Darrow's Badge
Gillian F. Taylor

EXTRACT FROM CHAPTER FOUR

Tomcat Billy is setting up the diversion for the hotel robbery, but runs into some trouble along the way.

'And what are you thinking of this ?' Irish showed Tomcat a photograph of himself that he'd had taken the day before, after a visit to the bathhouse and barbershop. They were strolling down the busy sidewalk on Main Street, amongst the shoppers, delivery men and idlers. Irish was carrying a bundle wrapped in an old, greyish towel under his left arm.

Tomcat studied the picture for a moment. 'Why you look as smart as a pup with a new collar,' he answered. 'I might get me a picture done and send it to the folks back home.'

Their conversation ended as Tomcat Billy and Irish stopped on the sidewalk outside Pinder's Hotel. The hitching rails were quite full, as the hotel was next door to the Freight Car Saloon. Tomcat looked around, taking advantage of Irish's bulk to hide him, and slipped under the hitching rail onto the street. Amongst the closely-tied horses, it was easy for him to quickly duck out of sight and wriggle under the sidewalk. The bundle Irish had been carrying dropped to the ground just within arm's reach. Tomcat seized it and pulled it under with him. Shafts of gilded sunlight struck down into the dark under the boards through gaps where some had warped. Tomcat shoved the bundle further in, under the hotel itself, and wriggled after it. Leaves, paper, bottles and even a battered wooden crate that had once held whiskey bottles had drifted in under the hotel. Tomcat felt as if he were in some secret world, his face a few inches from the earth while footsteps thudded overhead. His sharp ears caught the sound of a mouse skittering away through the debris. He wriggled forward, smelling the dryness of the earth. Even with pulling and shoving the bundle along, it took less than a minute for him to reach the right spot. Tomcat was listening to the muffled voices above, when he heard something else.

A buzzing rattle, no more than a few feet away to his left. Tomcat almost screamed but clamped his teeth together so hard he bit his lip. He screwed his eyes closed and dug his hands into the soil, clinging to the earth in order not to panic. Tomcat forced himself to breathe evenly, no matter how fast his heart raced. The rattle sounded again and Tomcat shivered in spite of the sweat forming on his face. There was a white scar on his right arm where he had been bitten by a rattlesnake two years earlier. The agony, shakes, vomiting and sheer terror of expecting to die, poured back into Tomcat Billy's mind.

Very slowly, he turned to look. The diamondback was partially coiled, with a foot of head and neck, and the end of its tail, raised. It shook its tail again, producing the characteristic buzz. Tomcat took a deep breath and forced himself to let it out slowly. The diamondback could only strike to a maximum distance of about half its own length. Tomcat estimated that he was three feet beyond its current range. He wanted to move, to scuttle backwards away from the danger. Instead he glanced about. The whiskey bottle box he had crawled past was near his feet. Moving slowly, Tomcat wriggled backwards until he could catch the broken box between his feet. He curled himself, holding the box between his feet, until he could reach the box with one handand bring it up to his face. The diamondback shook its rattle again and coiled itself a little tighter. Tomcat closed his eyes a moment; his heart seemed to pound even louder.

Opening his eyes again, Tomcat slowly turned the box so that the open side faced the snake. He shuffled forward a little, the box held in front of himself. Digging his toes into the ground, Tomcat pushed forward fast, thrusting the box over the snake as it sprang in reaction to his sudden move. Tomcat heard its head hit the inside of the box, a few inches from his ear. He pinned the box against the ground as the rattler battered itself against the inside. Already the cracked wood of the old box was giving way. Terror drove Tomcat's reactions. As he had hoped, a few inches of the rattler's tail were on the outside of the box. Seizing the end of the tail, Tomcat jerked the snake out from under the box, rolling backwards at the same time. He whirled it around horizontally, in the narrow space under the building, and cracked it like a whip, using all the strength he could muster in an awkward position. The snake's head broke off under the force, landing with a soft thump, some feet away. Tomcat threw the body to one side and rolled over to vomit up his breakfast.

He lay on his chest for a few moments, letting the terror seep away. As soon as he felt calmer, Tomcat spat into the dirt and unwrapped the old towel to get at his bundle of damp leaves, green wood, and kindling. Tomcat cleared a space to arrange the kindling, then got a match from the tin in his pocket and struck it on a stone. Once the fire was going, he carefully added the green sticks and piled the leaves on them. A good, thick smoke started to coil up from the crackling mass. Some of it had to be filtering up through the floorboards of the hotel, but a lot was spreading out. Tomcat emerged backwards, standing up between the horses at the hitching rail. He coughed and spat smoky phlegm onto the street. A quick wipe with his handkerchief got the worst of the soot from his face. Tomcat spoke to the horse he was standing beside.

'I'm off to wait by the depot and see the fun.' Giving the horse a quick pat on the shoulder, he slipped out and trotted across the street.

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