Chapter 15 – Deadshot

August 8th, 1865

Wichita, KS

Marshall and Peyton rode their horses down the same road they had just ran away on. FreeLander was gone, as if he had vanished out of thin wet air. The rain washed away his tracks. Peyton slowed his horse down and Marshall overshot him. To correct his course Marshall turned in and came across Ira and Kid Colt's horses hitched outside an abandoned church.

"Quade!" he yelled around the corner.

They headed over and tried to look inside. Most of the windows were boarded up by thick wooden planks, put up by giant nails. Peyton spotted a nail on the top right corner of the wall big enough to catch with his lasso. He took the rope off his belt and tossed it up. He missed the first time, but attracted Marshall's attention. The second time he caught the nail and tightened the lasso’s grip on it. Peyton pulled himself up to the roof. Marshall watched the retired outlaw sneak up the rainy shadows of a dead church and followed after him.

When they got to the top, the windows weren’t boarded up like the rest of the building, but dirty as hell. Peyton breathed hot air onto his bandanna and wiped the foggy glass. Some of it cleared and Marshall could see Ira and Colt inside. They were on their knees, before the altar, surrounded by over thirty men. Three of which stood on the altar. Peyton got a better look.

"...Slaughterhouse..." he muttered to himself.

"You know those men?" inferred Marshall.

"I used to ride in this gang, Marshall…"

"Then who is that at the head of the altar?" Marshall was referring to a red skinned man with three horizontal white stripes going down each cheek, and long black hair pulled back by a thick red band.

"That's Tanner Crow."

But the rain muddled their words, "...Did you say...10 Crows?"

"He’s a man a many names. You've heard of him?"

"As a matter of fact," Marshall began to tell Peyton about his past life.

He told him about his father, his brother, his mother's death, and the burning of what he would later find out was his birthplace. He told Peyton about how his father was responsible for the endangerment and relocation of the Wichita natives. 10 Crows was one of the survivors of the Wichita Fires. Legend was, he saw ten crows the morning after the fires, and was told by the fallen spirits of his tribe to take vengeance on all white man. Since then, he had become the leader of the Black Pawnee, the only remaining survivors of the Wichita natives.

But what Marshall thought to be the remainder of an endangered tribe was really a rag tag group of renegades. Peyton went on to tell him, that over the years, under Crow's rule, the Black Pawnee drifted away from their native roots, turning into a gang of outlaws and rebels. Whatever Marshall thought he would find of his family died in that moment of realization. Now, all that was left was 10 Crows.

"Throw them in with the other one. The rest should be here shortly," ordered 10 Crows. Ticonderoga and Red Savage carried Ira and Kid Colt away as Slaughterhouse Slater nodded his head at 10 Crows and followed behind them into the back room. Marshall and Peyton watched above from the rooftop windows. Someone approached the altar while 10 Crows stood there alone.

"I want it now!" he yelled.

"You will have it soon," comforted 10 Crows.

"Now, or I take my investment back!"

"I'm afraid that money has already been spent."

"SPENT!" the man shouted at the top of his lungs, "I gave you five hundred thousand dollars!"

"And we spent it all," 10 Crows smiled as all his men laughed around them. The sour man stopped yelling and brooded around.

"DuPont," 10 Crows advised, "if you are unhappy with our arrangement...well...we can always revisit the terms...but I suggest that you keep your head… before you lose it." His men laughed again. "Captain Kildare has informed me that they have your vest, and it is only a matter of time before we get it from them."

Up on the roof Marshall looked over at Peyton, "…the Kid."

They scurried along the rooftop and found one last window leading into the back room. Peyton quietly popped it open as Marshall peered through it. Inside were several men including Slaughterhouse Slater, Red Savage, and Ticonderoga guarding Ira and Kid Colt who were both now tied to chairs. Two more henchmen came in from around back carrying a hooded figure between them. It was Ira's brother, Will. His feet dragged the floor, and he was thrown onto a seat next to Ira.

"Will!" he called, "It's me."

But Will's eyes remained gilded, his process blind. Ira tried desperately to wake his brother. He shook his restraints and chair, causing a commotion. Kid Colt, tried to calm Ira, but quickly realized it was no use. Instead, he pulled attention away from the brothers' bitter reunion, by verbally accosting Ticonderoga and Red Savage.

“Hey injuns! I didn’t see any women out there. Let me ask you somethin’... Did we do such a good job wipin’ out yer entire race that ya’ll got no choice but to plug away at each other?”

Slaughterhouse Slater laughed while lighting one of his cigars. He walked straight up to Kid Colt shooting his mouth off and drove his right fist into his face. Kid Colt could feel a tooth in his mouth crack and blood gush into his mouth. He turned his face and spat, parts of the shattered tooth mixed with blood smacked the floor. This was not going to end well. The night sneaked up on the five heroes. Now they were all split up amongst their foes, and soon they would surely be bested.

Peyton slid into the windowsill and told Marshall to lower him down slowly. Then he tied the tip of the lasso around the back of his belt, knotted it tightly, stretched out, and evenly dispersed his weight. Marshall positioned the rope around a chimney and wrapped two pieces of cloth around his hands to lower Peyton down smoothly.

Slaughterhouse Slater continued to lay punch after punch into Kid Colt's face until he hit him in the chest.

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"Wait a second," he paused as he tore open the Kid's vest and shirt.

Underneath was the treasure they had found from Coyote Caverns, the invincible vest made of woven layers of tight clothe. But before Slater could do anything, Peyton swung his feet around, now lowered from above enough to fight, and kicked Charlie Slaughterhouse Slater in the face, bringing him to the ground.

“How do you like it?” Kid Colt retorted.

Peyton landed and Marshall dropped the fully loaded Winchester rifle down. Peyton caught it and put round after round into the two henchmen as Red Savage and Ticonderoga found cover.

Marshall slid down the rope and unsheathed his buck knife. Holding the blade in his fingers, Marshall threw the knife into the back of Ira's seat, catching his restraints. Ira rubbed his wrists up and down on the sharp side of the blade and broke free. He stayed low and swung around his chair. Ira pulled out Marshall's knife and went to release Kid Colt, while Marshall joined Peyton as they shot at the two savages, keeping them pinned down.

SSSSSSsssssss!

A fuse was lit. Ira released a bloodied Kid Colt and Marshall joined him in freeing Will. Red Savage threw a fused pouch towards them. Kid Colt rubbed his face clean and pulled his silver six-guns out. Peyton grabbed the kid and moved them to cover a path for the door. The bomb exploded and smoke filled the room.

They rushed out of the room under the smoke before the enemies could regroup and attack them. But this door led right back out to the main chamber of the church. There, 10 Crows stood before them on the altar, with his officers all sitting in the audience. From the other side of the church the doors opened. It was Wild Card Cass along with Emma. Behind them walked in their escort, Jebediah FreeLander, a sullen and burdened looking man. He brought them up to the altar at gunpoint to join the rest.

"Where's my vest!" DuPont screamed.

"The kid has it on," pointed out Red Savage as he and Ticonderoga followed up behind them. They were surrounded. There was no way out.

Slaughterhouse Slater rubbed his head. He opened his eyes to find Peyton's lasso dangling above him and the room to be empty. After getting to his feet, and clearing the smoke-bomb, Slater re-entered the main chamber. On the altar, seven prisoners were on their knees facing 10 Crows. Slaughterhouse walked up behind 10 Crows as he addressed everyone.

"And now the time has come," he went on to say, "to tell our enemies...from the US Government, that we will not be pushed around…ANY LONGER!”

“…Tonight, you will go back to your men and prepare them for what's next.”

“He doesn’t talk like a savage…” Marshall whispered to Peyton.

“Tomorrow, in one unified attack, we will invade Dodge and officially begin our own war against the Union!" The crowd cheered for him. 10 Crows walked over to Quade. He got down next to Peyton and said privately, "You should never have come back."

10 Crows got back up towards the crowd and finished his speech, "But for tonight...we send a message straight to the heart of Washington. To the bureaucrats who sent these mercenaries to kill us. And that message is...."

10 Crows took a deep breath, one riddled with disappointment, and took out his gun, holding it straight down in his stiff arm as he walked before the prisoners, "...No mercy!"

10 Crows picked Kid Colt out of the line-up and shot him with his pistol right between the eyes. The bullet seared straight through Colt's head and the kid fell dead to the floor.

July 4th, 1863

Gettysburg, PA

Ira

Ira was running as fast he could. He had no idea what day it was. He at least knew where he was…somewhere in the Arabian Desert. He pulled himself out of the temple ruin as the portal swirled around him like quicksand. It tried to swallow him but choked. The desert was silenced. Ira was released. He looked around. The pilgrim sniper was not alone. The sand pebbles trembled around him. Something large was moving underneath him. It churned the dunes like a wave. Scaly skin caught the fleeting sun's reflection and re-submerged into the sandy sea. Ira pulled the lamp out of the sand and punched his amulet. A sand serpent, more than a mile long, leapt out of the desert floor and struck at Ira. The blue pulse appeared and started encompassing him. The serpent's fangs oozed venom inside its giant mouth as its entire head flew right at Ira. The amulet's glowing shadow covered him as the serpent bit down.

Ira landed somewhere in ancient Israel. He got up and looked around. Nothing but dried up earth all around him. He remembered. This was the place. The place he had chosen to hide the artifact. He found the burnt bush and dug beside it. Ira pulled the black blood-stained spearhead from the dirt. When he wrapped his fingers around it, a flash took over his sight. For a moment he saw an angel with this golden spear, banishing one of its own to hell.

Frightened, Ira triggered his amulet, but when his sight returned he was still safely by the bush. Ira held on tight and was thrown thousands of years into the future. He awoke inside a small town. He was in Rochester, New York. Ira was home.

He held the artifact in his hand and had a choice before him. Go home or continue on his mission. Ira sneaked into the blacksmith and went to work. The task took most of the day. He finished with a polish. It was an exact match. Ira disguised himself and went down to the Davis Ranch.

Once there, he befriended a young kid who would later become his father. Ira gave him the Winchester Rifle he forged from the spearhead, and prayed, "Let's hope this works." As he left, Ira took out the crumpled up papers and wrote on the back of them. He threw the ones he no longer needed away and stuffed the rest in the Arabian lamp.

With a flash, he was in the Mexican deserts. He climbed through a newly built Mayan Temple and hid the lamp with the formula he put in it under a statue. He had finally completed his mission. He pushed the statue back in place and pressed his amulet, activating it once again. Now all Ira had to do was wait.

When the blue pulse flashed, Ira fell onto wet sand. He got up in fear of the possibilities. Where could he be now? In his travels through time and space it had felt to him like months and years had gone by, never spending more than a day in one single place made it impossible to keep track of time spent. As he panned around, there was no water in sight. The spongy floor trembled. This doesn't bode well for Ira. A riptide wall of ocean came barreling in on him. A massive tidal wave would soon overtake him. He punched the amulet but didn’t have enough time to jump.

The wave hit him and shorted out the blue energy process. The water made contact with Ira like a colossal slap in the face. He was instantly knocked out. When he revived, he found himself on the shore. Dusk was upon him, and his amulet was still wet. He rubbed it in the sand, trying to dry it, but the shore was still damp. Ira got up and ran into the tree line, searching for dry land.

Unfortunately, everything had been affected by the tidal wave. The sun retreated from the sky and its rays retracted from over the leaves of the jungle. Ira was running out of time. He broke free from the brush only to find the other side of the island and behind it… endless seas. He was marooned on an island no more than a mile long.

The sun set and nothing happened. As it got darker and darker, Ira could tell that a storm front was moving in. He lied back and stared up at the night sky. Was he destined to live out his life on this island? Instead of a downpour the clouds parted and out came the moon. Its lunar rays caught the center crystal of the medallion lit it up. The white glow shifted to a yellow haze. It erratically leaked all over Ira and transformed him.

All Ira could see was black. He opened his eyes. He was in the middle of a battlefield, lying down behind the scope of his modified rifle. He could not remember anything. He looked to his left. A man wearing a bloodstained, union-blue army coat fired his musket next to him.

"Where are we?!" Ira screamed at the top of his lungs.

The soldier looked too frantic to think twice about Ira's displacing question and answered mechanically, "Gettysburg!"

Ira was back east in the states. All of a sudden, these familiar feelings came rushing over him. He missed his mother. He missed his family, and his brothers; most of all he missed Emma Riley. He pined for the chance to return home. Ira reached for his chest. He did not know why. All he knew was he felt the urge to travel home. The bullets crossed over his head, and he remembered. He was a soldier at war.

He looked up. A mad man was coming down on him with a complete charge of troops behind him, a desperate attempt at victory for the confederacy. Ira aimed, breathed, and shot, killing the enemy officer. He got to his knees, and up on his right foot, reloading.

Another aim through the scope and he fired. Ira parted the charge right in half, scaring the cavalry away, and planting a solid ground against the infantry. Picket's charge quickly dissolved before the union line. And Ira unknowingly saved the lives of all the wary union troops behind him. The battle was over. The North had won. Ira crawled through the broken hay and long grass to the shadow of a barn. He felt as if he was being hunted; hunted by his past. What had happened to him? How did he get here? What happened to the last two years of his life? His memories of late were eluding him.