With that Dusty settled up with a now tear-eyed barman and ushered me up the stairs. I carried the box up with us. Once we got inside, Dusty lowered himself into one of the large overly stuffed chairs in the hotels drawing room. I looked around, thunderstruck. The suite was huge! The two rooms, a bedroom and a drawing room, connected by a door in one wall, were as big as my old house... but considering my pa and I had lived in a 2 room cabin that weren't sayin much. Still I was amazed. I didn't know how but Dusty had talked that man into giving us the biggest set of rooms in the place. But Dusty didn't seem to think anything of it. He fished out his cigarette case and pulled one of the rolled cylinders out and held it between his fingers.
"Well, Dodger. I think we are going to be in for an interesting evening." He tucked the unlit tube into the brim of his hat and motioned me forward. "Give me that crate." I did as he asked and he bent over the box and took out a set of clothes . It was a pair of faded gray lenin pants, a thin vest to match them and a black lennin shirt. There was also a pair of new black boots and a set of black half-chaps. And newly darned brown socks. They were all sized for me. I didn't know what to say. "Now," Dusty continued. "you seem to be loathe to the idea of dressing like a man of distinction. So, I will remove as much of the rustic as it is possible to remove. Go change." He shooed me away and lit his cigarette.
I changed. Looking back it amazes me how much attention Dusty was paying to me. I was a kid so I hadn't said anything about the hat or the clothes he had asked me to look at while the horses rested. I'd been raised better. But he knew. The clothes fit perfectly. I had no idea how he had done that, or when he'd had it done. (I found out later that he had been wiring to a few folks in Coldwater in addition to the Marshal's Office.) I wished I could see my reflection in the big stand mirror. But it was just the floating clothes.
"Thank you, Marshal." I said coming back into the room. When I looked up at him, I stopped dead in my tracks. In his hands were two gunbelts. They were nothing more than trouser belts, with two pouches on them. But there were guns in small leather holsters. I asked the stupid question. "What are those for?"
Dusty gave me a flat look. "Decoration." He said dryly, "I liked the idea of these hanging above the door. It would look mighty fine." He motioned me over, sighing and shaking his head. "You know exactly what they are. Now come here." He began to fit the gunbelts on me. "God you are so young..." he muttered. "Any luck on the reflection?" He asked.
I shook my head. "No, sir. I still don't show."
"Are you thirsty?" He asked as he made an adjustment to the fit of my new holsters.
I thought about it then realized that I was pretty empty. My throat had been feeling scratchy since early that morning, but it wasn't to the point of being to where I couldn't stand it. "Yes, sir. It ain't bad, but I could use some."
Dusty nodded. "I thought so. It seems that as your thirst grows, you become more vampiric. I thought something like this might happen. I had hoped I was wrong." He made another adjustment. "How do those feel?"
He had hung the belts low on my hips so that the holsters rode on my thighs. The straps on the back, which held the nose of the holster were a little tight. I let Dusty know and he corrected it. "That's better." I said once he had fixed it. "How come you got me these, Dusty?" I asked then realized I had sounded a bit childish. "I mean, I'm mighty grateful! They are nice guns and good belts too! But... I had my daddy's gun. You ain't have to spend the money..."
Dusty chuckled and sat back in his chair, looking me up and down. "You look more like an apprentice Ranger everyday." Then he cleared his throat and answered my question. "Your father's LeMat is a beautiful and versatile weapon. But, with its nine shot cylinder plus its movable pin and the secondary shell, it is a rather large weapon." He flapped his hand dismissively. "Overly large if you ask me but I digress. As of now, your hands are too small to use it effectively during your training. So I went with these."
I nodded. What he said only made good sense. When I'd shot Sumter I'd had to use both hands to cock the beast. "I understand, marshal." I told him then pointed at my new training irons. "May I look at them?"
Dusty nodded. "Be cautious, young Dodger. Those weapons are loaded." Nodding to show I understood, I slipped one of the guns free. They weren't much to look at but I was thrilled! They were simple pieces, but elegant in a way. The gun was a Colt 1849 pocket pistol. Simple blued metal barrels, a small grip that fit my palm almost perfectly. They were solid simple little guns. They weren't anything to brag about, but they were mine. Heck and they were tough little things. I still have one of them. As I looked at the gun Dusty moved and pulled the cap off of my head. I looked up just in time to see him pull a cloth and a hat from the box. They were both black. They matched in their darkness. I slid the pistol back in its holster and Dusty threw the cloth over my head.
When my head popped through the hole I saw that cloth was actually a waxed canvas poncho. Black with three white slashes, like animal claws, across the front. The hat was a proper western hat, a flat brimmed thing called a gambler's hat. "There we are." Dusty said with a grin. "All dolled up and not in city folk clothes. Does not that feel better? You looked like a ragamuffin before."
I was about to say that it did feel better to get into some new clothes and that I was very grateful for them. But I was rudely interrupted by the scatter-rifle blowing a hole through our door. I whirled around and Dusty was on his feet in an instant. He tossed his cane to the side and pulled both of his pistols. What remained of the door flew inward. The man behind it, an older fella probably on his forties, tried to pull the barrel up and blow Dusty in half. Dusty beat him to the trigger. The Volcanic pistol crashed and the man staggered backwards, red spreading across his tan shirt. Heart shot. Never had a chance.
Dusty looked at me. "How many are there?" He asked, levering another round into his gun. I shook my head and was about to tell him I didn't know when he growled "Use your ears boy! Your nose! You are a predator! Find them!" Once more I opened my mouth to tell him I couldn't but he whacked me on the crown of my head. "Stop acting like the prey! Hunt them! You are better than me in this situation! I just sense a giant knot of anger! I cannot pick it apart! Now, listen." I nodded and closed my eyes, concentrating hard on hearing the men who came to get us. At first it was hard, there were so many people nearby. But then I found them. I could tell the difference between the heartbeats. The people who were just frightened, their hearts were hammering like rabbits. The sound was a light rapid patter. But the men who were there for us... it was a heavy thudding sound, fast and hard. I counted them. 13 in front and a few more out behind the hotel.
I opened my eyes. "Fifteen or twenty." I told him. "Most are out front, but a few are behind the building."
"Can you tell me where?" He asked. He eased back toward the window in the back of the room. I shook my head. He clicked his teeth. "Of course not... Old fashioned way then." He opened the window and stepped out onto the balcony. He motioned for me to follow and I did. I stayed as small as I could as we crept along, hugging the side of the hotel. The first of the men whipped around the corner at the bottom of the stairs, a repeater in his hand. He fired and missed. Dusty didn't. Another man popped up, his pistol aimed and Dusty's second pistol fired. The top of the man's head vanished. He looked quite surprised, and his body took a moment to realize he was dead before he toppled over. Dusty shouted at me. "Run! Come quickly!" He dashed forward and I stayed on his heels. We ran down the steps and dashed across the open alley, hopped over packing crates and took cover behind the next building. Two more men stepped out of the doorway and took aim at us. Dusty took them. The first man died in the first shot, Dusty's round piercing his throat. The second man however did not go down so easily. The first man stood, clutching his neck, the crimson lifeblood pouring through his fingers. The second grabbed him and snatched him in front, using the dying man as a sort bullet shield between Dusty and himself. Dusty pushed me behind some pickling barrels and dove flat on his belly with a grunt. Two shots thudded into the door frame where Dusty had been standing. Dusty levered his pistol and returned fire. The bullet hit the dying man and pushed both of the bandits back. Dusty levered and fired again. As I huddled behind my barrels, I saw a man run around the corner. He had a coach gun, what some people call a short-barreled shotgun. He aimed at Dusty's exposed back as he lay on the ground.
Now, I wish I could tell you people that I hesitated. That the idea of taking a human life slowed me down a little. That being only 12, I still had some innocence left. But no it seems Sumter Allen had taken that too. I drew, it wasn't smooth and it certainly wasn't quick. Hell I forgot to cock the stupid thing and when i squeezed the trigger nothing happened. Luckily for me the would-be-killer's first barrel was a dud. When he paused to check his weapon, I fixed my mistake. I thumbed back the hammer, aimed and fired. Now, I pulled the trigger and doing that forced the barrel of my gun off-center. My shot was definitely not clean. I had been trying to hit the man in the heart. Instead I blew two fingers off the hand holding the barrel.
He howled and dropped his piece, going to his knees. "You little shit! My fingers! Ooooh you bastard!" Dusty fired again and dropped his man, the rocket ball tearing through the dead man and into the living one. It wasn't a fatal shot. But it was enough to take the thug out of the fight. Then he rolled and finished off the fella I'd wounded. Then he looked at me, approval in his face. "Good show, boy. Well done." He popped up off the ground and dusted himself off.
"Marshal!" A voice yelled from out front. It was a clear voice, a young man's voice. "Now, I don't know what you got goin on in that alley out there. But you ain't gettin outta here." The voice was arrogant. He didn't believe he was going to win... he knew it. I hated it. I hated him. I growled low and angry, like an irritated cat. Arden continued. "Somebody has to pay for what you did to my pal."
Dusty laughed, loud and clear. He scrambled across the boxes and tucked up behind the corner of the building so he could peek out into the main road. Bullets ripped down the alley and Dusty pulled his head back. "Your fellows need to work on their aim, my villainous friend. It would seem your shotgun hound was bested by a boy." He called out. "Five of your men have gone to glory, Arden. You *are* caught. If you continue to give resistance, I will have no choice but to kill you." Dusty told him. Then his voice took on a rumbling undertone and I saw a mist fall from his lips, floating around the corner, "and I will ennnnjooooy it."
I heard horses dance and rear and I heard a small, shaky voice say to Arden. "Maybe we should just leave-go, Tom. I mean, it's Dusty Holmes. You know what he did in Abilene."
There was a slap. "You chickenshit." Arden barked at him. "Abilene he had help. Here he's just one man..."
"Yea, but he got a friend with 'im..." Said the second fella. " and that voice! It ain't natural!" He whined.
"Shaddup." Arden told him, then spat. "His help is a boy. And I'm gonna bugger that boy come nightfall."
The second man started another then the clap of a gunshot cut him off. I heard a body hit the ground. Sounded like he fell off a horse.
"Any other you shits feel like cryin off?" He asked his gang. There was a chorus of "No, Calico" and "Nah" and "Ridin with ya, Calico!"
Dusty must have heard some of it because he yelled out, again in that strange growling voice. "Trouble... in the rankssss Arden? You really shhhould ssurender..." more of that mist floated out this time. Nearly becoming a fog in the dimming light. This time when the horses reared, I heard cussing and men hitting the dirt. One man screamed as I heard a horse whinny in fright and a sudden striking sound. He'd been kicked. The horses broke loose and i could hear them pounding their hooves as they bolted, frightened by something they couldn't see.
"I don't what bullshit voodoo you think you're tryin to pull Marshal." Arden shouted back. "But it ain't workin! We'll burn this whole town down if you don't come out! We ain't scared!" He shouted again. But he was lying. I could hear it. Just the tiniest tremor. Fear. Dusty nodded his chin at the opposite corner of the building. I knew what he meant. He didn't have to say it. Go there. Start shooting. You're small. They don't know what you are. How dangerous you are. It may seem cruel to you folks. I know you gotta be thinking, what a bastard. Using a boy like that. But he was right. I was strangely calm. I was steady now. He was giving me my first push into becoming the thing I am today. The monster I am today. The soldier I am today. The Ranger I am today.
I did as he wanted. I snuck around the building. Moved as fast as I could. I cleared the distance in no time at all. Just a few heartbeats. I dropped to my belly and snatched off my patch. No need for it now. It was either going to live and these men would die or I would suffer. I crawled along the side of the building till I could peek out from around the porch. Most were milling in the street. But across the way, two men had climbed up on buildings and were laying there with rifles. I pulled back the hammer on my pistol and aimed carefully this time. I could hear my daddy in my mind. "Keep your eye on your target. Line the blade sight up at your target. Squeeze the trigger. Don't pull it." I did. The first shot struck home. I hit him, the bullet going into the top of his head. He didn't even scream. He just fell.
The men in the street did exactly what Dusty wanted. They turned from the mouth of the alley, and began firing wildly in my direction. Only the sharpshooter could seem me. I turned, thumbed back the hammer and fired again. My hands shook and my shot took him in the arm, rather than the gut. But it was enough for the moment. It knocked him back and made him shoot wide. Before he could lever the gun again, I shot him in the gut. He screamed and fell, clutching his stomach. I was shaking worse now. My heart was thudding in my chest. Fear and doubt began to creep back into me. I couldn't do this...
Then Dusty charged and fell on the men. His guns were the scythe of old man Death and he was without mercy. It was a dance of mayhem. He moved and spun, kicking and lashing out with the butt of his pistols, firing and moving. He didn't slow, he didn't stop. Every movement had purpose, every shot found home. But Calico Tom Arden was no coward and Dusty was fighting 12 men. He turned and drew a bead on Dusty, intent on shooting him in the back. I couldn't reach him! I couldn't shoot him! I was scared I would hit Dusty! That rage filled me. That hatred. That desire to kill. To rend and maim.
And then I felt it, the blood of the Enenra in my veins and the borrowed gift that lay in that blood. I felt Tom Arden's shadow. I reached out for it. I needed it. I needed it right now. I pulled it to me. It came and Tom Arden was stuck to it, like it was chained to his feet. He fell forward and screamed as it drug him backward. Drug him to me. I used it to flip him over. He looked up at me and his eyes lit with horror. His green eyes, like those of a calico cat were bulging and his patchy face was straining as his arms tried vainly to get away from me.
"The boy... your eye!"
The hunger had me. I launched myself at him. "Bugger me? I think not..." I drank that evil bastard dry.