The Daughter, C.B. Cooper [ink book reader TXT] 📗

those people, but I could get revenge for them. I killed them for that woman and her baby. I killed them for that scared little boy that was beaten bloody before he had his throat slit." As Sharp talked, the anger rekindled inside of him, "I killed them because they deserved to die."
Across the room, Sam heard a sharp intake of breath, "Jesus Christ. You kilt over twenty men by yourself?"
"No," Sharp admitted, "not by myself. I had help."
"What? Who?"
"After I bandaged myself up, I did what I had went there to do. Bradford and his men had taken my horse and all of my weapons, so I tracked down that renegade band of hostiles on foot. For some reason, they had left me alive. Probably figured I would have never made it out of The Big Thicket alive. But they underestimated me. It only took me a couple of hours to find them because they hadn't went very far after they had raided that village. When I walked into their camp, I told them about what the soldiers had done to the people in that village, and that they had done that as a warning to them. I told them that they would be next."
"You walked into a renegade camp unarmed? Boy, you must have balls the size a watermelons. I'm surprised they didn’t kill you on sight."
Sharp laughed mirthlessly, "I actually figured they would, but I also figured I deserved it. All I wanted was enough time to explain what had happened and to set them on the track of Bradford and his men. I knew that they would take care of the rest. But, not only was my life spared, they thanked me for bringing them the information. The leader of the band asked me what I wanted in return. I told him that the only thing I wanted, was my horse and guns back— and I wanted the satisfaction of watching every single one of those sick, sons a bitches, die for what they had done."


Across town, George Jarvis was awakened by the storm raging outside. Crossing the room he stood by the window, staring down into the empty street. Lightening lit the sky every ten to twenty seconds, so when a lone rider rode through town, the intermittent light made the figure below look like it was lurching down the street like a marionette, the strings being manned by a drunk . It was surreal to watch— and kind of creepy.
Shivering, he grumbled, "God-damned Idaho."
He'd never been anywhere where they had so many late summer storms. The weather around this place was ridiculous. He might have to re-think the amount of time he was planning on spending here. There were a lot more areas in the territory where he could profit from a gold rush or two. And there was always the possibility of trying their hand down in California, like Adams had suggested.
Jarvis turned when he heard a thump at the door. "Yeah, what is it?" he hollered.
His question was met with silence.
"I said, what is it?"
When there was still no answer, he crossed the room. Jerking open the door, he yelled, "Why the fuck arent you—"
The guard posted outside of his door fell into the room, landing on the floor with a thud.
Jarvis scowled down at the sleeping man. He paid these men handsomely to protect him, all he asked is that they stay sober, stay awake and do their job. How hard is that, he thought angrily.
He nudged the mans back with his socked foot, "Wake up, you lazy bastard! I don’t pay you to sleep."
When the man still didn’t respond, Jarvis bent down and grabbed the man roughly by the shoulder and jerked him onto his back.
The guards eyes were closed and his face was lax, like he was in the midst of a deep slumber, but the red line slashed across his throat told another story.
"Aww, fuck!" Jarvis choked, as he jumped back.
In a panic, he ran to his nightstand and grabbed his gun belt, flinging it around his waist over his long johns. He buckled it as fast as he could with shaky, unsteady hands.
As he headed for the door, he had another thought. Stopping, he jerked the colt from his waist and pointed it at his bedroom window. He fired off two quick rounds, breaking the glass and making enough noise to hopefully bring the men out in the street running.
Then, gun still in hand, he ran out into the corridor. Down the hall he seen the guard posted outside of Adams room, slumped against the wall, a huge red stain spreading across the front of his shirt.
A high-pitched scream split the air, making the hair rise on the back of his neck and a shiver run down his spine.
Jarvis was cemented in place as he listened to the horrifying screams coming from his partners room. They were wild, high-pitched shrieks and screams, the likes of which Jarvis had never heard before.
The sound of his men pounding up the stairway finally shocked him back into action. Running down the hall, he held his gun with one hand and turned the doorknob to Adams' room with the other, shoving against it with his shoulder.
The thick wooden door didn’t budge. Turning the handle again, he rammed against it again. Nothing.
Coulter was the first to reach him.
"Get this door open!" Jarvis shouted above the screams still coming from inside.
Coulter pushed by him and tried opening the door without any luck. Turning, he searched the crowd of men, "Diego, get over here."
Diego, a huge Mexican with a pock scarred face, pushed his way to the front. "Senior?"
"Get this god-damned door open, pronto."
"Si."
The Mexican turned the knob and threw his weight against the door a few times, without success. Backing across the hall, he ran full bore, crashing into it with all of his weight.
The men heard a loud crack, followed by Diego's own scream.
Clutching his dislocated shoulder, the big Mexican danced around.
From the other side of the door, he could hear Adams screaming, "Don’t open the door! It's a trap! Don’t open the door!"
Jarvis looked around at him men, "She's in there! Get this goddamn door open— and kill that bitch!"
Inside, Adams lay on the floor completely naked. He had huge metal spikes drove through the palms of his hands and into the floor to keep him in place, while the back of his head rested on the sharp, glinting, cold steel tines of a bear trap.
One half of the trap, the part under his head, had been nailed to the floor to keep it stationary. Above the tripping mechanism in the middle, a large rock had been tied with a small gauge rope and ran up through the candle lit chandelier and over to the door, its end wrapped around the doorknob.
If they opened the door, the rock would fall and spring the trap, effectively cutting his head in two.
"Don’t open the door! Get away from the god-damned door!" he screamed, tears running down his face mixing with the sweat that dripped off of the back of his head and neck.
"Oh dear jesus," he cried. "Help me, help me, help meeee!"
He eyes flew to the door as he heard a big thump against it.
"Stop! Don’t open the door, you'll kill meeee!" he screamed, his vocal cords straining in his neck.
Thump. "Listen to me!" Adams kicked his legs, his body dancing with adrenaline, "Stop, you bastards!" He felt one of the sharp teeth on the trap rip into the back of his head, "Awwwhhh! Fuck— STOP!"
In the hallway, he heard two quick shots, the bullets splintering the wood next to the doorknob.
His body jerked as his heart jumped in his chest, hammering. Screaming, he strained against the spikes in his palms, sliding his hands towards the top of he spikes. "AWWWWWW—"

Coulter slipped his left gun back into its holster and stepped forward, still gripping the right, and kicked the door open—
Jarvis was right behind him, gun in hand, ready to kill the bitch on sight.
As the door shot open, they watched a rock drop from the ceiling and land right in the middle of a bear trap. The trap jumped as the jaws snapped shut, cutting through the middle of Adams's head, and cutting him off in mid-scream.
"Fuck!" Jarvis strangled, stumbling backwards and tripping over the men behind him.
On the floor, he scrambled to his feet and backed away from the door, and the grisly sight of his partner laying there with his head half way ripped off. The sound of the mans skull crushing still fresh in his ears, he jumped up and down. "Fuck, fuck! Oh, Fuuuuck!"
One of the gunhands peeked passed Coulter's shoulder, then turned around and threw up in the hallway.
Coulter stepped back out of the room and slowly closed the door behind him. He faced his boss, his normally calm expression, replaced by shocked disbelief and was chalk-white. "I guess that’s why he didn’t want us to open the door."

Back in his room, Jarvis paced the floor unable to sleep, while Dean Harris watched from his chair by the bed. In fact, he wondered if he'd ever be able to fall asleep again.
The image of his dead partner flashed through his mind and he shuttered.
One thing was for sure— she was one crazy bitch.
The sounds of men shouting down below drifted up from the floor.
"Oh, what now?" he muttered as he and Harris headed for the door.
Downstairs, they found Adams' men faced off with his own.
"What in the hells going on here?" Jarvis demanded.
Coulter was his usual laid back self as he answered, "Adams's men are leaving."
"What?"
Cyrus Greenly, leader of Adams's guards stepped forward, "Our boss is dead. We aint got no stake in this anymore, so we're pullin' out."
"What? You cant leave now." he cried, "Don’t you want to get the bitch that killed him?"
Cyrus stared at him, his eyes hard. "We worked for him because he paid us to, not because we liked him."
Jarvis stared at the group of men incredibly. What a bunch of heartless bastards, he thought. If he didn’t need their help, he would have thrown them out of there himself on principal alone, but as it stood, he did need them.
Stepping forward, Jarvis told Cyrus, "Whatever Adams was paying you boys, I'll double it if you stay."
"No dice." The big man shrugged, "We talked it over, and we're out."
Panicked by the thought of loosing thirteen gunmen, Jarvis blurted out, "I'll triple it. Whatever he was paying, I'll triple it."
Syrus sighed, then turned to look at his men in turn. He met each one in the eye, taking a silent vote. Each one of them gave the consensus with a slight shake of their heads. It was unanimous.
He shrugged, "Sorry, the answers still no. Now, if you'll kindly have your men back away from the door, we'll be taking our leave."
Jarvis stood there, his arms folded, his jaw clenched.
It was Coulter that finally turned to his men, "Move away, boys. Let 'em through."
Amidst grumbles and protests, Syrus lead his stoic men out the door.
After the last mans boots stepped off of the front stairs, Jarvis turned to Coulter, "Wait twenty minutes, then take your men and head out."
Coulter frowned, "Boss?"
"I want every single one of those deserting cowards dead by sunrise."
He spun on his heel and headed for the stairs before Coulter could argue. It had been