Damn Loot!

"Paw, that coot is wearing our benefactor’s hat!"

“Crimany, son! How the heck do you see that?”

"I didn't see it, I guessed it. His would never have fallen to the ground because he has a string that keeps it tied under his chin. He put it on there so his hat wouldn’t keep falling off on account of his hobbling.”

"I think you might be right. Only Studd would be dumb enough to show off his stolen hat to the first drifter in sight. Well, ‘bout now I’m thinkin’ the town frolic is a sure thing.”

The incognito scout sat on the ground with his back against a planked wall pretending to rest. After some time, he slowly got up and disappeared behind a barn. Some moments later, a fire broke out. He must have hidden some burning fuel in his leather pouch. That must have also been the signal. While the townspeople came out into the open to try to tame the flames, the group of outlaws galloped toward them. They rode in like a wave of death and caught the townspeople by surprise, taking out anyone brave enough to draw their weapon. A few anxious moments were enough for the few surviving inhabitants of Little Pit to have been disarmed and lined up for interrogation. Of the assailants, only one seemed to have cashed in his chips.

Meanwhile, some of the outlaws began raiding homes to avoid being shot from behind. The risk was real. In fact, before they could react, someone had fired a couple of shotgun blasts from Sean's house. The first of the two made its mark, taking out another of the invaders.

“Only six left now”, said Hugg.

“Wrong... You didn’t count me.”

Clack

The unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked sent his words from the tip of his tongue down to the pits of his bowels.

Father and son both put their hands in the air and slowly turned around. A thin man with hate in his eyes was pointing the business end of a shotgun at them. With a barely-there mustache and a grin like a fox in a hen house, his appearance was a real slap in the face. He was, however, on the right end of the barrel, so all said and done he had the upper hand. Hugg, making the best of his predicament, contented himself with a smirk and spat on the ground.

“I came up this hill to get a bird’s eye view of the plain. Y’know, we don’t like surprises,” he tilted his head back, “Lo and behold, look who I find perched on top – two ugly ass buzzards ready to dine with the corpses.” The man ran his tongue across his lips. “C’mon! What you just standing there for? Unbuckle them holsters and throw ‘em under my feet. Any funny business and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”

Their choices were few. They had to do what he said.

“All right now, maggots, kick that shootin’ iron over the cliff.”

It wasn’t just some old, shoddy gun, it was a buffalo gun, and a damn good one at that. Hugg hesitated for a moment. He instinctively looked for reassurance in his son’s eyes, but found none, as the boy was pointedly looking down at his feet. It was as though the man had asked him to drop his drawers. Without his precious Jagg he felt naked as a worm. The forefinger of his tormentor began to put pressure on the trigger and once again, Hugg had no choice but to do what he was told. He sent his weapon - his beloved weapon - to its violent end, smashed on the rocks below. If he got out of this alive he would first have to find himself another rifle, or at least a decent pistol.

"Come on, gentlemen! Let’s go join the others down there. You sure don’t wanna miss the party!” Badfinger realized he despised the man’s voice even more than he despised his face.

“You didn’t happen to’ve run into a gunslinger on horseback in the past few hours, did you? We’ve been searching for him all across the desert. He just means so much to us,” said the ruffian during their descent. He walked a few steps behind them keeping them at gunpoint.

In situations like this, it’s always best to keep one’s mouth shut. Both hostages stayed silent.

“I get it - you don’t want to sing. On the other hand, I always thought vultures loved to be heard. It’s pretty sad to have to go to a party without being able to serenade the crowd. But don’t worry; once we’re down there I’ll introduce you to Lane, and I guarantee you he knows how to make you sing like finches.”

Yep, he talked too damn much. In any case, Hugg felt his blood freeze in his veins at the prospect of being tortured.

The day had started out to be the best day he had ever had, but now it was on its way to conclude as the worst one.

BANG!

“You two! Turn around slowly.” That most certainly was not the same irritating voice as before.

Their former captor stared wide-eyed at the sky from a rocky shelf several feet down from the path. It seemed that his look of surprise was due in part to the hole in his forehead. A man with an icy glare and fairly well-groomed travel clothes peered at them from behind a Colt. He had another revolver on the left side of his belt, along which a battery of pre-loaded charges were visible. The guy was the very picture of a lawman.

"I'm Cardigan Smith. Texas Ranger. Are you going to tell me what you were doing in the company of that criminal?” He was a lawman, and a dangerous one. He wasn’t the usual high-ranking windbag. He was a Ranger. That meant that he was a skilled gunman or a former bounty hunter who had chosen to work for the state. The operative arm of the law.

"Thank you for saving us, Mr. Lieutenant. We’re nothing but poor pikes tryin’ to find a living in this cursed land," Hugg began.

"I'm not a Lieutenant... I wish. Anyhow, please continue.”

“Yessir. We live close by, in Little Pit. Up yonder is where I buried my beloved wife and my other son when they died of smallpox.” Hugg pointed to a nearby hill where he knew that there were two mounds without an inscription. The real story was that bodies of his spouse and his offspring had been left to rot in their old house in Louisiana. After having committed the crime he skipped town and was on the dodge. He pretended to choke back a sob, wiped away a non-existent tear and continued, “Today would’ve been our anniversary. Sixteen years. So me and m’boy came up here to spend some time with ‘em. When it started to get dark we headed back home, but then we saw smoke coming from our town. Fearin’ the worst, we climbed this here mountain to figure out what was goin’ on. That’s when that man attacked us. He kept askin’ us about a gunslinger, but I didn’t know what he was talkin’ about. We didn't know what to tell him, so he said he'd take us to some person named Lane who would make us talk." A half-truth was always better than an outright lie.

“Lane... Lane Sadlann, I suppose,” He said to himself. “There we go - finally!”

"What? I don’t get it." Hugg tried to speculate.

"No, nothing that concerns you. I have to thank you, though. You saved me from having to retrieve the body of that outlaw over there. Now I don’t have to, ‘cause I've already gotten what I needed. Your faces don’t seem to be on any wanted flyer, at least not from what I can recall. Anyhow, I still don't fully trust you, so you’ll have to come with me to my company’s camp. If you are who you say you are, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Where did you leave your horses?”

“We don’t have no horses, Sir. How great it would be to have one. We could cross this desert in a few hours.”

“I suspected as much. Damn! It would take us too long to get to the others at Cactus Cross.” The man was cautiously aware that they could be in cahoots with the band of outlaws he was hunting. Therefore, in order to avoid any unpleasant surprises, he would have preferred to take them with him. Everything appeared to be pointing to the contrary, but in outlaw country one could never be too careful. On the other hand, he intended to get back to his company’s camp as soon as possible to get the necessary reinforcements. If he was any bit the bounty hunter he once was he would have taken them out at even the slightest suspicion just to get them out of his way. However, he was a man of the law now, so he had to put aside the more cynical part of himself.

"Ok son, tie your father to that tree," he ordered, throwing him a rope. When he saw the young man hesitate, he added, "Don't worry. It's just a precaution. I have to do something first, then I'll come back and untie you. Look, I'll give you my blanket to keep the chill off."

Regrettably, Weasel did as he was told.

"Now, I have to tie you up too. I suggest that you don’t do anything stupid or try to take off.”

“I’m not takin’ off! I’m not leavin’ my Paw,” he whined, emulating the insufferable voice of Denner, the only other kid in Little Pit.

The lawman put his gun back into his holster and took him by the arm to tie him up. Without warning, Weasel planted a booted heel on his foot and tried to escape, but to no avail. The man's grip was firm. The only thing he got out of it was a curse, but it bought his father the one distracted moment he needed bash the man’s head in with a rock. The boy was skilled at knot-tying, and the false knot was his specialty.

“Did you kill him?”

“He look alive to you?” The ill-fated man’s eye was dangling from its socket.

"You could’ve just knocked him out. After all, he did just save our hides.”

“Well, since you’re so grateful to him, it’ll be you who’ll go warn his buddies since he won’t be able to. In these parts not many folks know who I am, but that don’t mean there’s nobody can identify me.” If the Rangers could take out the outlaws, it would eliminate the threat.

1 This side of the law.

Damn it, his old man could have gone a little easier on him!

Before sending him off to approach the Rangers, poor Finn’s father had practically beaten him to a pulp in order to make his appearance more effective and believable. He probably didn’t intend to go so hard on him, but just as appetite increases the more one eats, so the oaf grew a liking to pummeling the boy.

The general idea wasn’t bad at all. While many Rangers were corrupt and opportunistic, it was still hard to find one who wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to run to the aid of a poor, helpless boy who had been beaten senseless by outlaws. In the end, they were still just jackasses with a hero complex. Weasel struggled with the idea that adults could be so ignorant. He wasn’t necessarily surprised by the naivety as much as he was surprised by the fact that they had survived for so many years in spite of it.

He arrived, winded and wheezing at Cactus Cross camp, but it was no act; he really was in bad shape. He fell forward and raised a hand, pleading for help, then unceremoniously face-planted into the dirt.

There were eight men. Right away one of them lifted him up and poured some water in his mouth to revive him.

“Hey, kiddo, what happened to you?” The man was massive and ungracious, but it was easy to see that he was trying to be gentle with him. Bingo! Here was the first aspiring hero.

He slowly opened his eyes and pretended to not be able to focus properly on his surroundings, then gave a couple of coughs and began to babble unintelligibly.

“Come on, kid! Take another sip and talk slowly. Do you, or do you not, want us to help you?”

“They’re gonna kill everybody! Maw! Paw!” He said, rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

“Who’s gonna kill everybody? Where?”

“They lit the barn on fire! Gunslingers, on horseback. They shot to kill! They lined us all up in front of Joe’s old saloon. I cried and they beat me!” He had to pretend to be recovering from the shock by slowly coming to his senses and giving sensible information.

"Damn, son! Speak up, now! You’re safe here, we’re the Law. Can you at least tell us where you came from?"

"From Little Pit, Sir!" He pulled himself together and breathed from his nose. "I was on the ground in terrible pain. Sean tried to shoot those bad guys from his attic and I went and hid in the saloon’s crawlspace. Then I crawled out the other side and ran off into the desert."

“Much better! Now try to give me some more information about them, boy. It’s important! Any detail you can give us will help. For starters, did you hear them say any names?”

“There was a guy they called Lane. He was the meanest; he beat up lots of people. He’s the one who did this to me.”

“Lane, you say? Very good, boy!” In return for his story, he got a tender pat on the head that made his stomach turn. “Hey! You guys hear? I think the kid may have found “the Butcher” Sadlann. Seems like Cardigan was right all along. Let’s go!”

"Well why didn’t Cardigan come and tell us, then?" Objected a blond man who had been dozing near the campfire using a saddle as a pillow. He didn’t seem to want to inconvenience himself too much by getting up.

"They could’ve taken him out. Or worse, they might’ve taken him prisoner to interrogate him. Admit it, you’re flunking out because Sadlann gives you the willies!" He antagonized the blond man.

“Hey, watch your mouth! I’d break your face if I didn’t have to get up to do it. I fully intend to get another couple hours of sleep. Besides, geezer, yesterday we busted our asses to follow the trail and now you expect me to saddle up again before dawn. Loyalty is all fine and good, but for the beans the government gives us, I ain’t in no hurry.”

“Pull yourself together, Rick. Get your ass up! We ain’t got time to waste!” He insisted.

“Who the hell do you think you are to boss me around? Piss off!” The man turned away to go back to sleep.

"Come on! You’re gonna abandon us as soon as we get a chance to catch those bandits?"

"As soon as we get a chance to get shot by those bandits, more like."

"Gregory’s right, now is not the time to dawdle." The new voice which chimed in was one of authority.

“Yes, Captain! But since we’re not altogether certain how this bust is gonna go down, shouldn’t one of us first report to the nearest command? As a precautionary measure, I mean. Maybe while I’m at it, I can take this poor boy to the El Paso infirmary. Is it, or is it not, our duty to ensure the safety of the people?” said the blond.

"You don't have to tell me the process, and it damn sure ain’t up to you to decide who’s going to report to command. Your laziness borders on desertion. Anyway, if you care so much, by all means, coffee boiler, do as you like. Just bear in mind that this skulduggery is gonna cost you three weeks of salary, not counting the annulment of your rights to the bounty for those criminals.” The captain scribbled two lines on a piece of paper, crumpled it, and threw it at the man on the ground. "Deputy Richard Keen, hereby enclosed are your sanctions."

"Don’t you think you’re blowing this out of proportion, James? Three weeks! All right, you've convinced me. I’ll get up and come with you.” He sat up.

“That’s Captain Bluemann to you! Sorry, but it’s too late to change your mind. That was an order, not a suggestion. You will report back and so help me, if you don’t hand over those sanctions, I’ll write up a report that sends you straight to the gallows! I've had enough of you, good for nothing!” The man was purple.

“You commanders sure don’t hesitate, do you? Scribble down two lines on a piece of paper and a poor Ranger loses several tens of dollars in salary. All this, after days of hard work!” Rick complained.

“Quit your bellyaching and remember what I said! Men, rattle your hocks and get going! The law calls!” The captain mounted his horse, spurred him on and ventured off into the desert followed by the others.

"Scalawags!" The blond man spat, passing a hand over his face. He got up very slowly, despite having a strong physique. He yawned, had a good stretch, and with a sudden leap, was on top of Weasel.

"So brat, spit it out!" He threatened, grabbing him by his unruly hair as though he were yanking a yucca plant out of the squalid earth.

"But Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about!" Finn made his voice tremble.

"Look here, little shit! You can pull the wool over the eyes of that windbag James or that nitwit Greg, but not me. First off, there’s no way you could’ve made it this far. Second, there ain’t a chance in hell those outlaws would’ve missed a little whelp like you right under their noses. Finally, I know how Lane Sadlaan works. He’s refined, a perfectionist. I would almost say he’s a master of pain. His victims are not simply beaten, but meticulously mutilated,” he said, his tone held a note of esteem.

"Didn’t you hear the officer?" contested Finn. The guy was not the sluggard he appeared to be. In terms of hostility, he was shaping up to be quite the adversary. If he wanted to win him over, he had to keep quiet and listen as much as possible in order to discern his intentions and act accordingly. He stayed silent a few moments.

“Snake got your tongue, huh? Looks like I nailed it! Alright then, I’ll help you out a little. Let’s see how much my theory proves true. You’re probably spooked, and I have a hunch as to why. I’ve come pretty close to the collecting the beans that you never would have dared to spill because you’re aiming to be a man of your word!” He was smart, but he was underestimating him. As such, he was making the mistake of talking too much. When playing poker, one must take care that the opponent does not see their hand. This the man knew very well, but what he did not realize was that his most worthy opponent was the brat which he currently had by the hair. In the land of jackals, an emaciated appearance and timid demeanor would have been taken for shortcomings, but the boy had learned to use them to his advantage in order to appear harmless.

“Let's begin. Lane and his men showed up at your town and lit it on fire. This I don’t doubt. Now, what’s not clear to me is the motivation behind it. Can’t you throw me a little bone? You do something to piss him off?”

At this point he had to conjure a half-truth, otherwise he would start to be suspicious.

“Before they got there, someone else showed up. He had a nice hat and nice boots. Also, as soon as he got to the watering hole, he pulled out what looked like a gold pocket watch and checked the time. Studd thought he could have other valuables with him, so he shot him to get his stuff. They did end up finding some valuables on him, which caused a whole heap of people to rush in and grab for ‘em. Not long after, the man’s cronies arrived. There were nine of ‘em and they did everything I told you before."

“Lookie there, now the story is starting to make some sense! They feared they had the law on their trail in Little Pit, so they sent one of them to check; perhaps the least known face. Evidently, the guy didn't know that it’s never a good idea to show a pack of hungry dogs a nice, juicy steak. Well, since you’ve started to cooperate, I’ll help you out a little. In my opinion, you were sent here by Sadlann's band. They forced you to put on this little show to set a trap, and to make sure you don’t do anything funny, they’re holding your family hostage. Am I right?” It was clear that Blondie had been able to draw the most plausible conclusion from the clues at his disposal. A battered boy was the perfect bait. Ironically enough, his father had also thought the same thing. Fortunately, there was no evidence that would lead the man to conclude that one of the criminals had escaped by pocketing all the loot. Plus, the truth was even more arbitrary and beyond believing than anyone could invent.

Finn's silence was taken as a hesitating affirmation. If the answer was no, he would have responded immediately. He wanted to give the impression of wanting to talk, but being scared to do so. It was working.

"Here, see... I said it. You didn't spill anything.“ His grip on his hair was matting it. "So let's keep playing this little game. If you are here, it means that someone told them where we were. Did you see any hostages?"

Silence was the best way to make him keep exposing his cards and it was exactly what Weasel kept doing.

"Mighty fine!" Although the cop hadn’t received an answer, it was clear that he had been convinced that they had captured Cardigan and made him talk. "Now listen up, boy. I could still make it to my troop, warn them and stop the ambush."

"No! I’m begging you, if something goes wrong they would kill Paw, Maw and Emily!” That was the icing on the cake.

The officer continued, "Or... I could leave my colleagues to their inauspicious fate, outnumbered and caught off-guard. I don’t think they would come back in one piece.” Blondie had sardonically placed his bets in favor of the outlaws. Reality, however, was quite different than what he was envisioning. They were not outnumbered, since the bandits had suffered the loss of two other men in addition to the one Blondie also was aware of. Then there was the fact that there was no trap at all, and the outlaws would be the ones caught off-guard by the Rangers.

"I'll do anything, but I don't want my family to die! We are nothing but poor peasants.” Finn screwed up his face into a pleading look.

“Fine. Then go and tell that big man down there that the rock he’s hiding behind is too small for him. Then tell him I know everything but I’m willing to take a step back and not interfere. In exchange, I want three thousand dollars or equivalent. According to my estimates, the figure should correspond to about half of their portion of the stolen goods. If the guy they killed in Little Pit had some valuables with him, they’ve probably already divvied up the loot. So, you can’t tell me they have nothing. Oh! Also tell him that if he doesn’t agree to my offer, that I’ve got plenty of munitions that will agree for him.” That rogue was not just slick, he had an eagle eye. Hugg had lurked almost a thousand yards from the camp. It was an impressive distance. Although several rifles exceeded that range, few were accurate enough and there were even fewer marksmen capable of such precision. Since his Jacob Hawken was three sheets to the wind, he might as well be out of range.

“Three... three thousand dollars?” Not even the most simple-minded wretch would have considered such an inconceivable figure.

"You tell him exactly what I told you. Three thousand dollars to turn a blind eye. Well, three thousand dollars, plus you as a bonus. I don't think my fool companions are going to make it, but I have to protect myself from any unforeseen circumstances. So, I still need to report to command, turn in this paper, and take you to the infirmary. Now, kid, if you let slip any of this and I’ll not only kill you, but I’ll go to Little Pit and take out your whole family if they’re still standing. It won’t be hard to find them. I know your sister’s name. Emily, right? Think about it - who will they believe anyway? Some little rat-faced spawn of a reject of society, or an upright man of the law?”

"No, no, sir, I won't tell anyone! But actually, I'd like to go back to my town.” He and his father had far more important business to attend to and it wouldn’t be good for them to be seen in the company of a Ranger.

"Look, it’s essential to me that I take you to the El Paso infirmary as soon as possible. Then you can make yourself scarce. In fact, if you disappear, as far as I'm concerned, it's even better." He shoved him roughly in Hugg’s direction and barked, “Move! The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can get back to your hokum.”

The best way to profit is from a privileged position in the middle of the crowd. He had heard this saying from old Kent, the so-called bandit extraordinaire. Maybe he had been, but if he met his fate lying face down in Little Pit dust, extraordinaire he was not. At any rate, the motto fit perfectly with the revelation that Finn had just had: being on the side of the law required one to take possession of dirty money from time to time, but at the same time it allowed you to keep some of it. Operating with due caution, of course. Better than staying in that dung heap of a town waiting for some fool to show up with a pittance in his pocket. Blondie, keeping his eyes wide open and closing them only when the moment seemed fit, was about earn himself three thousand bucks and who knows how many other times he had already done it.