The Black Vultures

The Silver Spur was quieter now, the late-night revelry having died down to a few stragglers nursing their last drinks before heading out into the night. Sam and Jack sat at a corner table, their faces shadowed in the dim light, as they waited for the arrival of the men who would either make or break their plan.

The Black Vultures. The name alone was enough to send a shiver down the spine of anyone who knew the kind of men that flew under that banner. A notorious gang, known for their ruthlessness and skill, they were exactly the kind of men Sam needed to pull off a job as big as the one he was planning. But they were also dangerous—unpredictable, and not exactly known for their loyalty.

Jack had heard stories about them during his time as a bounty hunter. The Black Vultures operated on the fringes of the law, raiding small towns, ambushing stagecoaches, and occasionally pulling off bigger heists that left bodies in their wake. They were led by a man named Cole "Vulture" Wallace, a veteran of the Civil War like Jack and Sam, who had turned to a life of crime after the war ended. Wallace was a cunning strategist, a man who valued results over loyalty, and who would just as easily turn on his own men if it meant saving his own skin.

Jack was uneasy about involving men like Wallace and his gang in their plan, but Sam was convinced that they needed the extra muscle. Fletcher had too many men under his control, too much firepower for just the two of them to handle. They needed the Black Vultures if they were going to have any chance of taking him down.

A hush fell over the room as the door to the saloon swung open. A group of men entered, their boots heavy on the wooden floor, their presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. At the front of the group was Cole Wallace himself, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scar running down the side of his face, a permanent reminder of the war. His cold, calculating eyes swept the room, landing on Jack and Sam as he made his way over to their table.

"McCall," Wallace said, his voice low and gravelly as he reached their table. "It's been a long time."

"Too long, Wallace," Sam replied, standing to shake the man's hand. The two men exchanged a nod, a silent acknowledgment of their shared history.

Wallace's gaze shifted to Jack, his eyes narrowing slightly as he sized him up. "Sullivan," he said, the name sounding almost like a challenge.

"Wallace," Jack replied coolly, holding the man's gaze. He could see the calculation in Wallace's eyes, the wheels turning as he assessed whether Jack was a threat or an asset.

After a tense moment, Wallace smirked, seeming to decide that Jack was someone he could work with. He gestured to the men behind him. "These are my boys—Cal, Roy, and Ben. They're good men, the best at what they do. We've all got a stake in this, so let's get down to business."

The men took their seats, the air thick with tension as they began to discuss the details of the plan. Sam laid out the basics—Fletcher's stronghold, the number of men he had, the routes in and out of town. Wallace listened intently, occasionally nodding or asking a pointed question. Jack watched the gang leader carefully, noting the way his eyes flickered with interest whenever Sam mentioned the amount of money they stood to gain.

As the discussion went on, Jack's unease grew. There was something about Wallace, something about the way he and his men carried themselves, that put Jack on edge. They were too confident, too sure of themselves, and Jack couldn't shake the feeling that Wallace was holding something back.

"So, what's in it for us?" Wallace asked finally, leaning back in his chair, his eyes locked on Sam.

"You get a cut of the take," Sam replied, his tone even. "Same as the rest of us. But you follow my lead. This is my job, and I'm calling the shots."

Wallace's smirk widened, but his eyes remained cold. "Fair enough. But if things go south, we're not sticking around to clean up your mess. We'll do our part, but we're not dying for your cause, McCall."

"That's all I ask," Sam said, though Jack could see the flicker of tension in his jaw.

Wallace nodded, seemingly satisfied with the terms. "Alright then. We're in. But remember, McCall—if you cross us, we'll put you in the ground."

The threat hung in the air, a stark reminder of the kind of men they were dealing with. Jack's hand instinctively moved to the revolver at his hip, but he forced himself to stay calm. This was the only way, he reminded himself. They needed Wallace and his men, no matter how dangerous they were.

With the deal struck, the men stood to leave. Wallace paused as he reached the door, turning back to give Jack one last look. "You'd better watch your back, Sullivan," he said, his voice low and ominous. "In this business, loyalty is a luxury you can't afford."

Jack didn't respond, simply meeting Wallace's gaze until the man turned and walked out the door, his men following close behind.

As soon as they were gone, Jack let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He turned to Sam, who was staring at the door with a troubled expression.

"You sure about this, Sam?" Jack asked quietly. "Wallace isn't the kind of man you can trust."

"I know," Sam replied, his voice strained. "But we don't have a choice, Jack. Fletcher's got too many men. We need the Black Vultures, or we're dead in the water."

Jack nodded, though the unease in his gut didn't lessen. He knew Sam was right, but that didn't make the situation any easier to swallow. They were walking a razor's edge, and one wrong move could send them all to an early grave.

"Let's just get this over with," Jack said finally, standing up and heading for the door. "The sooner we're done, the sooner we can get the hell out of this town."

Sam followed him, and together they stepped out into the cool night air. The town of Red Creek lay silent around them, the streets empty, the buildings dark and foreboding. In the distance, the mountains loomed like silent sentinels, watching over the unfolding drama with indifference.

As they made their way back to the boarding house, Jack couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into a trap—one that had been set long before they ever set foot in Red Creek. But it was too late to turn back now. The die had been cast, and all they could do was see the plan through to the bitter end.