oom: bisbee, part 2

[lasthalfmile]

The town is quiet, today.

Between the funeral and the heat, most folks are either inside or busy with things. The main street is nearly deserted, as they head down, horses stirring up the soft dust beneath their hoofs as they walk.

The office is at the end of town.

Dan can only hear Mark's voice in his head. So young. So confused.

He keeps one hand on the reins, and the other slides down to his hip and the pistol, fingertips brushing the holster, checking to be sure that familiar weight is still there. He's not planning on killing anyone, but he won't hesitate to threaten with it if he has to.

They head around the back of the office, and Dan signals for them to be quiet. He can hear voices from inside.

"So you say the coach should be in this afternoon?"

"Butterfield himself ordered a new one sent out. I guess he had a back up in case Wade took out the first."

"He's not worried about him now that he's out?"

"He doesn't know. Figured might as well just let him find out when he gets in from Fort Huachuca this afternoon. Guess he wanted to ride with it to make sure it got here in once piece. With Wade's gang gone, should be in right on time."

Dan turns his head and gives Ben a look, as if to ask if he caught all that. The fort was to the west of Bisbee but there was only one way into town through the canyon that was north of Bisbee.

And Ben knew that canyon well.

Comments

[almosthonorable]

It happens almost too fast to catalogue.

" -- the — "

Ben hits the dirt, hard, nearly losing his gun.

" ... hell?"

Turning, he sees Dan and Butterfield are down; Butterfield groaning as blood soaks the dirt around his blown knee.

Ben quickly gets to his feet —

bang

— downing another approaching Pinkerton (one bullet left), then offers a hand to Dan while glaring at Butterfield.

"Was bein' nice till you did that."

[lasthalfmile]

Dan grabs the hand and hauls himself up to his feet. His chest feels funny, almost like he's been punched hard, but when he touches the hole in the shirt there's no wet spot of blood spreading.

"I warned you," he mutters.

The canyon falls quiet, save for the low sounds of Butterfield in pain as he tries to push himself away from the two of them.

Dan brushes off his coat and walks the distance to the man on the ground, and then flips the rifle around, gripping it by the muzzle. The steel is hot (or would be, against a normal man's palm) but Dan doesn't flinch.

The butt of the stock gets dropped (slammed down) on that blown knee with a crunch of bone and the gravel beneath, and Butterfield screams.

"Now," a deep breath, as Dan releases the pressure. "You and I need to have a little talk." He kneels down and reaches back for the holster and the pistol, and the business end gets shoved against Butterfield's temple. "You told me that we had an agreement. A thousand dollars and the water rights. You remember that? 'Cept it seems that my boy's got the idea in his head that you ain't gonna pay it."

Dan growls.

"I don't like bein' lied to. Especially when it's upper class types like you who think they can get away with it." The muzzle of the gun gets nudged harder against his scalp. "Just cause they got a fancy suit and money to spare. So tell me, Mr. Butterfield," and he smirks, just a little. It looks feral and just a little crazy, if you get a glance at his eyes. "What the fuck gave you the idea I'd let you get away with it?"

A beat.

"And just cause I'm dead ain't a good answer."

[almosthonorable]

Ben scans the canyon for movement, for any unwanted company.

Seeing none, he turns back to Dan and Butterfield, quietly reloading as he watches and listens.

He likes this side of Dan Evans.

And he likes the unholy fear filling Butterfield's disbelieving eyes.

[lasthalfmile]

Butterfield shakes his head and stammers a little through the words. He wasn't there to see Dan fall but he saw the body afterwards, those bloodstains on his shirt, the dark red earth next to the train tracks when they picked him up off the ground.

"I...you're..."

Dan sighs, irritated.

"Dead. Yeah, I know. Trust me."

He removes the gun from Butterfield's temple for a moment and sits back on his heels, to study him.

"You lied to me. I don't like liars," he repeats, an odd calm settling over his face. "Especially when their lies hurt my wife and my boys. Now here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna let you go on to Bisbee and you're gonna give my wife two thousand dollars and those water rights, right soon as you get into town."

He pauses.

"And then, you're gonna go find yourself a doctor," and Dan flicks his head to the side, to Butterfield's blown knee, and without hesitation, he levels the revolver at the joint.

"Because you're gonna need one for that leg, there."

And pulls the trigger.

[almosthonorable]

Ben's picking up his fallen hat, brushing dirt from the brim, when he sees Dan's arm extend in his periphery.


bang


He takes a step closer and laughs, long and loud, while Butterfield screams.

"Goddamn, Dan. Think I like you more'n I ever liked Charlie."

Looking down at Butterfield, he sobers.

"Like I said, I was bein' nice before you tried to kill me."

His eyes narrow.

"You listen, Mr. Butterfield. If you don't do what this man says — if you don't ride into town and pay his family that money and give 'em them water rights — we'll pay you another visit real soon."







"And I won't be nearly as nice as Dan here just was."

[lasthalfmile]

Dan nods. "You'd best listen to him," he agrees, before he reaches for the nearest article of clothing -- the Pinkerton near the coach has a long jacket, and Dan rips a few strips of the cloth and ties that blown knee into some idea of order to slow the bleeding. "Because even I know not to cross Ben Wade."

A nod at Ben.

"Now. Up," he orders.

Butterfield listens -- and pulls himself up with Dan's help, only groaning a little as he bites his lip -- and then he leans against the coach while Dan fetches one of the horses from the team, which are nervously pacing a few hundred yards down the wash, still confused as all hell.

When he's back, Dan helps shove him up into the saddle and then hands him the reins, and points to the south, down the canyon.

"You should be on your way, now. Don't want your boys to worry about the coach comin' in behind schedule, after all. Ain't that right, Ben?"

Except instead of a coach it'll be a wounded coach owner with one hell of a story to tell.

Details, details.

[almosthonorable]

"Goddamn right," Ben nods.

He smiles, and it's a downright scary sight.

"They're expectin' you, Mr. Butterfield, sir."

Ben smacks the horse's hindquarters, chuckling as it starts and dances sideways while Butterfield hisses in pain.

He shakes his head slightly as it trots south.

Son of a bitch better pay what he owes.

Turning, Ben looks at Dan for a long minute before his eyes flick to the hole in Dan's shirt.

"That hurt?"

[lasthalfmile]

"Little bit."

Dan looks at the torn fabric and then back up at Wade. "Ain't too bad," he shrugs a little before he nods at the coach and makes an effort to take stock of the contents.

Before he does that, however, he looks around at the bodies littering the desert.

He chuckles under his breath, thinking of Butterfield's warning.

More than you can handle.

A pause, to shoot the lock off the cage --

bang

-- and then Dan steps back to reload the gun, eyes on Ben while his hands do the work of putting bullets in the chamber, a grin on his face. He's amused and it shows.

"Did y'see the look on his face when he popped up out of there?"

[almosthonorable]

Ben lips twitch, eyes lit with twin amusement.

"See the look on his face when he saw you?"

Turning to survey the dead men (and to make sure there's no more trouble stupid enough to approach), Ben just shakes his head.

"More'n we can handle, my infamous ass."

He looks back to Dan, quirking an eyebrow toward the safe.

[lasthalfmile]

The gun goes back in the holster before Dan ducks into the coach and drops the broken lock onto the floor with a thud. The fact that there's a dead Pinkerton lying beside him doesn't phase him one bit as he opens the door and pulls out the first of the lock boxes.

That is a lot of cash.

"No wonder you do this for a livin', Ben."

Ain't quite as loaded as some coaches run, but he pulls out four boxes total and counts the contents while Ben watches. Half the stack goes into one pile --

"Toss me that bag of yours, would ya?"

-- and the other half is split again. A larger portion and a smaller one.

[almosthonorable]

"Tends to pay pretty well," he deadpans amicably, passing the bag to Dan.

He tilts his head slightly, studying Dan while he breaks down the second stack again.

A pause, then, "Don't think you can hand-deliver that."

[lasthalfmile]

Once the stacks are broken up, Dan puts Ben's half in the saddlebag and then hands it back up to him, as he stands.

"No, don't suppose I can."

The smaller portion is just a few bundles of cash. Enough to last a man of his time plenty if all he's doing is buying drinks and paying for a room in a bar. The larger portion is enough for a family, for awhile, to buy the things they need. Medicine for Mark. New clothes for William. Something nice for Alice.

Dan grabs the bag off his mare which he split the earlier cash into and sorts them. One bag is going back to Milliways with him. The other...

"I need you to go seem them and make sure they get it."

[almosthonorable]

Ben replaces the bag on his saddle and nods, quick and short.

He'll leave the money with Alice and the boys, and get to ensure Butterfield kept his word this time.

He gives Dan a wry half-smile.

"I'm sure Alice'll be real happy to see me at her door."

A beat.

"Might even get another steak outta the deal."

[lasthalfmile]

Dan gives Ben a look, before he hands the second bag over.

"I'm sure she'll be just thrilled."

Don't you try anything, Wade.

And he holds that gaze a moment, before he nods.

"Maybe you just will get another steak." A beat. "Probably be a better one this time 'round."

Since Ben'll be able to cut it himself.

[almosthonorable]

"Won't have your magic touch, though."

Smirk.

He adds the second bag to the load and looks at Dan, his features growing more serious.

"Gonna make sure Butterfield made good on the deal while I'm there."

[lasthalfmile]

"Wouldn't expect anything less."

Dan's look also tells Ben that if Mr. Butterfield didn't make good on that deal, well.

That isn't for polite company.

Then again, Ben isn't polite company.

[almosthonorable]

He's not.

He's infamous — famous — for that.

The hard look in Dan's eyes makes Ben think Dan could be (could've been) his own brand of infamous, if life had been just a little bit different.

"I know. S'what I like about you, Dan."

Ben swings into the saddle, taking one more look around the canyon.

"Headin' back to the bar now?"

[lasthalfmile]

"Reckon it's gettin' close to cuttin' it."

He feels solid enough, still.

Dan loops the reins off the branch and pulls himself up into the saddle, and once he's set, he looks around at the coach and the bodies lying in the dirt.

In the dust. Blood soaking red.

The image doesn't bother him, like it would have the day before.

He's not sure why.

(Maybe it's because he was the one doing the shooting.)

[almosthonorable]

"It'd hurt my feelin's, not seein' you when I get back."

He turns his horse toward the south, toward Bisbee.

Toward the Evans ranch.

If he rides hard, he might even catch that son of a bitch Butterfield while he's paying Alice.

(If he is, which he damn well better.)

Ben adjusts his hat.

"Well, now."

A grin.

"This was fun."

[lasthalfmile]

"I'll buy you a drink when you get back."

Dan nods a bit as he adjusts his own hat. He'll head north, back towards the top end of the canyon. Catch a door near Contention, maybe. He's not sure why but that's where his heart is telling him to head.

He smiles, just a bit.

"Maybe we'll do it again sometime," he says, and he means it.

Fingers curl around leather reins, and he holds Ben's gaze a minute before he turns his mare around and then digs his heels into the stirrups, clicking to her quietly, moving to head towards the north.

Then he stops, and turns to glance at Ben over his shoulder.

"Thanks, Wade."

A nod, a smile, and then he turns and rides out.