One by Patrick Holland

Author:Patrick Holland
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780994395870
Publisher: Transit Lounge
Published: 2016-03-10T05:00:00+00:00

Nixon and the Skillington boy followed King Edward’s lead into a stand of desert bloodwoods to a house swathed in mist that came like the ghost of water from a dry creek beside.

They tied their horses a hundred yards distant.

‘Draw your guns,’ said Nixon. ‘I’ll go to the front door. You two keep low and walk to the windows.’

Nixon kicked the door and ducked behind the wall and a shot came from inside. Another shot came through the open door. A man called out,

‘Who are ye?’

‘Sergeant Nixon of Warrego police station! I’m here to take you in, Jim Kenniff. You and your brother and your gang.’

But there was laughter inside.

‘You’re too late, Sergeant.’

‘Drop your weapons!’

‘They’re dropped. Come in.’

Nixon looked around the edge of the door. There were two men. One tall and unshaven, the other, short, scarfed and red-faced, and with his bowler hat set on the table in front of him. The tall man was holstering his weapon.

‘What the hell manner of men are you two?’

‘Hunters of men,’ said the tall man.

‘Pursuers of justice,’ corrected the short man – a Scotsman.

At the table too was the body of a man dead for months. Maybe years. A mummy.

‘The salt off the pan gets in the air out here,’ said the Scotsman. He pointed at the mummy with his cigar. ‘Comes out of the ground. And there’s no water. That keeps em fresh. To a degree. I must a seen half a dozen a these old prospectors and hatters dead in their chairs over the years.’

The tall man spoke.

‘We checked his teeth for gold. But it’s no friendly thing to wake up in the middle of the night and see a dead man grinnin at ya.’

‘Indeed, no,’ said the Scotsman. ‘You never quite get used to their company.’ Then to Nixon, ‘We only came in here outta the sun. We’ve ridden through the night.’ He pointed at the mummy again. ‘I leave em where they are. Let the dead bury the dead, says the Good Book. And I intend to remain alive long enough to pick up my cheque from the commissioner.’

‘What commissioner?’

‘Now I’ve given myself away, haven’t I? Is there another one?’

‘Our boss?’ said the Skillington boy. ‘Would he do that?’

‘He might.’

‘Hell! It’s not like we’ve been idling.’

Nixon thought about that last note he wrote to Warrego. He had given too much away, even while he told them to hold the wanted posters. He said,

‘If the likes of these men got to the Kenniffs before we do there need be no trial, no burial, and so no martyrs. No cost to the government.’

‘Aye,’ said the Scotsman. ‘And it’s them we’ve bagged.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said the Skillington boy to Nixon. ‘I’ve lived in Kenniff country all my life.’ He turned and looked at the bounty hunters. ‘You two fools couldn’t have tracked down and killed Jim and Paddy Kenniff any more than that old bastard at the end of the table could dance.’

The tall man grinned. He reached behind him and slapped a bushel sack on the table.

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