by Art Isberg
‘I haven’t seen another living soul since I’ve been out here except you, today. Who do you minister to?’
‘There are scattered Indians that live out here, and sometimes I go into Dry Wells and give a Sunday service.’
‘You mean there’s a town someplace around here?’
‘Yes, but not much of a one. Just a few stores for local folks. Last year I even performed a wedding!’
‘How far away is it?’
‘See those mountains over there?’ He pointed to the rocky range. ‘Dry Wells is right at the foot of them, about two days’ ride from here. If you’re still around for a few days, I’ll take you in with me, so you can see it for yourself.’
‘That I’d like to do. Do you live out here someplace?’
‘I do. Tie your horse to my wagon, and join me up here on the front seat. I’ll show you my place.’
The big-wheeled church wagon headed for a rocky canyon several miles away, while Judd sat on the spring seat eyeing his strange new acquaintance, wondering what other surprises he might come up with. He wasn’t disappointed when the wagon creaked into a steep-walled canyon, coming to a stop in front of a large cave.
‘Here it is, my home.’ Moses swung his arm toward the entrance, with a smile on his face. ‘I believe the Good Lord put it here for me to find and prosper in. I have a little pole corral around the bend we can put your horse and my mule in. When they’re put up we can get inside out of this heat and relax. I’m about parched dry and need a good, cool drink of water to wet my whistle. How about you?’
‘Yes, I am. My last water bag is just about empty. Do you have enough for me to fill both my bags?’
‘Your two and a thousand more just like them, thanks to the providence of the Lord. Once we get inside I’ll show you why.’
CHAPTER TWO
The big cave went well back in solid rock, and the temperature dropped dramatically into being almost cold. Judd marvelled at the sudden change. Near the end he could hear the steady drip-drip of water. Approaching the sound he found a fissure in the wall where repeated drops of water fell into a rocky bowl hollowed out by the endless passage of time. Next to it stood a large metal container filled to the top with cold, sweet water. A tin cup hung on one handle. Judd couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight of it. Moses saw his reaction.
‘Go ahead, drink as much of it as you want. Soon as you’re done, it will fill right back up again. By the way, if you don’t mind me saying so, the way you keep that pistol on your hip is one I’ve never seen before. I saw right off you’re right-handed, but you wear it on your left with the pistol butt forward.’
‘I use a cross draw. Not many men do, but I find it’s better for me, and faster too.’
‘Sure looks mighty odd, but I’m no man of the gun. I use my bible to bring men around to my way of thinking.
‘Your way is probably better. Now let me get that drink. I’ve been dreaming about one for quite a while.’
The cave had a large stone-stocked fire pit near the entrance, a wooden bed roughly made out of tree limbs criss-crossed with leather thongs and topped by several blankets for comfort. A large, flat rock served as a table next to a pair of wooden chairs made in the same style as the bed frame. On the opposite wall, canned goods and glass jars sat on a rocky shelf serving as an open pantry. As Judd took it all in, he realized Moses had made quite a place for himself in this land of desolation and smoking hot heat.
‘Well, what do you think of all this, Judd Miller?’ Moses smiled.
‘I’d say you’ve done pretty well for yourself. I’m surprised anything like this even exists.’
‘Oh, I didn’t do this. The Good Lord showed me the way to it. I was just like you, wandering around praying I’d find a drop of water to drink. I only made the few things you see here after I moved in. Now how about you? What are you doing out here in what some men call no man’s land? We both know this is a place only a few men ever come to, and most of them do so not to be found, if you know what I mean. Does that idea fit you, too?’
Judd didn’t answer right away, even though he didn’t believe that his strange new friend posed a risk of any kind. After a long, odd silence, he locked eyes on Moses.
‘Let’s just say I’m out here because I have to be, at least for now. My reason for it is too long, with too many twists to try and explain.’
Moses let the words sink in a moment before trying one more question.
‘Do you mind me asking if you have a family someplace, back wherever you came from?’
‘I had a brother. He was ambushed and killed. That’s as much as I want to say about it.’
‘I understand. I won’t intrude any further. I had a brother once too, before I lost him in the war. He fought for the rebs, and a gallant young man he was, before a Yankee bullet shattered his heart. That’s when I left home and came out west, here. I didn’t want any part of what was going on. It cost me my brother to realize that, and to change my wild ways, too. It was a pretty steep price to pay, and I’m still paying for it.’
That evening the two men sat watching the dancing flames rise higher in the fire pit, as the night-time temperatures began to drop, and Moses rambled on about his desert home.
‘Funny, isn’t it. The sun is so hot in day time it can drive you blind, then after sundown the desert turns so cold you’d almost freeze to death. That has to be the workings of the Lord with a smile on his face, don’t you think?’
Judd nodded, his thoughts far away back home in Red Bluffs. He was barely aware of a distant bird call, when Moses suddenly reached over grabbing his arm, putting a finger to his lips.
‘You hear that?’ Moses whispered. ‘Quail don’t call at night. Indians must be coming in. You just sit tight. They know and trust me, but I wonder why they’re coming here at this hour? That’s a mighty unusual thing for them to do. Must be something pretty important for them to do so.’
‘Indians?’ Judd’s eyes narrowed. Leaning forward he searched out into the darkness.
‘Yes, they’re part of the Southern Paiutes. Broke off from the main tribe because they wouldn’t go on any reservation. They’re a little wild and unpredictable, but I’ve worked at teaching them God’s ways when they’ll listen, trying to moderate some of their savage ways. This band is led by a brave called Red Jacket.’
‘Does it work?’
‘Sometimes.’
Moses answered the quail call with one of his own, both men straining to see out into the night. No sound could be heard, no snap of dry twigs, or shuffle of feet. One moment the night in front of the cave was empty and still, the next seven ghostly figures appeared in the pulsing firelight as if by magic. Moses slowly came to his feet, making a sign of the cross towards his silent visitors. Judd saw that their long black hair down to their shoulders was wrapped in a broad red headband just above their eyes. They wore striped cotton shirts adorned with double strings of beads around their necks and some coins. One wore a red jacket. A breach clout served the lower half of their body, stopping at knee-high buckskin boots tied at the tops. Each man also wore a gun belt and sheath knife. Four carried older rifles. All seven had their eyes on Judd.
Moses beckoned them to come closer to the fire, explaining Judd’s suspicious presence in pigeon English. He raised his hand for a moment, saying something before disappearing back into the cave. Returning, he gave each Indian a small handful of tobacco. ‘I sometimes smoke a pipe,’ he commented to Judd, ‘but I keep tobacco mostly for them. It’s an important sign of friendship, for one man to share his tobacco with others. Here, you give them some, too. It will relax them about you being here. They’ve never seen another white man here at my place.’
The Indians sat exchanging tobacco, lighting hand-made cigarettes from the firepit. But the talk that followed between Moses and the Paiutes didn’t take long to turn serious. Even Judd could see their conversation was disturbed, although he couldn’t understand a single word of it. When the Indians had finishe
d they got to their feet and had a last few words with Moses, before one more parting glance at Judd. In a moment they disappeared back into the night as silently as they’d come.
‘What was that all about?’ Judd asked.
‘Nothing good. From what they said it sounds like a bunch of outlaw riders rode into Dry Wells and took over the place. They shot it up and took what they wanted, but haven’t left town yet. Looks like they might mean to stay for a while. Could be a bunch of Comancheros. They operate on both sides of the border in Mexico, and up here, too. They’re godless killers, for sure. And now they show up just when I needed to go into town for supplies!’
‘Don’t let them stop you. If you need some goods we’ll go in together and get what you want. Don’t worry about it.’
‘Don’t worry about it?’ Moses leaned closer, trying to decide if Judd was just kidding or not. Miller’s expression didn’t change.
‘That’s what I said. We don’t have to go in looking for trouble. Why should we hide out here or wait until they leave? What if they stayed in town a week or more, or even a month? You’d still need your supplies. I say we get what you need and take care of it.’
Moses rubbed the back of his neck, pursing his lips as Judd’s words sunk in. He tried one more time to explain the danger.
‘You do understand, these men, if they are Comancheros, are wanton killers. They think nothing of shooting down anyone who gets in their way. They even kidnap young women and sell them off down in Mexico to the highest bidder. They’re the worst of the worst. There’s not a shred of human decency in any of them. And you want just you and me to ride in there and pretend like we’re not in danger?’
‘Yes, I understand what you’re saying. But that doesn’t change things. You believe in that bible of yours to protect you, and I believe in this six-gun of mine. You’ve said the Good Book has power over all men, didn’t you? With your bible and my pistol, we shouldn’t fear much, should we?’
Moses stood dumbstruck at Judd’s simple statement of trust. He also knew it was an unspoken challenge, too, his six-gun against Moses’ God. The preacher pulled at his chin, struggling for an answer. After a long silence he finally spoke.
‘All right . . . by God, we’ll go in together, in the morning!’
The half-breed leader of the Comancheros, Rio Kelly, had the dark swarthy skin of his Mexican father, but green eyes from his green-eyed white mother. He was sitting on the porch in front of one of the stores he and his men had cleaned out, in a tilt-back chair, both feet propped up on a porch post. His fancy knee-high boots carried cruel, star-spiked spurs to dig deep into his horse’s sides when he wanted more speed. Several of his men lounged up and down the street counting what they’d stolen, or drinking from bottles taken from Dry Wells’ one and only saloon.
‘Hey Rio!’ Indian Bob, one of his men, called out while crossing the street towards him. ‘Let’s get out of this hick town. There’s nothing left to take. Why don’t we ride for the border and Juarez? Maybe we find some señoritas too, huh?’
Bob’s long straight hair hung down to his shoulders, under a flat-brimmed black hat with three eagle feathers stuck in the band. His face and shoulders were scarred with tattoos of Indian symbols. He wore a buckskin vest with no shirt, and striped pants tucked into knee-high moccasin boots tied by thongs at the top. Two pistols were stuck in his cartridge belt without holsters.
Bob was right. Rio was just about ready to get up and prepare to leave, when he saw a smudge of dust still far out of town but coming closer. He raised his hand. ‘Wait a minute. We might not be done yet.’ He stared until he was certain it was a wagon coming closer.
Moses was at the reins, while Judd sat next to him, his rifle out of sight under the spring seat under a blanket. The look on Moses’ face said that he was already suffering second thoughts about coming into Dry Wells. As the wagon drew closer, both men could see horses at hitching posts along the street, and men along the boardwalks watching them come in.
‘Looks like there’s a pretty big bunch of them,’ Moses warned under his breath.
‘Yeah, there’s a few. Head right for Dennison’s. Isn’t that where you said you wanted to go?’
As the wagon made its way down the street, each man came to his feet following it, until a line of the grimy-looking killers came to a stop in front of Everett Dennison’s store. Rio Kelly got to his feet, standing with both hands on his gun belt. He eyed the pair of wagon men as the Comancheros gathered around the wagon waiting for Moses and Judd to get down. Miller looked up, seeing Rio’s bandoliers of bullets forming an X across his chest. A pair of fancy pearl-handled revolvers were snug in their holsters. Kelly read the religious sign on the side of the wagon, and it brought a wicked smile to his face. He decided to have some fun before stripping the two men of anything valuable, including the wagon.
‘Hey preacher . . . you know how to say your prayers?’ He made the remark as sarcastically as possible so his men could hear it.
‘I do,’ Moses answered, trying not to sound intimidated by the insult, ‘and I also know the Good Lord protects me from all evil. It’s a lesson you and this rabble you have with you, should learn, whatever your name is.’
The smile on Rio’s face suddenly disappeared. He didn’t like being bested in front of his men, but he decided to play the game just a bit longer, before he killed both men.
‘Hey you,’ he nodded at Judd, ‘you a bible thumper too, like this fool?’
‘No,’ Judd slowly shook his head. ‘I can’t say that I am, but there might be something to it. My friend here certainly thinks so.’
‘Do you think he still would if I put my pistol to the back of his head, and told him to throw that worthless book in the dirt, and that he had five seconds left to live?’
‘I don’t know, but what kind of coward would gun down an unarmed man, without giving him a chance?’
‘A chance? You think this skinny bag of bones has any chance against me, Rio Kelly?’
‘Maybe not, but I would. You want to try me?’
A smile came back over Rio’s face, and his men laughed, at the same time waiting for their boss to answer. Only a fool ready to die would challenge Rio like that. His reputation with a six-gun was known far and wide. Some cowboy sitting in a wagon didn’t have a hoot and holler in hell of going up against him. He decided to play with Miller for a few moments longer before killing him.
‘OK, you have a pistol, and a big mouth to go with it. Get down out of that wagon, and I’ll kill you first, so my men don’t have to pull your body off the seat. Then I’ll kill the scarecrow.’
‘Just one more thing. You tell your men to stay out of it,’ Judd bargained.
‘They won’t need to help me. They can pick up what’s left of you when I’m done.’
Judd turned to start down, his eyes briefly on Moses, before silently nodding at the rifle under the seat. Moses’s eyes widened at the inference, but he said nothing. Rio walked out into the middle of the street, lifting both pistols slightly in their holster to make a quick draw. Judd stopped thirty feet away, turning to face the Comanchero leader, while Rio’s men crowded around the back of the wagon to see the fun. Rio spread his feet slightly for even balance, calling out.
‘You ready to die, cowboy?’
‘Make your play!’
Rio’s hands slapped for both pearl-handled pistols. Gripping big iron he started them up. Both barrels had just cleared holsters, but Judd’s lightning fast cross-draw had his .45 already levelled up. One thundering shot cut into Rio, spinning him to the ground. He tried desperately to crawl a few feet before collapsing, both pistols still clutched in his hands, a thin stream of bright red blood running down the side of his mouth. Rio Kelly’s days of killing and marauding were over.
For one split second Rio’s men stood open-mouthed, frozen in disbelief, before Indian Bob screamed, ‘Kill him!’
Judd spun on the men, continuing to fire, killing Bob first as the rest struggled to pu
ll their weapons. Two more Comancheros went down before the sudden roar of rifle fire behind them cut down three more, Moses standing on the wagon seat and firing Judd’s rifle as fast as he could work the lever. In ten seconds it was all over. Dead and dying men lay in the street, the remaining men dropping their pistols, throwing up their hands, caught in the murderous fire.
Suddenly up and down the street store owners ran out on to the boardwalk, shouting in relief at the death of the killers. Judd ran to the wagon and took the rifle from Moses’ hands as he collapsed back down on the seat, shaking like a leaf in a wind storm, dropping his head into both hands. Every savage instinct he’d taught himself to abhor and had preached against to others for years, he’d forgotten in one violent moment of savage killing. ‘No . . . no . . . no . . .’ he moaned over and over again.
Judd saw his friend in misery, but moved quickly, levelling the rifle on the remaining Comancheros. ‘Leave your pistols right on the ground and pick up the body of your boss and the others, and get them on a horse and away from here. And don’t any of you ever come back here again, you understand!’
A group of store owners converged on Judd and Moses, shouting their congratulations, pounding Judd on the back, as everyone tried talking at the same time. Behind them Rio’s body was being lifted on his horse, belly down and roped in place, until the last of the gang saddled up, pulling their dead behind them, riding down the street out of town at a gallop.
‘I never thought I’d ever see anything like what you two men just did,’ one of the store owners said. ‘I thought they’d kill us all!’
‘Me too,’ another man added. ‘They just about cleaned out everything I had, but I’d’ve gladly paid it all to see that Rio dead, and his men run out of town.’