Horrible Harvest

“Miller City,” Craig said, as we stood dog-tired behind a vein of boulders, looking at a small square of buildings. The men posted to keep watch over the tiny town was dead – And they was of the age to be called men. The closer we got to Miller, the older his lines of defense got. Lucky for us, they spent the night drinking it up and paying little to no attention to the threats they was tasked with preventing. “That’s what Mr. Miller calls it. It’s got a saloon and whorehouse. A store, a church and such, too. Whatever he gives in pay, goes right back to him in whisky and women – That’s what I heard the older fellas say, anyway. I bought mostly hard candy and pickled eggs from the store. S’pose that money went to Mr. Miller, too – Now that I think about it.”

“And Miller – Where do we find him?”

Craig pointed toward the group of buildings. “You see that fourth building there – Next to the one with yellow flowers on the stoop – To the left. That’s the sheriff’s office. You’ll find Mr. Miller there most days. Sleeps somewheres else.”

“Miller made himself sheriff?”

“Sheriff, mayor, judge, preacher – Whatever comes with authority, Mr. Miller holds the title. Mr. Stockton keeps the law. That is to say, he does all the work of a lawman. Mr. Miller holes up inside most days. Tends to his sores.”

“Sores?”

“Got a terrible rash and bumps on most of his visibles. Scratches himself silly. It’s an unpleasant sight. Pus and swollen bulges all about his face – One atop another.”

“What about Charles?” I asked. “Where would he be?”

“Charles?”

“Charles Tennyson.”

“Mr. Tennyson? He’s a good eight miles west of here. He’s got a homestead. We don’t see him much. He keeps to himself, mostly. He and his family. Comes in whenever he needs supplies.”

“Family?”

“He’s got him a wife and boy.”

I was cast dumb to hear that Charles had him a family. I feared for them. I knew what kind of man’d raised him, and I know’d the hell he had in him. I felt a more desperate than ever to find him and kill him ‘fore he put any more pain and suffering on them.

“Appears dead,” Douglas said. “The town – No one’s milling about.”

“Got a few hours before things will kick up,” Craig said. “Not much to rise early for unless they’re getting geared up for a raid, but they just come back from a push into the Northwest territory.”

“Then we move now,” Tate said. “How many men can we expect in town?”

“Eighty – Maybe a little more – or a Little less. Can’t say for certain. More than you got going in, that’s for sure.”

“Where will we find the bulk of’em?” Douglas asked.

“Miss Colby’s – The whorehouse – Opposite the church there. The rest’ll be found here, there, and everywhere. Most sleep wherever they take their last drink.”

“Stockton?” Douglas asked.

“He’ll be in the sheriff’s office. He and Preacher Dan, they’s the only ones stirring this time of day. After a raid, he logs the take. Everything that was plundered – From a piece of string to gold bars – is writ down in Mr. Miller’s ledger. Anything ever goes missing, Mr. Stockton and his men – Deputy enforcers they call themselves – They scour every inch of land, men, women, and child looking for it. God help you if you’re found with stolen goods.” He pointed to the gallows behind the sheriff’s office. “Seen more hangings than I care to remember. Hung one boy for swiping an old, ragged, ivory hairbrush. He only took it because it was one like his momma used to brush her hair with. He didn’t never use it. He just wanted something that reminded him of his momma. He got hung for that.”

“Then it’s the sheriff’s office,” Tate said. “We ease into town on foot and take out Mr. Stockton first.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Where will we find Mr. Miller this early in the morning?”

“The bank there – Next to the church. He’s set up a bed in the vault. Sleeps there. Locks himself in pretty much from sunset to sunrise. He’s of the mind that everyone wants to steal from him all the time. So, he doesn’t like to keep his treasure unattended. He’s got six guards posted inside. Two at the back door – ” A tall, skinny man stepped around the corner of the building, adjusting his gun belt. “And that fella – Preacher Dan, he watches the front door. Always Preacher Dan at the front door in the morning.”

“Stockton first – Then the bank,” Douglas said.

“Then Charles,” I added.

He nodded. “Then Charles.”

I moved away from the boulders and stood tall. The boys we’d collected along the way sat in the grass, waiting for direction. They was all scared and small – too damn small for what was to come, but they was needed. They was to be my decoys. That’s why we put in time collecting them. They was the chaos that’d give us cover. I looked to Tate, and he give me a glare, mean as could be that look.

Turning to Craig, I said, “Go.”

“Go? Where?”

“Out of here. Back East. You’re in charge of getting every one of these boys back home.” I reached in my haversack and pult out a folded wad of money. “Take this. Keep it out of sight. Use it for your travels.”

He slowly reached for the money and took it from me.

“We can go? Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

He hesitated ‘fore asking a question I’d ask if’n I was him – same age and same situation – I’d wanna know. “Why?”

I give a smile and said, “Because that’s the way of things.”

He give back the smile and then run to the other boys.

Tate walked up on me. “I told you.”

“You didn’t tell me a goddamn thing,” I said. “Look at them. They’d be more of a hurdle than help.”

“You tell yourself what you want. I know the truth.”