Straight Shots for Crooked Thoughts Read online

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Holt felt the hot iron in his hands vibrating. Two more customers for the undertaker. The dead men slumped to the floor in the dusty jail. Some folks had reservations about shooting unarmed men. Holt did not. Some people had second thoughts about killing men who couldn’t run away. Hold did not. Some folks might even shy away from walking into the law man’s office and shooting captives. Holt did not.

  Holt turned toward the sheriff and put away his six-piece. It was junk, practically scrap metal, but the way Holt used it was artistry. The sheriff looked at Holt in a way that said the jail wasn’t to be used. It would be a strong rope on his neck and a skittish horse between his legs. Holt wasn’t much for words, and that included explanations. He just walked out and jumped on his horse.

  He slapped the reigns hard against the horse's neck and put his boots into it. You can’t hang a ghost after all. Holt needed to slip the law and fast. He wasn’t even to the edge of town when he heard the sheriff yelling behind him. It was going to be a chase and that was just how it would be. Holt resigned himself to not look back.

  Holt didn’t know the land, he wasn’t from around here. He could ride and he could gun sling, but he had never tried a getaway. A smile jerked the side of his face. Maybe after this he could be cow rustler or some other kind of villain. The thought of sneaking around in the night stealing cows and then running around sounded funny to him.

  He focused on the bottom of a nearby hill. Deer and elk might make trails there, which would be suitable for his horse. There might also be some brush he could use to cover his escape.

  He heard the voice of the sheriff behind him, “Stop! Get your justice you coward!”

  Instead, Holt decided he didn’t have any need for justice that day. He pushed his brown mare towards some shrubs and trees. He was going to try to stop through there and hopefully the horse's leg didn’t get caught.

  “Cut him off! Cut him off!” came the sheriff’s voice from behind.

  Holt realized two shapes were coming in from the sides. Dark silhouettes that he had no doubt would converge at the exact point the shrubs turned to grass. Holt thought about hooves being tangled up. He imagined what it would look like to see a horse topple over with a man riding the fall.

  One of the dark outlines obliged his imagination and the rider fell end over end. By the sound of the horse’s scream, it hadn’t been an easy fall for the horse either. Sticks and dust puffed through the brush towards Holt. His smile continued.

  “Watch for gopher holes you morons!” yelled the sheriff. “Up ahead, go up ahead!”

  Holt felt like a rabbit being flushed out. Even with just a few men, Holt’s lack of knowledge of the area could prove deadly. He saw the clearing up ahead and decided to try something unexpected. He pulled up on the reins. The intention was to force the horse to turn a different direction. The problem was that the horse had other ideas.

  The horse jumped out of the brush as if jumping over a wooden fence. Holt wondered if his horse could jump over bullets. He concentrated on the impossibility of jumping over bullets. Holt heard shots and knew that their aim was off. Neither he nor his horse were hurt and they were now in a full gallop while his pursuers had to kick their heels into it. The sheriff was still in a gallop and lead the pursuit.

  “You’ll get a fair trial and then be hung!” the sheriff bellowed.

  Holt thought that a fair trial can’t always result in a hanging. He knew that it would be fair enough seeming to the town folk, but to him, it would be entirely one-sided. That’s where the hanging came in. Holt saw a startled deer running down the side of a hill, trying to get away from the noise. Another idea sprang to his mind.

  He pushed his horse toward the deer, as if to intercept it. The deer heard the commotion and darted the other direction. It went into the brush and Holt followed. He tried his best to keep side by side with the deer and hunkered down on his mount. The deer was fast but was a bit slower than Holt’s horse. He slowed down his horse and tried to mirror the movement. He saw the silhouettes again as they ran through the brush.

  “You can’t escape! We know these hills inside and out.” the sheriff yelled.

  That noise came from one of the dark shapes following on the left. Holt decided that the time would be right when the next cloud passed over the sun. He continued trying to follow the deer as it continued to run left and right. It was terrified of the yelling and the pounding hooves following. Holt continued to hunker down on top of his horse, trying to get as close to its body as possible.

  A cloud passed over and the sun stopped making shadows for a second. Holt broke direction towards the right as the deer continued moving towards the left. It only took about twenty seconds, but he could hear the brush cracking and popping behind him. The sheriff and his men were now chasing the frightened deer in the other direction.

  He slowed down his mount to a trot and continued to move away from the chase. He didn’t want to make noise but needed to be as far away as possible. About a minute later he heard guns open up on a defenseless deer. Holt’s smile grew, and he did his best to get far away from the town. His job was done, and it was time to live life the way he wanted. Freedom was always worth killing over.

  CHAPTER TWO

  In a town hundreds of miles away, in a time several months down the road, Holt went to town for supplies. No one knew his name, and that’s how he preferred to keep things. Once they knew your name, they next started asking about your history. From your history, they asked for the crimes and sins you needed to repent. Holt didn’t need a lot of words and didn’t want to reminisce about his past. He needed some lamp oil, dried fruit, steel wool, and a flint.

  The town was big by his standards. Nearly every building had a sign on the front, and they lined up like soldiers, ready to march. The biggest and most intricate structure was a combination saloon and hotel. The ladies out the front were lounging in evening wear, despite it being the morning. In their way, they were their own kind of sign for what was really in that building. Business had been good as a lot of sounds came from that building; yelling, laughing, and the slight sounds of an out-of-tune piano.

  Towards the end of town was a general store. The store keep had leather chaps on his legs and looked to be covered in dirt. An apron was slung over the counter, perhaps left there while the keep was away. He looked more of a customer than the keeper, but Holt wasn’t about to complain. After all, complaining always seemed to raise the price.

  Holt asked for the basics and a newspaper, if they had one. The newspaper was a month out of date, but Holt was grateful for the four-page paper. In those pages there would be stories, some true and some false. He wasn’t sure if there would be one about him, but he was excited to see. The only thing Holt hated about the paper was all the advertisements. It seemed like half the newspaper were ads for tonics and furniture. Holt wasn’t sure why they advertised the tonics outside the circus. Everyone knew the circus carried around the exotic stuff, and that’s where most potion makers made their coin.

  Holt paid a fair price, plus an extra coin for the trouble. Hard work always deserved hard coin, and it was something Holt believed in deeply. On his way out, Holt noticed a building more significant than either the bank or the saloon/hotel. He saw something exceedingly odd for this or any town nearby; a doctor’s office. That struck him as peculiar as a rattlesnake with legs. What kind of doc
tor needed a building to do his work?

  It was true that he hadn’t met many doctors in his life. A bed sickness once struck his mother, which had brought a doctor and priest out. They must have done good work, because she was tending a field not a month later. What Holt had seen was a medicine man with a black bag full of devices and tonics. How important would a man need to be that a bag didn’t hold it all? That he had to have an entire building to keep his things?

  The doctor wasn’t going to be poor anytime soon. Holt saw a line of folks out the front, each rubbing on their joints or heads. One man had a bit of blood running down his face, but the rest looked to be no worse for wear. Holt decided that they must have something broken on the inside. As a scratch developed on his head, he began to wonder if this town was unclean and the broken was being spread. He stopped scratching his head and looked down at his hand. The hand looked fine to him, and Holt decided it was time to vacate this town.

  He spent the next two days riding back to his home. He didn’t have much, but it was enough for him: a few cattle, a healthy crop, and the equipment to run things. The homestead had taken near all of his savings, but the owners were good folks that still lived nearby. That meant he was only a day’s ride away from answers if something broke. Holt always made a point to drop in and give the kids some dried fruit. The parents didn’t ask for anything, but Holt knew enough things that spoiling the kids helped spoil the parents. The kids always had too many words for him, too many questions. Holt never liked that sort of thing, so he’d always tip his hat to the lot of them and be off. They knew a hard worker when they saw one, and mostly let him keep to himself.

  Holt returned home and tended to his animals. He checked the fences and made sure things were kept in good repair. He picked a few vegetables and made himself a soup. He didn’t need anything fancy but did need something warm in his belly. The logs under his cook pot continued to pop and burn far after his dinner was made. He opened the paper and dug into the stories.

  He didn’t see anything about his adventures or killing, which was fine by him. The farther away that life was, the better. He did enjoy a story about women trying to find proper husbands by listening to their mothers. He supposed that a mother might know a thing or two about marrying but arranged marriages didn’t make a lot of sense out here. You needed a man with rough hands and soft eyes out here. By his count, checking out praying hands at church made more sense. Holt looked at his own hands for a moment. Thick skin patches showed that he would have made a fine husband, if he hadn’t spilled so much blood in the past. Those days were behind him now, even if the dead continued to pester his dreams. Holt folded up his paper and went to greet the dead men in his dreams.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Holt didn’t like to rustle up his neighbors for any little thing, so when it came to maintaining the fanciest plow he’d ever seen, he did it himself. Unlike the equipment he was used to, this plow one had a metal edge. It was a saw-like design, which Holt worked on sharpening slowly. An odd rustle nearby startled him, which caused his hand to slip and receive a deep gash. He cursed himself for being reckless on his task, but he reckoned it would heal up in a day or two. Holt looked around trying to find the source of the rustle but didn’t find anything unusual.

  A few days went by and the wound started to itch and look a bit black. He didn’t know if that was right and knew that he wouldn’t be much without his hands. Already, chores were taking far too long with this injury. Holt remembered the doctor in town and decided to visit him. He didn’t have many coins left, but perhaps he could sell a thing or two to the general store.

  He went a long way around the neighbors, as he didn’t want all the questions. He felt foolish enough about messing up on sharpening things. He eventually made his way into town, though the night was coming on. He went to the local hotel, but they didn’t believe in credit. Holt decided to sleep just outside of town with his horse tied up to a tree.

  The next day he came back into town to the general store. On his way in, he saw posters nailed to the buildings. He got closer and read a little bit. The town had named itself and had a new government forming. Holt shrugged. He didn’t much care for city politics. He went into the general store with some dried skins from local animals. In addition to the skins, he had even dried some of the meat, though he didn’t have spices to add to the meat. The store keep was happy to have them both and remembered the extra coin Holt had given. He gave Holt a fair price for all of it, and Holt was mighty excited.

  “You going to the doctor’s for that hand?” the shop keep asked, pointing at Holt’s hand.

  Holt nodded.

  “Must be a nasty cut if you need a doctor. Still, we have the best one around. Not just county wide but perhaps even on this side of the country,” the shop keeper continued.

  “Man like him should have been tending to our Union boys, but instead he’s here making sure our ailments are controlled. Some might be sour to his kind of help, but I am mighty glad with my achy bones.” The shop keeper then held his knees and smiled. “Give him my best.”

  Holt nodded and made his way to the doctor's office. There were two other men waiting outside the front door. He didn’t see any bandages, but didn’t know what they were being seen about. Holt sighed about city living and having to get in line. On his homestead, if you didn’t do it, no one did. There was no line to get things done. Here in the city, there were lines to get his doctor thing done. He did his best to stay in the shade while he waited.

  When he got to the front of the line, he waited for the other man ahead of him to leave. It felt like it took half the morning to wait in line. When that other man left, Holt went inside. Holt had expected the doctor’s office to be covered in blood, strange foreign instruments held from pegs on the wall. What he saw was a table in the middle of the room, a desk in the corner, and some kind of washing bin system. The man lit some pipe tobacco and motioned Holt to sit on the table. Holt did what was asked of him and showed him his hand.

  “Mighty deep cut, looks to be turning a bit as well.” The doctor said looking Holt’s hand side to side. “We’ll get it cleaned and fixed up, provided you got some coin.”

  Holt fished in his pockets and pulled out a few coins he got from the shop keep.

  The doctor nodded and said, “My name is John Lyce Ashenbury, but most folks call me Dr. Leech. I suppose they don’t figure out the worth of a medical education till they need it. They see the fancy building and assume. What’s your name?”

  Holt replied with one word, “Holt”, and didn’t go into detail.

  The doctor seemed to expect more detail, but Holt didn’t provide any additional information. The doctor shrugged and grabbed a white bag in the corner. It had the word “Flour” on the front and the doctor spread it on the cut. Holt looked at his hand with skeptic's eyes. Was he baking a cake or healing him up?

  The doctor grabbed a pitcher and went over to a large bowl in the corner. He pushed down on a lever several times and water started appearing out of nowhere. Holt looked wide-eyed at the contraption. He knew of windmill pumps to get water out of the ground, but never one that was indoors and run by hand. The doctor filled a pitcher with water and came on over. He poured the water on Holt’s hand which splashed down the table. Holt had expected the water to pool at the bottom of the table, but instead, it sank between a crack at the bottom of the table.

  The doctor grabbed a sewing needing and thread from the other side of the room. He then began to sew Holt’s hand, like it was a garment. Holt was thoroughly confused, but didn’t ask questions. If he was fancy enough to have his own building, he must have known what he was doing. The doctor then pulled out a knife and cut off the end of the string. The doctor looked at his hand, and moved it side to side, inspecting his work.

  “Almost done.” The doctor said. The doctor closed his eyes and hummed softly. The doctor was just squeezing Holt’s hand. Holt's hand felt warm and loose. He didn’t even realize how tight his hand muscl
es had been until they loosed up. Holt didn’t see any fancy equipment, so he wasn’t sure how the doctor had accomplished that. Holt found the experience odd, but he wasn’t a fancy doctor.

  The doctor looked up and nodded. “All done. By the way, have you read the latest news about the city here?”

  Holt shrugged. He had read a bit before going into the general store, but not all of it. After all, it was city politics that didn’t involve him.

  The doctor sighed and said, “So it says all citizens in town and surrounding areas need to check in with me once a year. Free of charge and all that. It’s just to make sure they aren’t harboring any sicknesses.”

  Holt looked surprised. He raised an eyebrow and then rattled a few coins he had left.

  The doctor put up his hands and shook his head. “Free. Cost people nothing. On the poster it’s mentioned as a one per year free of charge. I am doing it to get people more used to coming to the doctor. I figure if they see me once a year, then they’ll get used to the idea of regular medicine. Kind of a marketing ploy, I suppose.”

  Holt didn’t like the idea of being forced into the doctor’s office yearly, just to be told that he’s healthy. Still, he lived far enough out of town that it shouldn’t be a problem. This was mostly a problem for those who lived nearby. He thanked the doctor and made his way back home.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It wasn’t even two weeks when Holt’s hand began to heal but felt stiff. That wouldn’t do, as he needed the hand to do everything around the homestead. He also required the hand to protect his own, in case anyone wanted to take it from him. In a former life, he was known as quite adept at slinging iron, but that wasn’t this lifetime. Holt knew the secret of that success, and its eventual cost. He decided to say hello to his neighbors, who were a day’s ride away. He wouldn’t ask for anything, beyond the answer to a question.