by Edward Gates
“Look. All you have to do is strap that thing around your waist, turn on the switch and place your finger on that little screen. It’ll take a few minutes for the system to analyze you and your genetic structural makeup for conversion to energy, but once it gets you, that bluish light and the display will appear. At that point the counter will start rolling. When the number gets down to one, close your eyes. The flash gets pretty bright inside. When you wake up, you’ll be home.”
“Won’t you be here when I go?” Russell asked.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be here,” Charlie said reassuringly. “But, just in case I’m not back by morning, you strap that thing on and get out of here. You savvy?”
Russell nodded.
Charlie opened the front door and turned to Russell with a smile. “Get some rest. And relax. You’re as good as home.” With that, Charlie closed the door and in a minute Russell heard the buckboard drive away toward town.
“But I don’t want to go home,” Russell said under his breath to himself as he closed his eyes and pulled the blanket over him.
23
Last Rites
Mac Sherman sat on a rise outside Amarillo and watched the silhouettes of the buildings fade into darkness as the sun set. Once he saw lights start to show in various windows, he mounted his horse and rode into town using the cover of darkness to conceal him. He approached the Amarillo Hotel from one of the back streets and tied his horse to a drain spout in the rear of the building. He took a few steps toward the side entrance of the hotel but as soon as he turned the corner, he saw a buckboard wagon pull away. He jumped back behind the hotel and waited until the wagon was out of sight. Mac then made his way to the side entrance and up the back steps to Abe’s room. He tapped on the door.
“Come,” Abe said.
Mac walked in and closed the door behind him. Although they were both happy to see each other, neither one said so. Abe managed a brief smile and pulled a few folded papers from his suit pocket. He took a drink from a newer bottle of laudanum and coughed a little.
“You look good in a suit,” Mac said sarcastically. Abe did not appear amused. He ignored the comment as he handed Mac the papers.
“I drew this up for you,” Abe said with a raspy voice.
Mac opened the paper and saw that it was Abe’s last will, leaving everything he owned to Mac. Mac scanned over the papers and looked up at his boss. He didn’t know what to say. Abe held up his hand to quell any questions.
“I got no kin,” Abe said. He took another sip of his medicine. “Indians took my wife, and that god-damned ranger killed my boy. After Turlock killed Jeremiah, I’ve counted on you for everything. You’ve been like a son to me. It’s no secret I’m dying, and my time’s close. If I don’t name an heir, it’ll all be taken away and lost. Everything I built my whole life will be gone. You’re the only one I can count on to run the place and keep it together.”
“Mr. Walker, I … I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t say nothin’. It’s all legal and signed. When I’m gone you take that paper to the circuit judge in Pecos. He knows all about it. It’s done.”
Mac nodded and folded the papers and tucked it away in his pocket. Abe walked over and sat in the chair behind the small table that held his saddlebags and his gun.
“We got one more thing to do,” Abe said. “Bonnam is downstairs with the boys, waiting for us. Did anybody see you come in here?”
“No. I came up the back.” Mac walked closer to the old man.
“Good. It’ll be easier if no one knows you’re here.”
There was a hurried knock on the door. Mac and Abe looked at each other.
“Who’s there?” Abe managed to say. Mac pulled his gun and moved against the wall behind the door.
“It’s me, Mr. Walker. Crabtree.”
“Come in.”
Crabtree Bonnam entered the room and walked over to where Abe was sitting. Mac closed the door and walked out from behind it, gun in hand. The sound of the door closing startled Crabtree who turned toward him. “Mac!”
“Well?” Abe said.
“I overheard some fellas downstairs talking about that boy that Mac shot.”
“What about him?” Mac asked.
“He ain’t dead.”
Abe and Mac flashed a surprised look at each other.
“What do you mean he ain’t dead?” Mac grabbed Crabtree by his arm and stared into his eyes. “I put a hole in that boy big enough to pull a mule though. What are you talking about?”
“I’m just telling you what I heard. And to beat all, they got that boy right here in this hotel. Just down the hall.”
“So what,” Abe said. “That boy don’t concern me. We’ve got that ranger and the marshal to deal with. I want to get my man out of jail, get our business done, and get out of here.”
“Well that boy concerns me!” Mac said defiantly. “He looked up at me and saw my face. If he lives, he could put a rope around my neck. I got to finish this. Where’s he at?”
“Leave it be,” Abe Walker ordered. “That boy ain’t going nowhere with a wound like that. We can deal with him after the lawmen get what’s coming to them.”
Mac felt a rush of anger as blood surged through his body. He hated loose ends and wanted to end this now.
“First things first,” Abe said trying to calm Mac down. The three sat down to plan their assault on Marshal Cook’s office to free their jailed ranch hand.
At Tuck’s Livery, Charlie unharnessed Gus from the buckboard, saddled him, and then he led him to an empty stall. “I’ll be back to get you in a little while.” Charlie stroked Gus’s neck. He pulled his Winchester from the saddle scabbard and left the livery. Just as he was leaving, Tuck Cornelius came out of his office.
Charlie thanked him for the use of the wagon. “So what do I owe ya’?”
“Just a dollar,” Tuck said.
Charlie gave Tuck a silver dollar, smiled and started to walk away. He stopped, had a second thought, and walked back to Tuck.
“Listen, Tuck, if anything should happen to me, make sure Gus gets taken care of, will ya’?” Tuck had a surprised and concerned look on his face. “He knows you and trusts you. I’d appreciate it.”
Tuck opened his mouth to say something, but then just nodded. He agreed to take care of Gus, as Charlie requested. The two shook hands and Charlie walked off heading for the hotel to settle things with Walker once and for all.
Deputy F.G. Johnson walked up the sidewalk along Polk Street checking closed businesses and looking in on the saloons and brothels for any trouble. It was the same routine he did every night, but tonight he was a little more vigilant with the cowboys in town. He kept glancing back to the hotel to watch for Abe and his ranch hands. He was on the opposite side of the street, directly across from the Amarillo Hotel, when he saw four men exit the lobby. He didn’t think much of it until he realized they weren’t going anywhere. The group of four stayed in front of the hotel on the corner of the sidewalk. The deputy backed against a doorway in the night shadows to watch these boys.
One cowboy left the group and walked off the sidewalk and up the street and stopped in front of the marshal’s office. From the street, he looked into the marshal’s window. The other three cowboys intently watched him from their position in front of the hotel. After peering into the marshal’s office window, the cowboy walked back down the street and fell back in with the other three. This seemed a little strange to the deputy.
Johnson couldn’t recognize these men in the darkness at such a distance. He wanted to get a closer look. Just as he was about to step off the sidewalk, a fifth cowboy walked from the side of the hotel and joined the other four. Deputy Johnson stopped in his tracks. Even at this distance he could see the last cowboy was wearing a gun. When the fifth man showed, the other four cowboys went to their horses and pulled their gun belts from their saddle bags and strapped them on.
This looks like trouble. Staying in the darkness as best as he coul
d, Deputy Johnson hurried up the street toward the marshal’s office. The marshal had better know about these boys.
24
Shootout
As Charlie walked down Polk Street on his way to the hotel for a final meeting with Abe Walker, he noticed the deputy running up the other side of the street. The deputy beckoned him to come to the marshal’s office. Charlie quickened his pace and got to the office just as the deputy finished telling the marshal about the cowboys.
“What’s wrong?” Charlie asked.
Marshal Cook tied down his holster around his thigh, and walked out of the office into the moonlit street. Charlie and Deputy Johnson followed the marshal outside and closed the door behind them, leaving the lamp burning bright. Charlie looked at the night sky. It was clear with a crescent moon, not very bright but light enough to distinguish figures.
“Amos, what’s going on?” Charlie repeated.
“I think we got another jail break brewing,” Marshal Cook said. “Johnson, get across the street to Portwood’s and keep out of sight.” The deputy ran across the street and hid behind two barrels sitting on the sidewalk in front of the Portwood Drugstore. The marshal turned to Charlie. “You’re a part of this whether you like it or not.”
“A part of what?” Charlie asked again, still a little confused.
“Johnson saw Abe’s cowboys at the hotel.” The marshal pulled his sidearm and checked the loads. “They all pulled their guns from their saddlebags and put them on. I think they’re heading this way. We got a little moonlight tonight. I think we’ll have a better time of it out here in the open.” Cook re-holstered his gun and looked at Charlie. “It looks like Mac is with them this time.”
Charlie clenched his jaw as the thought of putting a bullet in Mac Sherman formed in his mind. He had already made up his mind to end this feud with Abe Walker, one way or another. But it looked like Abe would have to wait. Mac was the bigger fish for him right now.
“I’ll take cover just down from Johnson.” Charlie walked across the street and knelt down alongside a trough. He had a clear view of the street and the marshal’s office from where he was. Charlie watched Marshal Cook walk to the mercantile next door to his office and take cover in the recessed doorway. Then the three lawmen waited.
After a few minutes, Charlie noticed the silhouettes of five cowboys slowly making their way up the street toward the marshal’s office. With his aging eyesight he couldn’t recognize any of them in the dark. The five stopped in front of Hanna’s Eatery. Charlie chambered a round and raised his Winchester. He aimed at the center of the group of five cowboys. He cursed under his breath as his shaking hands kept him from drawing a steady bead on any one of them.
The cowboys all pulled their guns and three of them slowly approached the marshal’s office from the street. The other two cowboys stepped onto the sidewalk and inched their way along the wall. The first cowboy looked through the window. His face was illuminated in the light. Charlie felt the tension rise within him and he clenched his jaw. Crabtree Bonnam! The other cowboy standing alongside Bonnam was Mac.
Marshal Cook partially stepped out from the cover of the doorway with his gun in his hand. “Hold up, there! Drop those …”
Mac Sherman’s arm was a blur as he raised his gun and fired a shot at the marshal. In mid-sentence, Marshal Cook jumped back into the doorway and Mac’s bullet hit the door jamb right next to where the marshal was standing. Mac fired a second shot at Cook who pressed himself farther back into the recesses of the doorway. The second bullet struck closer than the first.
As soon as Mac fired, Johnson cut loose with his shotgun and sprayed number four buck shot across the cowboys in the street. One of the three stumbled to his knees and fell to the ground. The deputy reloaded his shotgun, but before he could fire again, all the cowboys turned and fired at him. Bullets splintered the wooden barrels and the store front behind the deputy. Johnson ducked behind the barrels. Marshal Cook shot at the cowboys and they returned fire.
From the cover of the trough, Charlie aimed at who he believed to be Mac and pulled the trigger but apparently missed. He cocked his rifle again and fired a second, a third, and then a fourth shot. He wasn’t sure who he was aiming at or if he ever hit anything. The cowboys returned fire in his direction, and began to move toward the sidewalk to get off the street. In the melee, a second cowboy fell to the ground and a third took off running down the sidewalk and into the alleyway along the hotel.
Apparently realizing the futility of the gun battle, Crabtree Bonnam tossed his gun down and raised his hands. “I’m done! I’m done! Don’t shoot!”
The other cowboy next to Crabtree tossed his gun down as well. The shooting stopped. It was over. Although it seemed longer to Charlie, the whole shootout lasted less than a minute. Marshal Cook stepped out onto the sidewalk with his Peacemaker in his hand and approached the two surrendering cowboys. Deputy Johnson ran across the street, shotgun leveled and checked on the two downed men.
“This one’s alive but he’s pretty shot up. He won’t last the night.”
The deputy checked the other cowboy lying in the street. “This one’s dead.”
Charlie hurried across the street and looked at the two downed cowboys. Neither was Mac. “Damn it!” He turned to Crabtree and put the muzzle of his rifle against Crabtree’s chest. “Where’s Mac?” he hollered.
Crabtree’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “I don’t know, I swear!”
Charlie pushed the rifle harder against Crabtree’s chest, forcing him back against the wall, and cocked the hammer of the rifle. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. Maybe at the hotel,” Crabtree blurted out.
“Hotel?” Charlie repeated.
“He found out your boy was still alive. He wanted to kill him earlier. He may be going back there.”
Charlie pulled his rifle back and gave a defiant look to Marshal Cook. “I’m going after Mac.” He took off at a run toward the hotel.
Charlie ran through the hotel lobby and up the stairs, stopping at the top of the stairs when he saw that the door to Russell’s old room was standing wide open. He cocked his rifle and cautiously approached and entered the room with his rifle leveled. The room was empty. He stood in Russell’s empty room trying to think of where Mac would have gone. Then he remembered Abe’s room.
Just as he came out of the door, Mac was standing at the end of the hallway outside Abe’s door. He fired three quick shots at Charlie who dropped his rifle and quickly dove back into Russell’s vacant room. From a reclined position, Charlie pulled his handgun and without looking fired two shots down the hallway. He waited a second for return fire from Mac, but none came. He rolled over and slowly pushed his head through the open doorway to peer down the hall. It was empty. Then he heard the side door of the hotel slam closed.
Charlie got to his feet, picked up his rifle and headed to Abe’s room. He kicked open the door and a startled Abe Walker stood holding his bottle of laudanum. He looked at Charlie and at Charlie’s rifle through his wide, bloodshot eyes. Abe glanced at the small table where his gun was sitting.
“Go ahead,” Charlie said. “Pick it up. I want you to try for your gun. Go ahead. Give me a reason.”
Abe Walker didn’t move. He swayed a little bit from his drug-induced stupor. He stood in stocking feet with his jacket and tie off and his shirt unbuttoned. It appeared to Charlie that Abe was getting ready for bed.
Charlie took a few steps closer to Abe. “Your plans fell apart, Abe. You lost a lot of good men this trip.” He poked the rifle into Abe’s chest and Abe backed away. “Is that what you had in mind, you bastard? Pick your gun up. Go ahead.” Charlie poked Abe again with the rifle a little harder this time. Abe grunted from the jab of the rifle barrel. “That empire you spent a lifetime building is going to hell. And all because of your hatred. Tell me. Was it worth it, Abe? Was it?” Charlie tried to poke Abe again, but this time Abe slapped the rifle muzzle away and tried to charge Charlie. He was so unsta
ble from the medicine that he lost his balance, dropped his medicine bottle, and stumbled to the floor. He got himself onto his hands and knees, coughing.
“Where’s Mac, Abe?” Charlie asked.
Abe shook his head and coughed harder. It was obvious to Charlie that he was having a difficult time trying to catch a breath. Charlie picked up the bottle of laudanum and held it out so Abe could see it.
“Mac. Where’d he go?” Charlie again asked.
Abe was coughing so hard that blood spurted with each hack. He fell back down to the floor unable to hold his weight any longer. Charlie handed him the bottle and Abe took a long gulp. He caught a breath and in between short breaths he said. “You’ll … you’ll never … stop him … in time.” Abe rolled on his back cradling the bottle of opium extract in his arms.
“In time for what, you diseased bastard! In time for what?” Charlie said, his anger rising.
Abe looked up at Charlie and just smiled. In Charlie’s rage he brought the butt of his rifle down on Abe’s chest and heard bones break. Abe let out a painful cry and cough at the same time. Charlie backed away and watched as blood filled Abe’s mouth. Abe struggled to breathe but couldn’t clear his air passage. He thrashed about on the floor in an attempt to raise himself, but was too weak and he fell back down. He raised his head but it too fell back hard to the floor. As Abe continued to struggle, Charlie backed to the doorway. Finally Abe rolled on his side and lay still on the floor. Charlie just closed the door and walked down the back stairs and onto the side street next to the hotel.
“Time for what?” Charlie repeated to himself out loud. He kept running the evening over in his mind. What’s Mac going to do? Abe said “no time”. Suddenly his eyes widened as he pulled the pieces together.
“Damn! Russell! He’s going after Russell!” Charlie ran up Polk Street as fast as his fifty-year-old, out-of-shape legs would carry him. Marshal Cook called to him as he ran past the shootout scene, but Charlie kept running. No time! No time!