Outlaws & outtakes
– stories on the cutting room floor
In all previous
instances when I’ve posted any of my short stories on this blog, they’ve been
stories that have been published (sometimes multiple times) in other,
independent venues. But about a year and a half ago, I wrote a number of
short-shorts as exercises for a class that never found a paying market. The
class assignment was limited to 500 words. In some cases the three t stories
presented here slightly exceed that word count, but they’re still so short I’m
grouping three of them into a single post – ranging from a horror Western to a
Valentine-flavored spoof of classical divinities, to a historical-themed
vignette.
***
THE GOLD AND THE GIRL
Luther
Delbruck kneed his horse into place at the hitching post and dropped to the
ground. He couldn’t be more than a few hours behind that lying claim jumper
Harkness, the one who’d shot him and grabbed his bag of gold dust. But he’d
plugged Harkness too. That slinking coyote couldn’t have more than a day left
to live, not with the way he’d been bleeding. First, Luther would get his gold
back. Then he’d teach Harkness a lesson. Him and any other son of a bitch that
thought they could make a fool out of Luther Delbruck.
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| image: Pixabay |
Dragging
his wounded leg, Luther pushed through the door of the boarding house where Doc
Faraday slept, drank, and sometimes even did a little doctoring. He tumbled
into a heap in front of the old doctor.
“Delbruck!
What the hell happened to you?”
“Leg.
Shot.” Lying on the splintered floor, Luther tried to motion to his wounded
left leg, to the trouser stiffened and black with old blood. A tug on his boot
forced a scream of agony from him. Damn fool doctor. Damn fool. Shouldn’t ought
to have come here, shouldn’t. . .
Through
the fog of pain and fever, he was dimly aware of a clatter of shoes on the
wooden floor, a creak of hinges from the direction of a cabinet at the far end
of the room. Then a puff of dust as something thumped onto the floor at his
side. Black. Black bag. Doc Faraday’s medical bag. Luther tried to raise his
head to get a look at his injury, but he could only flop back limply.
Something
in the doctor’s hand flashed for an instant in the lamplight. There was a jolt,
then a languor laid hold of him, the mix of drowsiness and clarity that Luther
remembered from the time he was wounded in the war. Morphia.
Time
lost its meaning. Dimly, he felt Faraday loosen his clothes, remove his boot.
Words like when and who floated past him meaninglessly.
Until
something cold touched the fever-hot flesh of his leg. He grabbed a scrap of
consciousness by the tail and held on.
“Wha’ you doin’, doc?” His mouth was so thick
he could hardly form words.
“Getting
ready to take your leg off, you fool.”
The
words were like cold water dashed in Luther’s face. “No.” He pushed himself up.
“You’ll
be dead by this time tomorrow if I don’t.”
“Gotta
fin’ m’ gold. Got to get it to Maudie. Don’ have time to wait for any damn
leg.”
Maudie.
And the kid. God, he wished he could live long enough to see the kid.
“Just
patch me up, doc. I gotta find that thievin’ claim jumper, Harkness. Got to get
my gold back.”
“You
leave here and you’re a dead man.”
“Says
you. I got to get it to Maudie. She’s…” But he couldn’t tell Faraday what
Maudie said she would do if he didn’t help her. Help her and the kid.
Only
what if Harkness got to Maudie first? What if her face lit up in the way he
remembered so well, not at the sight of him, but at the sight of Harkness with
the gold in his hands?
With
an effort that left him reeling, Luther pushed himself upright, ignoring Doc
Faraday’s protests. His leg didn’t feel so bad any more. Morphia was a
wonderful thing. He’d need more of it if he was to catch up with Harkness.
Catch up and kill him and get the gold back. He grabbed the handle of the
medicine bag.
“You
let go of that, Delbruck. Let go right now or I swear I’ll set the marshal on—”
Luther
pulled his revolver from his belt. The shot left a red and black hole in the
middle of the doc’s face, a look of surprise on what was left of that face.
Damn noisy old fool. No time for fools. He had to catch Harkness.
Because
if Harkness reached Maudie first, if she looked too happy to get the gold, too
happy it was Harkness bringing it to her and not him, not Luther Delbruck, he
had to know. And he would. He’d be right behind Harkness. And after he killed
him, well, he could manage to live long enough to steal one last kiss from
Maudie’s sweet, lying mouth before he joined her in hell.
THE END
***
EROS WALKS INTO A BAR
Eros
walks into a bar and flops onto a stool. It feels as if he’s been wandering for
hours, ever since leaving Psyche, ever since she had betrayed his trust so
utterly.
“Beer
and a chaser,” he says to the bartender. “Hades,
make that three chasers.”
