket and he pulled out a leather wallet from which he removed a small stack of bills. The dealer reached for the money, and the Questor suddenly slid his hand out and placed it on top of his hand. He looked the dealer in the eye as he peeled off four twenty dollar bills, a rarity in a town so small and put the rest back in his wallet. Chips were passed, cards were dealt and everyone settled down to poker.

After just a few hands the Questor noticed one man who seemed to be having quite a run of luck. He was winning three out of five hands so most of the players didn't notice the trend. The game went on for some time like that, until the Questor figured out what was happening when he saw the dealer slip a card from the bottom of the deck into the man's draw pile. The Questor watched and played a couple more hands and then pulled his chips back to himself, cashed them in and strolled over to the bar.

He watched the game from afar, the man continued to win and after drinking a little too much whiskey even began to boast about it. The other players began taking notice of his winning and it didn't take long before one of them caught the same glimpse of the dealer's underhanded pass that the Questor had seen. He kicked his chair back and stood up, pointing a finger at the dealer and the player and growled out "Cheaters!" A blazing fast draw from the gambler put a bullet in the man's shoulder and he fell to the ground shrieking.

"Ya better be careful who you call out boy," the gambler said. He pulled his money together and quietly rose from the table, one hand close to the gun while the other players sat quietly holding their breath. The gambler threw a twenty dollar bill on the table for the dealer and started to back out of the saloon, only to run into the Questor.

As he did, he spun quickly as a cat, one hand flashing to the gun and pulling it half from its holster when suddenly a steel hard hand stopped the draw. The Questor had not gone for his gun, opting instead to stop the gambler's draw. His other hand raised quickly and forming into a fist as it moved rapidly through the air smashed into the gambler's face. The Questor yanked the man around and literally threw him into the street through the doors, following quickly. He passed a horse tied outside and noticed a bullwhip on the pommel, lifted it and quickly uncoiling it snapped it out and at the gambler. As it struck the man and he drew back to lash him again a bullet hit the ground next to his feet, causing him to start and turn to see who the hell had shot at him. He trembled with rage as he noticed Rog standing there, Colt drawn and ready. He took a step toward the deputy and the man smiled and said, "friend, please don't take another step, I'd hate to shoot ya dead right here in the street."

The Questor's eyes burned and glared and then softened as he got his temper under control. The deputy was right, the gambler wasn't worth dying for and he said, "Thanks deputy, I was wrong and you saved me from makin' a fool of myself." He then turned to the gambler who was lying on the ground looking up at him with clear hatred. "Thank the nice deputy for saving your hide thief," He growled at the man. He then turned and placed the whip back on the pommel of the saddle, turned again and walked down the street to the hotel, up the stairs without a word and into his room. The door closed quietly and a collective sigh went up from the people in the street who had gathered around the event. Rog leaned down and grabbed the gambler's hand. As he pulled him up, he slipped a pair of handcuffs over his wrist and twisting his arm up behind him then cuffed the other wrist. The two of them walked down the street to the jailhouse, never noticing a pair of wild red eyes that watched them from an alley between the saloon and a general store. The eyes then turned to the hotel, marking the room the Questor had taken, turned back into the alley, and a second later a horse broke out into the street, a ragged man swinging into the saddle and heading away at breakneck speed. In the jailhouse, Rog pushed the man into the cell. As he removed the cuffs the gambler looked at him and laughed. "You made a hell of a mistake today deputy, I'd hate to be in your shoes come tomorrow."

The Questor cleaned his guns in his room, watching the street from his window. He really should leave town now.

The man from the alley rode fast away from the town. He looked back over his shoulder several times to make sure no one had followed him and then turned to the badlands in the north. The boss would want to hear what was going on in town, his little brother was now in jail and there was some gunslinger running around town like he owned the place. With the plans that were even now being put into place there would be hell to pay if someone messed things up. He rode hard for most of the day and finally turned into a blind canyon surrounded by high walls. The first lookout had seen him coming miles away and was waiting by a large boulder near the entrance to the canyon, the sights of a buffalo rifle fixed unwavering on his heart. The red eyed scoundrel barely nodded to him as he charged past and into the shadow of the walls. About a quarter of mile into the canyon he slowed and then spotted the entrance to the cave. Riding into the cave a short distance he suddenly came out into the sunlight in a small valley, a ranch house and two bunk houses with a corral and a few head of cattle roaming the pasture above the residence. He rode straight to the big house, jumped off the horse and hurried inside.

He burst into the main room and approached the boss. The boss was a big man, six foot three, muscular, with evil eyes and a sour look on his face. Most of the men who worked for him had never seen him smile, the few who had wished they hadn't. The things that made him smile were usually very grim and bloody and the worse it was the bigger the smile got.

The boss looked at the red eyed hand and said, "what the hell are you doin' back here and where's my brother?"

The man who had just arrived took off his hat and held it nervously in his hands, wringing it almost into a knot, "well boss, he's in jail and there's some stuff goin' on back in town you're gonna want to know about."

"Well spit it out you stupid sonofabitch," the boss growled.

The red eyed man told the boss everything, the man who had faced his brother down, had shot the town bully, and who had turned things upside down in the two short days he'd been in town. The boss asked what the man looked like, and as the feller described the Questor, the boss sat up ... his eyes suddenly cold as a rattlers and his lips twisted into a snarl that was terrible to behold. When the red eyed varmint mentioned the eyes and the Bowie knife the boss cursed out loud. A gun suddenly appeared in his hand and a second later the man lay dead on the floor in the big house. The boss rose from his chair and as he walked to the door he kicked the corpse not once but twice in the head. (Apparently he didn't subscribe to the don't kill the messenger adage.)

He stepped out onto the porch and looked around, spotting two of his best men he called them over. One of them was a grizzled old snake of a man, gray hair and a wild look in his eye, the other a young buck who moved gracefully like a puma his hand never more than a few inches away from his weapon.

A quick word with them, a description of the Questor, and an order to find out when the payroll stagecoach was expected in town and he turned back to the big house. As he walked into the main room he noticed that the servants had already removed the body and a young Spanish girl was scrubbing the floor. His hand reached down and grabbed her hair, then he dragged her into his bedroom. Moments later there were terrifying screams from the room that no one seemed to notice, they went on for a long time and then abruptly ceased.

In the meantime, the two men saddled their horses, gathered their weapons, and mounted up. There was work to do in town and the boss didn't like to be kept waiting.

The boss walked back out to the porch and watched their dust rise as they rode off. He uttered one word "Questor", then turned back to the house.

There was gonna be hell to pay in Dark River Landing.

The two gunslingers rode hard and fast to Dark River. Their horses were trembling with exhaustion by the time they reined in at the livery stable. The stable owner looked at them with trepidation, the last time they'd been in town there had been some trouble and he still had a scar on his face where the young one had slashed him with a quirt because the horses weren't ready to go when they were hurrying to get out of town. He asked them if they were going to be around long and all he got was a grunt and an ugly look in reply. He decided that he would water and feed them and leave them in a stall near the exit saddled and ready to go. The men walked first to the stagecoach office. The younger one stood outside by the door while the elder entered and had a discussion with the agent. A short time later he had the information he needed and tossed a small purse of coins on the desk before spinning and walking back outside.

The two men looked at each other, their eyes mirrors of dark rage and walked as one to the saloon at the end of town. They seemed to melt into the shadows and disappear from sight unless they were crossing a street or walking past a lighted window or doorway.

They didn't sense the Questor watching from his window. He noticed the way the two walked and the way their hands seemed to stay close to their weapons. He'd seen the rolling walk the older man had before; it reminded him of the docks back in San Francisco. The younger one was light-footed, his boots barely making a sound on the wooden planks, his eyes darting back and forth not nervously but carefully. These were dangerous men, and he had an idea why they were in town.

As they entered the saloon, all eyes turned to them and an eerie quiet fell over the room. The two men moved to a table in the corner facing the entrance and ordered a bottle of whisky with three glasses.

Rog watched from his post under the stairs. He'd dealt with these two before, there was no love lost between them. He'd run them out of town two months before for beating and scalping a farmer who'd had a little too much to drink and decided to lay his hands on the older one. He hoped like hell, but doubted seriously that they were just passing through and would have a couple drinks before the moved on.

The Questor in the meantime traveled to the livery stable, checked out the horses in the stall and was surprised to see a brand that reminded him of a gang leader back in San Francisco. It was a blackened lightning bolt, many of the dock gang members had it tattooed on them and a couple had even been branded. There had been several bloody battles over cargo and territory between his men and the gang before the leader had left town suddenly with his top men. The Questor shook his head, if these men were affiliated with that gang there was something going on in Dark River Landing that he'd missed. He turned and headed toward the saloon.

The Questor walked into the saloon, again a quiet falling over the room for a second and then a couple of waves from men at their tables, a nod from the bartender as he set a glass of whisky on the bar and a tentative smile from Alice who was serenading the patrons over by the piano. The Questor smiled a grim smile back, then turned and faced the bar all the while watching the room behind him in the mirror. He spotted the two men in the shadows quickly and noticed that their eyes were watching him with unwavering interest. He noticed Rog under the stairs watching the two men at the table with the same intensity. He wondered what Rog would do if there was a problem, who would he back? A few minutes passed and he sipped his whisky, watching the room the whole time. Then the young man leaned over to the older man and after a couple of heated words rose and headed through the crowd to the bar next to the Questor. He turned his head casually toward the Questor and then spoke. "Why don't you come on over to the table and have a whisky on us Mister?"

The Questor looked at him as if he were eyeing a rattlesnake, "now why on earth would I want to do that neighbor? Are we acquainted?"

The gunslinger laughed, a dark and ugly sound like gas escaping from a corpse that had sat in the sun too long. "No, we're not acquainted, but the man we work for is familiar with you." "Well, now, isn't that interesting." The Questor replied. "His name wouldn't be Slash McKee now would it?"

The young man hissed, "Mr. McKee to you friend, he doesn't take kindly to the name Slash." The Questor laughed, "Maybe he shouldn't have cut so many people back on the docks, and I thought I recognized his mark on your horses. Tell ya' what boy, you run on back to your boss and tell him that the Questor has come to town. Tell him that I don't know what he's up to, and don't much care. Tell him that the next time he sends a couple of rats down here to take care of his dirty work that I'm gonna send them back to him in a bag. You got that boy?"

The kid was fast, very fast. The gun was out, the hammer back and his finger tightening on the trigger faster than anyone could see. The big gun went off, someone in the crowd screamed and there was a stampede towards the door. The two men stood there for a second and then one fell. The Questor looked down at the kid on the floor, bent down and pulled the Bowie from his chest. A trickle of blood ran down his pant leg from where the bullet had creased his thigh. He cursed and turned toward the older man who had already stood and was walking quickly towards them. The Questor's eyes were almost black and the deep blue filled even the whites of his eyes. As the older man came close he sized up what had happened. His hands went up away from his gun and he nodded to the Questor without a word. In the background Rog lowered the Winchester that he had trained on the man when the ruckus had begun.

The older man bent down and looked at the kid, when he lifted his head he looked at the Questor with grudging respect. "That was my nephew Sir," he said. "The next time we meet I'm gonna have to kill you, but now I need to get the body back to the family."

The Questor watched him drag the boy out of the saloon by his legs. He hadn't wanted to kill another man, but it had been unavoidable. He noticed that the warm blood had trickled all down his leg and was beginning to pool in his boot. He decided he better have somebody take a look at it and turned to Rog who had come over to stand by him. "Y'all got a doctor in town," he asked.

Rog looked him up and down, "well we ain't got a doc but Miss Valerie is purty good at cleanin' up gunshots and throwin' a stitch or two into a man. Come on over to the jailhouse and I'll have someone fetch her."

A short time later the two men were seated in the jailhouse, a runner had been sent to get Miss Valerie and when she arrived she looked as if she'd been pulled from her bed. Her hair was wild and free, where girls normally had it up in a bun or tied back, hers was long and full and framed a face that could stop a man's heart as sure as a bullet. She wore a simple dress and when she bent over to look at the Questor's leg he could see "clear down to there", as the saying goes. She caught him looking and blushed. Then she ordered him to drop his slacks that she was going to need better access to the wound. It was the Questor's turn to blush, and the red face felt strange to the man. This girl was affecting him in a way that hadn't happened since he was a kid. He felt his cock hardening under the long johns and hoped she didn't notice it or that his shirt tail was long enough to cover it.

She giggled and his face turned redder yet. She worked quickly and had the wound tended to before he knew it. Her closeness was disturbing, her scent, the way her hair hung down her shoulders, the flare of her hips all served to arouse him. Of course his arousal was quite evident and he had to bite his lip to keep from growling when the back of her hand ran across the swollen head of his cock. She in turn bent her head lower, her eyes fluttering and a soft sigh escaping from her lips. Rog, who was watching from the door, chuckled. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying their discomfort. Soon she was done and gathering her skirts around her, she almost threw herself out into the street and down the road to the hotel. Rog watched her walk away quickly obviously flustered, and laughed out loud. Then he turned back to the Questor, "You know what my friend? I don't even know your name."

The Questor looked at him sharply, he was a very private man but this deputy had shown that he was a man to be trusted. "My friends call me Rick. Why don't you do the same?"

Rog smiled, and then stepped toward the Questor. "I'd be honored to call you what your friends call you Rick. Please, call me Rog." With the amenities out of the way, the Questor sat down and put his feet up. "Rog, I'm a newcomer to the town as you know. What can you tell me about it?"

Rog spent the next hour filling the Questor in on the goings on in Dark River Landing. He pointed out the major businesses in town and talked a bit about the founders and their vision. The train station was the latest step in making this a way station between San Francisco and the cities to the east like Dallas. The stagecoach that served the gold fields of California ran through here as well. All in all, Dark River was growing by leaps and bounds and opportunity was everywhere you looked.

The Questor then asked about the men who had been in town today, the gunslingers. He listened closely as Rog told him of a man who had come to town a couple of years before with a small group of hard cases. They'd had some trouble in town and then had moved out to a small ranch somewhere in the badlands. Since then there had been rustling, highwaymen stopping travelers and robbing them, and every once in a while someone in town got shot in a barroom fracas. Rog and the sheriff had yet to tie the man to any of this conclusively, but they were pretty certain he was the focal point for all the crime in the area.

Finally the Questor, with a shy smile on his face, asked about the girl. Rog smiled, it was obvious that his new friend was smitten, just as every other young man within a hundred miles. He filled the Questor in on the girl, she was an exceptional horsewoman, could drive cattle with the best of them, was a dead shot with a handgun or a rifle, and was the ultimate lady when she wanted to be. She was also the daughter of the most powerful man in town.