With Perry securely behind bars to mourn the loss of his lover and await transport back to Toronto, Brackenreid next looked for a drink. Alas he couldn't find any. Apparently his wife (and possibly that she-devil Hamilton) had been in the barracks during his absence and cleared out his stash. Almost beside himself, he high tailed it to the saloon to finally get himself right in the head, and Murdoch joined him, feeling like he too could use some liquid courage.
While he was partaking of his second shot of whiskey, he noticed someone coming down the stairs from the brothel portion of this establishment. This being a regularly common occurrence he didn't think anything of it. But then he did a double take and said, "Julia?"
She looked over and smiled. When she turned he saw that she was holding a big black bag. He hopped to his feet and met her near the saloon's entrance, where the mid day sunshine enveloped her and made her even more welcoming. It was with some effort that he did not attempt to hug her.
"Hello, William. I do hope you found your men and are not drowning your sorrows."
He frowned. "Ah, yes, we found them all right."
"But?"
"James Gillies was already dead."
Indifferently, "I would say that is most unfortunate, but I would be lying. He killed one of my father's employees, a man I was somewhat acquainted with. He had three children." She paused briefly, becoming slightly more compassionate. "What happened to the devil?"
"He had contracted a particularly potent form of syphilis, very fast acting."
"Yes, I know a thing or two about that."
"Oh?" he replied, eyebrow raised.
She shook her bag. "I come here once a week to check up on the girls and do my best to make sure they are keeping healthy. Dr. Garland would do this himself but unfortunately the last male doctor had a nasty habit of taking advantage of his patients, and none too nicely." Nonchalantly, and he thought also with a touch of pride, she continued, "He was soon dispatched of by one of the girls. After they refused to be tended to by Darcy, he taught me enough to tend to them myself, something I am very grateful for. If women must be party to such sordid affairs simply to survive, they should at least be allowed a modicum of assurance that they shall live a relatively fit physical existence. Unfortunately that is not always the case." She paused, "Anyway, you were saying?"
It took him a moment to get his barrings again after that rather emphatic pronouncement. "Well, according to Robert Perry, Gillies lover," - this revelation only registered for the briefest of instances on her face, - "who is also now visibly afflicted, they had failed to cure his disease with conventional medicine and therefore had looked to unconventional avenues. After Gillies' parents found out that he was a homosexual, and an afflicted one at that, they had disowned and disinherited him, calling him a stain on the family legacy. Perry was not from a wealthy family himself, and since they needed money to cross overseas and afford said unconventional methods, they started robbing banks."
"Surely the one would have been enough?" she interjected.
"Yes, well, apparently the disease had affected Gillies' mind to such a degree that he was unable to be reasoned with in this regard. His increasing insanity drove him to murder six people."
"Why did Mr. Perry continue to follow such an unstable person?"
"People in love tend to do irrational things."
They stared at one another for a moment and then she broke eye contact and said, "I still don't understand why they came all the way out here, instead of crossing the sea like they had planned."
"When they were apprehended, most of their funds were also discovered and returned to their rightful owners. The little they had left was not enough to go overseas and pay for exotic procedures. Gillies had heard a rumour about The Plains Cree and their supposed mystic healing powers. It was their last, albeit desperate chance at a cure."
Julia processed this for a few seconds. "Where is the body now?"
"Buried in an unmarked grave near Red Deer. Perry was certain his family would not miss it. And we had no desire to convey his decaying corpse such a distance."
"Do you not need proof of his death though, to satisfy the terms of the bounty?"
"One of the fur traders happened to own a camera." He smiled, "I should really procure one for myself, but they are such a hassle to lug around."
"Perhaps one day they will miniaturize them for easier portability?"
"Oh, I highly doubt that, Julia," he said, smiling politely at her ignorance, "how would the plates fit?"*
"Well, then," she said with a reluctant smile, "I suppose this means you will soon be returning to Toronto to collect your reward."
He was about to respond when the doors swung open, nearly knocking him and Julia over, and a gang of surly looking men barged in, each with a weapon. Murdoch pulled Julia further away from danger, closer to the stairs, and used his body as a shield. Rather unnecessarily he held onto her with one hand, something she didn't object to.
A familiar long haired vagabond pushed through the men, unarmed.
"Well, well, well," said Mick O'Shea with a tickled expression, "look who we have here."
Brackenreid turned to scowl at the man but was wise and sober enough not to go for his gun straight off. They needed to wait for the opportunity to strike. Murdoch was glad he had left his revolver holstered after coming back into town.
"What did I tell you, O'Shea?" barked Brackenreid.
"Oh, I's heard ye, boyo, but I's never taken orders from anyone in me life. And certainly not from the likes of ye."
O'Shea spit right there on the floor.
"Get out of my establishment," ordered Giles in a surprisingly strong voice, "before I loose Mr. Warton on you."
Smirking, O'Shea looked off into the darkened corner where Warton always resided with his rifle. "I's not too worried about him. Me and the boys are better prepared this time."
O'Shea nodded to the armed men and they raised their guns at everyone present, Murdoch included. He felt Julia gasp slightly and grip his arm tightly.
O'Shea himself simply sauntered further into the room with two goons and back behind the bar where Giles resided. Without preamble, he socked the older man in the gut and he groaned, clutching his stomach. Warton moved almost imperceptibly in the shadows.
The gang leader gestured to his helpers, and they moved into the storage room and started carrying out crates of whiskey. While they were doing this, O'Shea came around to face Brackenreid. In the blink of an eye he had retrieved a knife from his sleeve and was pressimg the tip against the Colonel's forehead. Next he reached for the man's pistol and tossed it off to the side. A trickle of blood was now making its way down the bridge of Brackenreid's nose.
"Now what, O'Shea?" said Brackenreid calmly enough, though his tense body language spoke otherwise.
"Now, Colonel?" he replied with a mischievous grin. "Now we have some fun."
Lickety split he slashed his forearm. Brackenreid refrained from grabbing it even though the blood was already soaking through, darkening his cherry red tunic.
"Stop this right now!" demanded Murdoch. "Leave before you cross a line you cannot hope to come back from."
O'Shea cocked his head in Murdoch's direction and laughed.
"Ye don't get it? We's tired of this muck," - he slashed Brackenreid's chest and this time he winced, "telling us what to do. We's say, no more law! No more rules! Ain't that right lads!?"
A cheer rose up through the hooligans. By now several crates had been stacked near the entrance. A couple of the braver prostitutes had also come out onto the upper landing to see what was amiss. And it was this action that served to throw everything into chaos. The man covering Murdoch became distracted by a buxom dark haired lass and in that instant, Murdoch nodded to Warton and shot the man in the chest. In virtually the same moment Warton had shot one of the other men, square between the eyes. Before the other men could react to the ambush, he pushed Julia down none too gently, and let loose another shot at the next man. He fell as well, but then a third man got the drop on Murdoch. He was hit in the gut and the pain forced him to his knees. Beyond the blood pounding in his ears, he could hear a woman screaming. Warton took this man out too a split second later and then it was just O'Shea and a couple of other miscreants.
"Drop your weapons!" yelled O'Shea. "Or the Colonel gets it!"
Lazily, Murdoch turned to see Brackenreid also on his knees, with the edge of a knife pressed to his jugular. He did as the man said, not because he wanted to, but because his fingertips were rapidly numbing. Warton apparently refused because after another shot rang out, he saw a dark figure crumple in the corner. It was then that he became aware of Julia by his side, frantically pulling out bandages from her bag with one hand, while applying pressure with the other. He reached out and touched her lovely face, wishing he could smooth out the worry etched there, wishing he could tell her all the things he knew in his heart were true. She looked back at him with eyes full of terror.
"William, stay with me!" she whined, as he slumped against her. She laid him down and started wrapping bandages around his abdomen. He gave her a dopey smile and fought against the pull of blackness, doing its best to shut his eyelids, perhaps forever. If he had to spend eternity looking at one thing, it would be her face, dirty as it was.
"I wouldn't bother lass," came the taunting remark from the villain. "He's not long for this world." He laughed. "Not after the next bullet anyway!"
One of the remaining men aimed his rifle at Murdoch's head and Julia pleaded with him not to do it, practically throwing herself across his bleeding body. The ugly thing just grinned and said, "After I'm done with him, you and me are gonna get much better acquainted."
The man went to pull the trigger and Julia began to cry. A second later a shot rang out.
Strangely Murdoch didn't feel any colder than he already had. Vaguely he wondered why. Then the man with the rifle fell down, followed by the last armed man.
"What's going on!?" exclaimed O'Shea, whirling around wildly to find the source of the gunfire. As he did so, Brackenreid grabbed his wrist and twisted it hard. The knife clattered to the floor. O'Shea punched him in the ear with his free hand but Brackenreid didn't let go. He grabbed O'Shea by the other arm and yanked him down to his knees too. Then Brackenreid headbutted the man so hard that he just about knocked himself out. Thankfully his skull was thicker and he managed to avoid this. Swaying slightly he pushed himself to his feet and surveyed the room. There were bodies and blood everywhere. It was going to be a bloody big chore to clean this up. He smiled to himself. He would just get the others to do it.
"Oye!" he yelled at one of the witnesses to the carnage. "Get your arse down to the barracks and tell the men to get their arses down here! And bring Dr. Garland while you're at it!"
The man scurried out and Brackenreid directed his attention to the seemingly unconscious Murdoch and his care giver.
"How's he doing doctor?"
"I'm not sure," she said biting her lip, tears threatening to break free again.
"Well, I'll-" Brackenreid put a hand to his head and sat down, closing his eyes. "Bloody hell."
While Giles went over to check on Warton, the dark haired prostitute from before came scurrying down the stairs, her gun still in hand. She dropped down beside Julia, who was still attempting to stem the flow of blood from him with copious amounts of bandages.
"What can I do to help, Julia?" the young woman said.
"If you could just hold him upright, I would have a much easier time with this."
"Of course."
"Thank you, Emily. You saved his life."
"I only wish I had retrieved my firearm sooner." While they worked at this Emily attempted to distract her friend from her obvious anguish with trivial questions. "I've seen this man before, but I've forgotten his name."
"His name is William Murdoch."
"Oh? Any relation to the proprietor of the harness shop?"**
"No, not that I am aware of. Murdoch is a fairly common Scottish surname."
"He doesn't look very Scottish to me."
"They don't all look alike, Emily."
"Indeed, he's much more handsome than the average Scotsman."
"Now really, Emily."
There was a bit of a pause while they finished wrapping him up and Julia cut off the bandage in order to tie it off. Gently she laid him down and stroked his hair in a reminiscent manner to that of Simon. Emily observed her for some time until Julia became self conscience and looked up.
"Forgive me for asking this, Julia...but are you by any chance in love with him?"
"What makes you say such a thing?"
"You look and act like a woman in love."
"I- I don't know what you are talking about."
"Come now, Julia, you threw yourself over his body. You were ready to sacrifice yourself to save him."
"He was injured and I simply did what anyone else would have done in my position. Now stop asking me such asinine questions and go pour us both a drink."
Brackenreid fell over.
"Right after we attend to the Colonel, that is."
It wouldn't have been a western without some kind of gun fight in a saloon. So check.
FYI, Syphilis can cause extreme light sensitivity...hence the sunglasses.
*Not long after this fic takes place, George Eastman develops celluloid film. Murdoch's always so bad at predicting future technologies, I had to include that here too. :p
**Hilariously, after Calgary became an official town in 1884, the first mayor elected was George Murdoch. And get this, he emigrated from Scotland, lived on the East Coast for much of his childhood, married a woman named Margaret and had two kids there. Once he moved to Calgary he started up a successful business - a harness shop - and later became part of the Masons and the Orange Lodge.