The Daughter - C.B. Cooper (red novels txt) 📗

took their places, and slowly started to dance around the large fire in an age old war ceremony. They held their weapons in hand, often holding them up in the air, as if they were asking the Great Spirit to bless and guide them on their journey.
The whole performace was captivating to watch. Sam and Zeb sat cross-legged in the grass, tapping their feet along with the beat and drinking fire water from dried gourds.
But Sam found himself looking over at Gracie quite often. She still sat with her back to them, facing the wind blown trees. If she knew there was a ceremony taking place behind her, she didn’t acknowledge it. She looked lonely sitting by herself, and Sam wondered what she was thinking about. Was she preparing herself for battle like the Comanche were, but in her own way?
The tempo slowly escalated, picking up speed as the flames from the fire rose higher and higher. The music and chanting seemed to get louder also, like they were performing inside of a cave, the beat pulsing and the singing bouncing off hard rock, the air around them vibrating.
Outside the protected circle, the trees blew fiercely, their branches whipping through the air faster and faster, and the trunks swaying crazily, but still, no wind touched the inside of the camp.
All of a sudden, an animal-like scream ripped through the night, shattering whatever force had held the wind at bay, and echoed off the hillsides. The fire in the center of the glade exploded, sending flames and sparks shooting a column of fire high into the air as the wind tore through the camp.
Sharps eyes snapped to where Gracie sat. He watched her rise, as if pulled to her feet by invisible strings, then she turned and stode towards the fire, her head tipped, her hat shielding her face. Her long dark hair billowed back at the sides and the long black duster she wore was ripped open by the wind. As she walked, she checked her guns one by one.
The double pistols strapped to her sides, their barrels as big a cannons, came out, then she spun the cylinders and shoved them back in place. Reaching behind her, she drew a sawed-off shot gun from the thong behind her back. Breaking open the barrels, she checked the cartridges then snapped the action shut and replaced it. Next, she moved her hands toward her lower back and pulled out two more guns; .36 caliber navy cap and ball revolvers.
Beside Sam, Zeb whistled, "Jesus, if she aint loaded for bear…"
As she approached, Buffalo Hump spoke a warning to his people in a calm manner, but his words made Sam's skin crawl. "Stay where you are, and don’t make any sudden movements. The demon is with her."
As she reached the inner circle of the camp, she lifted her head. Her eyes glowed in the dancing firelight, the flickering flames illuminated in the deep black pools. The features of her face seemed more angular and harsh, like they were chiseled out of stone, and when she spoke, her voice was hollow and rang with a timelessness, "It is time for them to die."
One squaw, who was already quaking with fear, cried out as she stumbled backwards.
Sam watched Angel's head snap towards the woman, as she pulled her right pistol with blurring speed, pointing it in the womans direction.
"No!" Sam shouted.
Angel's attention shot back to Sam.
"She's not the enemy." he said evenly.
Sam's heart seized as she smiled at him. Her teeth were pointy and razor sharp. "I know who the enemy is, Sam Sharp. And I know where he is. The people in that town were given proper warning, and any soul that still remains, is fair game as far as I'm concerned."
He swallowed and nodded, "Fair enough. Lets ride."

"Indians!" Jarvis cried for the hundredth time that day. "Where in the hell did those god-damned Indians come from!"
Coulter was so tired of listening to his boss rant and rave, he'd been at it all day. Running a tired hand down his face, he said for the hundredth time, "We're in Idaho, Boss. There's god-damned Indians everywhere."
"We're in Blackfoot and Flathead country. There aint no god-damned Comanche in Idaho!"
Coulter shrugged, "One Indians the same as the next."
Jarvis exploded, "Any fucking moron knows that the Comanche aint no regular Indian! Their a bunch of god-damned, blood thirsty, killers."
Coulters face hardened, he'd just about had enough. "If I were you, Boss, I'd be real careful about the way you talk to me. I might be the only one that stands between you and her."
Jarvis plopped down into his leather easy chair. Waving his hand, he told Coulter, "Oh, don’t mind me. I'm just strung out."
Scared shitless, is more like it, Coulter thought.
"It's just that everything was going so well before they showed up and ruined it."
Coulter assumed that he meant the hanging party, cause lord knows, nothing else was going right. So far, the woman had managed to kill seven men, including Adams, without a single solitary person actually seeing her. Except for Ike, who'd only seen her briefly and from far away. Whoever she was, he had to admit— she was good.
Jarvis was reclined back in his chair, running a finger around the rim of his glass thoughtfully, "You know that red headed gal over at the saloon?"
"Ruby?"
"Yeah, that’s her. I'd like you to go across the street and invite her to spend the night with me."
Coulter frowned, "I would, but she's not there."
"What!" Jarvis cried, sitting up looking at Coulter. "Where is she?"
"Where everyone else is— spending the night up on the hill."
"What are you talking about?"
"You remember that warning we got earlier? The one attached to Ned Grey's body? It said that anyone not wanting to be killed, better get the hell out of town before sundown." Looking past Jarvis to the darkened window, he nodded, "It's past sundown."
Standing, Jarvis crossed to the window. Normally at this time of night, the street was brightly lit, and there were people everywhere, walking here and there, a general boisterous mood in the air, but tonight the street was dark and deserted. And where loud noise and laughter usually drifted through town, now there was only silence, and the sound of the god damned wind.
Turning from the window, Jarvis raged on, "They all left! They let one little warning run them clear out of town?"
"I don’t know if it was the note, as much as it was Ned's mangled body."
Jarvis shivered as he thought about Ned's horse walking slowly through town on its own accord, its head hung low. It's rider was stone dead, and a bloody god-damn mess. "What do you think happened to him?"
Coulter sighed, spreading his hands, "Near as I can tell, he was skinned."
"Jesus Christ." Walking back to his seat, he asked Coulter, "How many men do we have left?"
"Fifteen, counting me."
"Fifteen! What happened to all of the miners I was paying?"
"All but two quit this afternoon."
Enraged, Jarvis picked up his tumbler and threw it across the room, the thick glass shattering against the stone fireplace. "Fuck! Fucking god-damn son's a bitches! Worthless, cowardly bastards!"
Coulter, who rarely got excited, rolled his eyes. Jarvis reminded him of a giant, cussing three year old, throwing a temper tantrum. Standing, he stretched the muscles in his back.
"Where are you going?" Jarvis asked him fearfully.
"Outside to check on the men."
Standing, Jarvis straightened his suit, "I think I'll go with you. I need to make sure the men know where their going to be positioned tonight."
Turning, so Jarvis couldn’t see him, Coulter rolled his eyes again, "Suit yourself, Boss."
The town was eerily quiet, except for the ever present howling wind. The men were arranged strategically around the building, with four standing sentry on the rooftop. Their job was to watch in all four directions, and to fire off a warning shot should anyone approached town.
Standing at the rail next to Coulter, Jarvis motioned to the hill beyond town. Campfires burned brightly along the ridge, setting the trees up yonder aglow. Large tents had been erected by the townsfolk to shelter themselves from the elements.
"Look at those bastards. Their probably up there right now taking bets on how and when I'll be killed."
Beside him, Tom Coulter remained silent. He figured Jarvis was right.
"How much do you want to bet, that those tents up there are really make- sift bars, serving my whiskey and beer to the cowards that deserted me?"
Again, Coulter said nothing.
"Their all waiting for me to die." Jarvis said out loud, but more to himself. "Everybody wants to see a powerful man fall. Just because we have the knowledge and the ambition to make something of ourselves, everyone wants to see us dead."
Coulter ground his teeth together, knowledge and ambition? More like greed and cold-blooded ruthlessness.
"Look at them. Their like a pack of wolves circling a wounded elk. Their all just waiting for me to fall, so they can swoop down and feed off of my dead carcass. Well, they can kiss my rich ass! Once this is all over, they're all going to be sorry. I'm going to raise the taxes around here so high, they'll all be coming to grovel at my feet. Oh please, Mr. Jarvis, my family is starving. Wont you please give us small break on this month's taxes so we can buy some food?"

Jarvis laughed. "I can tell you what the answers going to be— Fuck no! Starve you miserable pieces of shit!"
Coulter, who was normally a pretty laid-back fellow, gripped the rail to keep himself from slapping the shit out of his boss. What a conceited, self-centered asshole, he thought.
Lightening pierced the sky, striking the old oak tree at the end of town, where Sam and Jeb had almost met their demise just a few hours earlier.
Glaring at the sky, Jarvis muttered, "I hope they all get struck by lightening." Then he turned and walked back into The Grand, with Coulter following reluctantly on his heels.
Down the street, flames bloomed in the old oak tree. Within minutes, the whole top of the tree was ablaze, bouncing off of the low clouds, lighting the sky.
It was certainly a sight to see. All four men on the rooftop of The Grand, stood and watched it.
Behind them, on the opposite end of town, riders approached veering off the main road and cutting behind the buildings on the other side.
Pulling up behind The Gold Rush saloon, the men and Angel dismounted and pushed open the back door.
The place was dark and deserted. Striking a match, Sam lit one of the oil lamps on the wall. Since the plate glass windows in the front of the saloon had been blown out in that weird wind storm, they had been replaced with temporary plaking, so the wood protected the light from being seem from the outside.
Taking the lantern with them, they climbed the stairs to the bedroom that overlooked the main street. Setting the lantern outside of the door they made their way over to the window, its glass still intact.
Sharp pulled a looking glass from his back pocket and trained the scope on The Grand.
"There's four men on the rooftop, and three more below guarding the front, and I see at least two in the alleyways on either side."
"They got that place sealed up tighter than a thirty year old virgin," Zeb whispered behind him.
Sam smirked in the dark, "Looks that way. Anybody have any ideas on how we should go about this?"
Ringing silence