Dark Reflection

Chapter 53

"Showdown"

by Lilyjack

"What happened, Jonas?" Matt breathlessly questioned. He, Deke and Chester had sprinted the entire route to the depot, the tails of their long, dark dusters fanning out behind them.

Deke quickly squatted next to a motionless man lying on the ground in a bloodstained shirt. Matt noted there was only one man. Blackthorne typically kept two guards at the train depot.

"Deader'n a doornail, Matt," Deke informed them after checking the man's vitals.

Just like on Front Street, Dodge citizens tended to keep a healthy distance from any disturbances, quickly scuttling away, averting their eyes. For quite a while in their town, it had been dangerous to interfere in anything even remotely out of the ordinary. And this was no exception. Not one person dared to come near the small band of conspirators at the train depot on this deadly occasion.

Wilbur Jonas removed his hat, swiping an arm over his forehead. Sweating profusely, he told his story in a rush, "There was just one man on duty. We closed in after Miz Dobie left vittles for Jim here, pretendin' to wait for the train. They didn't take the bait, so Pence snuck up behind, knocked this feller in the head with his rifle butt."

Bill Pence shook his head woefully. "It just knocked 'im over, didn't knock 'im out. He yanked out a gun and commenced to shootin'. I killed 'im, Dillon."

Mr. Dobie spoke up anxiously, "There's a man on the loose, that Groate fella…"

"Hector Groate," Pence clarified. "He come from over thataway. I guess when he saw me shoot this here outlaw, Groate figgered he was outnumbered, lit out like a jackrabbit. We couldn't get a bead on 'im."

Matt gravely looked to Chester and Deke. "We got a situation on our hands, men. Groate will alert the rest of 'em, including Blackthorne, wherever he is right now. We don't have much time t' circle the wagons. Let's get goin'."

"Where to?" Chester asked.

Matt answered, his jaw tight, "The jail. Kitty and Ruby are there."

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Hector Groate, hat in hand, stood before Silas Blackthorne, averting his eyes in the dim private chapel as Blackthorne donned his leather mask and pulled his shirt on over his head, shrugged his coat on top. Hector finally dared look at his leader again when the man's strange, wormy scars were decently covered.

Groate had located the sheriff where he suspected he might, in the small, eerie room in Blackthorne's new home, constructed entirely with Dodge taxpayer money. It was illuminated by oil pots and smelled of earthy herbal concoctions. At the altar was a macabre effigy of a skeleton dressed in beautiful robes, a crown of flowers resting atop her bony head.

Groate hated coming in here. It spooked him and made his hair stand on end. He wondered what Silas Blackthorne did in here but wasn't sure he truly wanted to know.

Blackthorne pinned Groate with a steely one-eyed gaze. His voice rasped, "You look like you've seen a ghost, Groate."

Groate's words tumbled out in his rush to explain, "I reckon I did see a ghost, sir. You recollect that big feller, Jack Mathias, the stranger who was such a troublemaker? Sheriff, I swear I seen him that night a'layin' in his coffin when the doc hauled him off to Boot Hill." Groate's eyes were wild. "But I just seen Mathias, alive, down at the depot!"

"What?" Silas gripped his pistol holster, demanding, "Are you sure?"

"I'll never forget the dead face I saw in that coffin. And he's such a big feller – there ain't no mistakin' him for somebody else."

Contemplating Kitty Russell's mysterious disappearance and his own maddening inability to locate her, Blackthorne knew Groate's words must be true. Mathias had attempted to free Russell the first day he came to town. The man was certainly responsible for her subsequent disappearance. And the two might still be together. Narrowing his stormy gray eye, Blackthorne demanded, "Is Mathias still at the depot?"

"I ain't rightly sure, Sheriff. When I got to the depot, I saw some Dodge folks beatin' up on Duff Corvin. They was armed, and they kilt Corvin. Me, I took off when they aimed at me, circled around and hid, watchin' t' see what the hell was goin' on. Purty soon that Mathias feller showed up with two more men, one of 'em that wiry little gimp that works at the Long Branch."

Blackthorne was flexing his fists as he stood listening to Groate's tale. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a slim cigar, and bit the tip, spitting it on the floor. "Groate," he hoarsely proclaimed, "I reckon we've got us a little uprising to quell. You sound the alarm. Spread the word among my men to search high and low. We'll kill every last person involved. And I want Jack Mathias and Kitty Russell for myself. Find them."

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Chester Goode crouched awkwardly in the alley across the street from the sheriff's office, hiding behind a couple of barrels. Matt and Deke were right behind him, searching for signs of Blackthorne's men before heading across the street.

A quiet unease had overtaken the streets not long after the unfortunate shot had rung out at the depot. Matt was certain Groate had sounded the alarm and that Silas Blackthorne now knew something was amiss. Dodge citizens had quickly disappeared from sight, scurrying inside, locking up their businesses, peering from behind window shades. Word travelled fast in this town.

Matt couldn't tell what was happening at the sheriff's office across the street—two wagons that Matt assumed were the ones driven by the Noonans and Hank and Moss, were parked outside. From the look of their cargo in back, motionless and silent under the tarp, Matt figured his friends had been forced to resort to violence. He wondered if the men were inside keeping Kitty safe. He hoped so.

At that moment, a gang of about a dozen men, led by Comanche Dan and Tobias Gunther, strode down the center of Front Street, guns in hand, heading directly for the jail. Matt felt the blood in his veins grow cold.

Suddenly, the door of the jailhouse flew open with a bang, and several men came pouring out, armed and ready. Matt saw Sam and Horace, Moss and Hank, Barney Danches, Bull Landers and Bill Pence, Dobie and Howie, and Victor Hawk. Matt found himself breathing easier at their appearance. He was immensely relieved when Kitty did as he had pleaded earlier, staying inside the building. The men quickly took cover behind the wagons, cocking the hammers of their weapons and aiming straight at Blackthorne's army who stopped a couple hundred yards away, standing insolently in the middle of Front Street.

Sam Noonan called out, "You've got about two seconds to drop those weapons of yours, gentlemen. Else we're gonna open fire."

Ocie and Lafe approached quietly from the rear of the alley and hunkered down with Matt, Chester and Deke. They held their own pistols gripped in their hands.

Tobias Gunther scoffed, "You buncha yella-bellies ain't got the stomach fer fightin'. You best drop yer weapons if you know what's good for ya'. We'll shoot ever' last one of ya' right through your cowardly hearts."

Hank Miller's leathery voice answered Tobias' challenge firmly, "That's what you think, mister…"

Then all hell broke loose.

tbc

AN: I realize Bruce isn't singing about an actual war in this song, but the mood and the message fits perfectly, not to mention the fact that it rocks:

Well, no cannon ball did fly, no rifles cut us down
No bombs fell from the sky, no blood soaked the ground
No powder flash blinded the eye
No deathly thunder sounded
But just as sure as the hand of God
They brought death to my hometown
They brought death to my hometown

Now, no shells ripped the evening sky
No cities burning down
No army stormed the shores for which we'd die
No dictators were crowned
I awoke on a quiet night, I never heard a sound
The marauders raided in the dark
And brought death to my hometown
They brought death to my hometown

They destroyed our families, factories
And they took our homes
They left our bodies on the plains
The vultures picked our bones

So, listen up my sonny boy, be ready when they come
For they'll be returning sure as the rising sun
Now get yourself a song to sing
And sing it 'til you're done
Sing it hard and sing it well
Send the robber barons straight to hell
The greedy thieves who came around
And ate the flesh of everything they found
Whose crimes have gone unpunished now
Who walk the streets as free men now

They brought death to our hometown, boys
Death to our hometown
Death to our hometown, boys
Death to our hometown

"Death To My Hometown" by Bruce Springsteen

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