Chapter 11 – Wild Card Cass

August 6th, 1865

Outside Kansas City

“Welcome to Lee's Summit” said the sign as they crossed the town border. Peyton led them into town, urging them to stop by to refresh both themselves and their rations. They had been traveling the wild since Eureka. When they passed this Podunk small town, the first place they passed was the former saloon. It was laid to ash along with the schoolhouse. The town looked like it was rotting. Not a single person was outside, and it was the middle of the day.

"What a place" Ira remarked.

After seeing the resident outlaw of their group have no problem entering this town Marshall’s worries temporary escaped him. So he and Kid Colt trotted over to the general store to pick up more supplies. Peyton walked around, searching for something or someone in particular. Ira followed behind him while Kid Colt and Marshall were busy in the store. To their surprise there was a man inside. They conducted usual business for a general store, the buying and selling of food, clothes, and supplies.

Peyton and Ira, on the other hand, made their way to the sheriff's office. Whatever it was that Peyton kept looking for; Ira could feel that he was getting closer. Peyton knocked on the door. There was no answer. So, he pushed it open and walked inside. He searched around. The place was empty. Surprised that Ira did not follow him in, he exited the office. There waiting for him outside was Ira being held hostage by the town's sheriff. Behind Ira stood the sheriff with the tip of his gun pressed into Ira's neck.

"What you doin' here, Quade?" the sheriff barked in a raspy gargle.

"Wild Card Cass," Peyton responded, "You never cease to disappoint..."

"Come as my harbinger of death...have ya...Blackheart?"

"...On the contrary, Cass. I was sent by your son... over in Missouri..."

"Peter or Eli?"

"The marshal."

"That would be Peter."

"...Gave us a mission."

"What does it have to do with me, Quade!?"

"You see that fella you got by the neck," Peyton negotiated, "Union sharpshooter, decorated soldier...just like you..."

"Is that right?"

"Yes sir," Ira insisted.

"I fought for the North," he explained, as he released Ira, "Hunted down the likes of this outlaw and many others like'em that attacked civilian towns during wartime."

Ira tried addressing Wild Card as a commanding officer, "Sergeant Ira Davis, sir. New York Sharpshooter Battalion."

"Colonel Winfield Cass, at your service," Wild Card bowed, relieving him from gunpoint, and holstered his gun.

Ira finally got a good look at the gunslinger. At first glance, Wild Card Cass was a frail man with a powder white beard. His clothes were old and all over the place; reeking of booze. Dirt and dust seemed to fly off of him after every sudden move. His gun was holstered on his left hip. And his crazed eyes looked right through them. Ira could feel the raw power emitting from Wild Card Cass. Even Peyton was intimidated, though he would never admit it.

"I want you to come with us, old timer," Peyton continued.

"Quade, I don't know where your loyalties lie. I've heard of the wicked things you've done. How do I know you won't put a bullet in my back?"

"If I wanted to kill you, old man... I would’ve done so a long time ago."

"You think that's enough for me? That your....word...is enough?"

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Yes I do, Wild Card."

Wild Card looked deep into Peyton's eyes. Peyton could not tell if he was bluffing or being honest. He kept his glare. Ira was too out of his league on this one. The environment had shifted. They were now standing face to face. When Marshall and Kid Colt exited the store, they found what looked to be, Quade and the sheriff about to duel over Ira.

"Don't do this, Cass," said Peyton.

Wild Card looked down at the gun on his left hip "Got no choice....boy-"

Wild Card cut his own words short and drew his weapon, as did Peyton. What felt like an eternity was just the short span of time that passed in between Peyton's draw and deciding to pull the trigger. After his eye caught Wild Card's gun blasting, he squeezed the trigger.

Peyton's arm was sliced, and he was blown back. The bullet Wild Card fired only nicked his arm. Peyton's bullet on the other hand, had hit spot on. Wild Card Cass was still standing though. The shot had hit him in the center of the chest, right over his heart. The bullet was caught and deflected off of his badge, now spinning mangled and smoking on the floor before Ira. But still, the impact of the gunshot should have thrown Cass off his feet.

Kid Colt rode in on his horse, guns blazing, ready to take down Wild Card. Ira shook his head and hands at Kid Colt to holster. Wild Card approached Quade, still on the floor. His hat rolled in the dirt next to him. Wild Card Cass picked up Peyton’s black hat and handed it back to him.

"Ran outta whiskey a day ago," he said, making excuses already.

Peyton brushed it off before putting his hat back on. He looked up at the crazy old man standing above him, blotting out the sun. Peyton was once again unaware of what to think. Wild Card reached out for Quade and helped him up.

"I'll go," the old man said. "I was just testin' ya."

"Testing me for what?" Said Peyton now back on his feet.

"Grit and accuracy."

The group acquired one final member, Ira hoped, as they left Lee's Summit. Wild Card Cass' sheriff badge was left crushed on the dirt floor. He never looked back and the townsfolk of Lee's Summit would never miss him. Wild Card entered yet another unknown era of his infinite life and followed these young hearts to Dodge.

January 1861

Kansas City, KS

Peyton

Peyton looked out from his balcony at the rising sun. Today was the first day of his new life. Maggie, his wife, was lying still inside on the bed. It had been some time since they found the Orphanage burnt down. From that day on two things never changed. Maggie never smiled again. And the two of them never left each other's side. Peyton was getting little sleep. Every night he closed his eyes, he would see the Wichita Fires or the faces of the people he killed. Many times he would wake up screaming. Maggie thought the worst, and she was usually right.

Every year that removed them from Dodge didn’t make it any better. They rarely talked anymore. And compensating for the lasting pain by projecting onto innocent townsfolk was no longer fulfilling. Peyton had trouble looking at Maggie's black lips, a constant reminder of the darkness that was inside all of them. 'Orphans of Death' Maggie called them as they rode into towns on jobs. They wore all black except for Charlie, who sported his signature blood red bandanna.

They were known throughout the west as the Orphan Outlaws, led by Blackheart Quade. Peyton hated his name. When it was first given to him, by Charlie, he enjoyed it, riddling the bank tellers and officer's minds with it. But as the name spread it corrupted him. Soon he started to believe it, believing in his dark spirit, believing that he was king of the damned.

Last night, Peyton had been at a private meeting with a man by the name of Tanner Crow. He was to be recruited for a special team. Crow also informed him that the marshal service had the whereabouts of them in Kansas City and were going to strike the next morning. Tanner Crow told Peyton that he could save him, but there was only one task he must complete in order to be eligible for recruitment. When Peyton asked, 'eligible for what'? The old man responded, "The biggest job in the history of gambits and gunslingers."

The task was to dispose of Maggie. Tanner Crow told Peyton that he needed to know whether or not Peyton was fully committed. Peyton returned to his room that night. He made love to his wife and they fell asleep together in each others' arms.

Peyton struggled all night with the decision. The only time he fell asleep, he was awoken by his reoccurring nightmares. He stared at his love lying still, sleeping before him. There was no way he could do it.

No job, no amount of money was worth losing Maggie. For all his life, the only thing he could count on was her love. But fame...fame was forever. Were the rumors true? Did he really have a black heart? This would most certainly prove it. And there it was… A feeling of fate. Like his entire life would be meaningless, unless it was leading up to this point.

Would Peyton go on forever to be known in the realm of infamy, or would he go on to live a mortal life with his one true love? What it all boiled down to was… Love or glory? Why couldn’t he have both?

Nothing in life, no choice would ever be as momentous and difficult as this one. He grabbed Maggie's head and pulled her face in. Peyton kissed her black lips. He made his choice. That was all he needed, the warmth in those dead lips. He let go of her head and neck, and she laid still. Her lips let go of their warmth. And life forever fled from her body. He snapped her neck in her sleep so she would feel no pain. What he didn't realize at the time was that the decision would curse him to a life of pain and regret. He took her pain and in doing so initiated the sequence of events that would inevitably lead to his undoing, until three strangers found him dying on the side of the road.

End of Saga Three