Wanted: A Western Story Collection

by Robert J. Thomas

  The killers were last seen heading north and Jack picked up their tracks a quarter mile out of town.

  “This is the way that I came to Boulder,” Gideon remarked.

  “Did you meet anybody?” the sheriff asked.

  “After I bedded down for the night, I heard a couple of horses running past my camp,” Gideon answered.

  “I’d say you heard our killers running off,” Sheriff Howell said.

  “So, you already let them escape once,” Farting Jack said to Gideon.

  “I didn’t know they’d killed anybody or I would have caught them to save me from listening to you,” Gideon said.

  “Boy, you watch old Farting Jack Dolan and you’ll learn a thing or two,” Jack said.

  “Where are you from, Gideon?” the sheriff asked.

  “Last Stand, Colorado,” Gideon answered.

  “I knew Sheriff Fuller way back in the day. He’s a fine fellow. How is he?” Sheriff Howell said.

  “Sir, I haven’t been back home since I left for the war, but you’re right about the sheriff. He’s a good man. He gave me a stern talking-to a few times,” Gideon said and smiled. Memories of the shenanigans that he and Ethan used to get into came rushing back and made him nostalgic.

  “Don’t you have any family back there?” Deputy Kline asked.

  “No, my mother died before the war and I lost my pa at the Battle of Little Blue River. I never had any brothers or sisters,” Gideon said.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Sheriff Fuller said.

  “Can’t change any of it now,” Gideon said, not wishing to discuss the matter any further.

  To change the subject, the sheriff said, “Farting Jack is right. If you watch him, you’ll learn something. He’s the best tracker I’ve ever come across. Good as an Indian.”

  “If the killers were as gassy as he is, we could just follow our nose,” Gideon said to a round of laughter.

  After riding for another hour, Jack spotted the remains of a campfire off to the side of the road. Climbing off his horse, the mountain man walked around the camp and held his hand above the ashes. “I’d say they got a three or four hour lead on us,” he said before climbing back on his horse.

  The posse put their horses into a lope and pushed forward. They kept the pace up for close to an hour before pulling their mounts up to let them catch their wind. For the rest of the day they alternated between the two gaits and rode until there wasn’t enough light left to see tracks.

  After making camp and eating, the men sat around the campfire as Farting Jack told stories about his trapping days and scrapes with Indians. Explosions of gas interrupted his stories and the sheriff made the mountain man trade places so that Jack sat downwind from the other three men. Tired from a day of riding and laughing at Jack, the men turned in early for the night.

  With the faintest sign of light to the east, the sheriff roused everybody. Jack and Gideon were light sleepers, but a mutiny almost broke out in getting Deputy Kline up and moving. They rode out with the sky still too dark to track, but the sheriff seemed confident the killers would still be following the road when it would be light enough to check. Farting Jack confirmed that they were still on the right trail a half-hour later.

  The posse came upon the outlaw’s campfire. Embers were still glowing from the killers taking the time to make coffee.

  From his horse, Jack said, “We’re getting close. They’re in none too big a hurry. I don’t think they have much respect for our honorable sheriff.”

  “They will when I nail their carcasses to the jail wall,” Sheriff Howell said, clearly annoyed at Jack’s comment.

  A short time later, the killers’ tracks left the road and headed off in a northwest direction.

  “Where do you think they’re headed?” Gideon asked.

  “My guess is that they either have a place in the mountains or they plan to ride into Fort Collins from the south off the beaten path,” the sheriff answered.

  Jack had to take more time to follow the trail as the land turned rockier, but still had little trouble finding signs of the outlaws. The posse reached the first of the foothills as the two men’s trail led into higher elevations. Each hill they rode up stood taller than the last and they reached a steep rise with a single path to the top. The hillside lay strewn with scrub brush and rock formations, forcing the men to fall in line with Farting Jack taking the lead. Half way up the hill, the roar of a rifle interrupted the sound of the clomping horses. Jack let out a yelp and managed to both fall and dive off his horse. A second shot hit Deputy Kline. He fell back onto the rump of his horse and the startled animal bolted up the hill with the deputy bouncing along until he fell into the rocks. Jack crawled behind a small bush while Gideon and the sheriff spun their horses and took cover behind a large boulder.

  “Jack, how bad is it?” Sheriff Howell yelled.

  “It’s my thigh. I’ll be okay,” Jack hollered back before another shot echoed through the hills.

  With their view partially obstructed by brush, Gideon and the sheriff retrieved their rifles and maneuvered behind the rock to find a spot to catch sight of the shooters. They could see neither man.

  “What’s the plan?” Gideon asked.

  “I don’t have one. It’s hard to shoot something you can’t see and I don’t know how we’re going to get to Jack without getting ourselves killed. Got any ideas?” Sheriff Howell said.

  “Nope,” Gideon answered.

  The outlaws started taking aim at Jack. The bush provided no protection and little concealment. Retreating farther down the hill would have completely exposed him until he reached cover. He tried moving from one side of the scrub to the other as the shots continued. On the fifth shot, Jack yelped again.

  “Jack,” Gideon yelled.

  “They just took some hide off me. Boys, this don’t look too good,” Jack hollered.

  Handing his rifle to the sheriff, Gideon said, “Give me your pistol. I’m charging them. Try to keep them pinned down for me.”

  “You can’t do that. That’s suicide,” Sheriff Howell said.

  “I soldiered in the cavalry. That’s what we did. Jack’s a goner if we don’t do something,” Gideon said.

  The sheriff reluctantly handed over his revolver. Gideon mounted his horse as the sheriff got in position behind the rock where he could see the top of the hill.

  “Wish me luck,” Gideon said before he spurred his mount. He ducked his head down along the horse’s neck and kept putting his heels to the animal as he rode.

  The first shot thundered in Gideon’s direction just as he passed by Jack. The mountain man realized what was happening and drew his revolver. He started shooting up the hill in the direction of the outlaws with no real hope of actually hitting anyone. Sheriff Howell began peppering the hilltop with fire and Gideon did the same. The barrage of bullets slowed the outlaw’s return fire and caused them to take only potshots as Gideon’s horse strained to climb the ridge. As Gideon reached the hilltop, he discarded the sheriff’s gun and drew his own. The two men were on either side of him, both about twenty yards away. Gideon fired at the man on his right as the outlaw arose to face him before spinning his horse hard to the left without bothering to see if the shot hit its mark. The second man tried to draw a bead, but Gideon’s dancing horse slowed his aim and Gideon shot him before the man fired. Spinning back to the right, he saw that the first man looked dead.

  Gideon took a deep breath and puffed up his cheeks as he exhaled slowly. He let his tension escape with the breath. His heart still pounded against his chest and he could feel his pulse in his temples. Holstering his revolver, he dismounted and checked on the two outlaws. Both men were dead.

  “They’re dead,” he yelled before climbing onto his horse and riding to Jack.

  The sheriff was squatting beside the mountain man by the time Gideon arrived.

  Sheriff Howell looked up at Gideon. “You’ve got the job permanently,” he said.

  Jack pointed his finger
at Gideon. “Boy, you’re either the bravest or most sapheaded man I’ve ever come across, but I thank you either way. I thought I was going to be running traps in Heaven,” he said.

  Not knowing what to say, Gideon said, “I’ll check on Deputy Kline, but I’m pretty sure he’s gone.”

  Deputy Kline had taken a bullet to the center of the chest. Gideon doubted that the deputy had still been alive by the time he hit the ground. Retrieving the lawman’s hat, Gideon placed it over Kline’s face.

  Sheriff Howell walked over to the body. “He worked for me for five years and leaves a wife and two children. Howard was an honest man and a pretty fair deputy. How do you tell somebody’s wife that her husband isn’t coming home?” he asked.

  “I don’t rightly know. I wouldn’t cherish the job,” Gideon said as he gazed at the body.

  “Are you any good with dressing wounds? Jack needs tending to and I’m not much good at it,” Sheriff Howell said.

  “I’ve done some patching up on the battlefield,” Gideon said and walked to Jack.

  Gideon pulled out his knife to slit Jack buckskin pants.

  “Hold it right there. These are new this spring and you’re not about to go cutting them up,” Jack said and yanked down his pants and long underwear.

  “Good God, Jack, I saved your life and I have to look at that for my troubles,” Gideon said.

  “What’s the matter, boy? Got you jealous, does it?” Jack said.

  “I might go ahead and castrate you while I’m dressing your wound. Maybe you won’t be such a rascal if I do,” Gideon said.

  Jack retorted with a fart and Gideon retreated to his horse to get his whiskey and a shirt out of his saddlebag. The wound to the leg had missed bone and exited cleanly. Gideon poured the whiskey onto the injury as Jack howled in pain.

  “I bet you think that’s funny, don’t you? I knew you were a mean one,” Jack hollered.

  “I don’t think wasting good whiskey is ever funny,” Gideon said as he tore his shirt into strips.

  “I’m glad to hear that keeping my leg from rotting off is wasteful to you,” Jack barked out as the sheriff joined them.

  “My little girl doesn’t whine as much as you do when she skins her knee,” the sheriff said.

  “See if I ever track for you again. It takes some nerve comparing Farting Jack Dolan to a little girl,” Jack hollered.

  Gideon bandaged the wound. “Hike up your drawers and let me have a look at your arm,” he said.

  “My arm’s fine. You’ll be wanting to amputate,” Jack said before pulling up his pants and hobbling to his feet.

  Sheriff Howell and Gideon retrieved the horses and tied the bodies across the saddles. The sheriff’s gun lay at the top of the hill and Gideon picked the weapon up and handed the revolver to him.

  “Sorry about throwing your gun,” Gideon said.

  “That’s the least of my concerns. So, did you do things like this in the cavalry?” the sheriff asked.

  “I have before. Never by myself like today, but sometimes you don’t have much choice. They say charge and you go. Most men are too nervous to get a clean shot when you’re breathing down on them anyways,” Gideon said.

  “What if these men had turned out not to be like most men?” Sheriff Howell asked.

  “I try not to think about those things. People have been there for me when I was in trouble and I need to pay back some for all that others have done. Jack needed help and worrying doesn’t change anything,” Gideon said.

  “True, but you could have put your own safety first if you chose,” the sheriff said.

  Gideon shrugged his shoulders. “And miss out on all Jack’s warmth and politeness? I wouldn’t think of it,” he said.

  Jack had to mount his horse from the right side, but managed to do the task without any assistance. The three men with three bodies in tow rode down the hill and traveled back to the main road. They could only go at a walk as anything more caused Jack too much pain. He never complained, but the sheriff could see the discomfort on the mountain man’s face so they made camp early that night.

  Blood had soaked through the buckskin pants and Gideon doused the wound in whiskey again before applying fresh bandages. Wincing with pain, Jack took the bottle from him and tipped it back, guzzling a big drink. Gideon offered the bottle to the sheriff, but the lawman shook his head.

  Gideon had felt himself sinking all afternoon on their return ride. Until today, he hadn’t killed a man since the war and the weight of his actions were dragging him down. He had killed the men with neither regard for his own safety or thought for his victims. The notion crossed his mind that deep down he might have been hoping for his own death.

  Jack and Gideon shared the bottle until Jack’s face relaxed from drowning out his pain as he dosed off to sleep. Gideon took one more pull on the bottle. Satisfied that he had numbed himself for the night, he stretched out on the ground and closed his eyes. The dead boy stared at him for a moment, but vanished as Gideon fell right to sleep. He dreamed of Abby and the one time they had made love on the day before he left for the war.

  In the morning, Gideon woke up as hard as a pistol barrel and feeling as low as a snake. He moved covertly around the camp until the embarrassment passed and then helped the sheriff with breakfast.

  Jack roused from the commotion and moved stiffly as he stood. He put his hand to his forehead and slowly shook his head. “I haven’t drunk that much in a long time. I remember now why I don’t do such things very often. The leg is stiff as a board, but it’s not aching so terrible. I say we push on home today,” he said.

  “That sounds good to me if you think that you can stand the pace. We need to get those bodies back to town before they start stinking anyways,” Sheriff Howell said.

  Looking over at Gideon, Jack said, “You’re awfully quiet today. What’s your problem?”

  Rubbing his scar, Gideon said, “I’m just dreading the thought of you pulling down your pants while I treat your wound.”

  “I’m good to go and I’ll wait until I can see the doctor. If I were you, I’d be all down in the mouth too after seeing what the prized bull looks like,” Farting Jack said.

  Gideon attempted a smile, but mostly failed. “I guess that’s it,” he said.

  After breakfast, the men saddled up and resumed their journey home. Jack handled the traveling better than the day before and they arrived back in Boulder late in the afternoon. The sheriff led them straight to the undertaker’s place and got the bodies inside before too many people had a chance to see them. He feared news would reach Mrs. Kline before he had a chance to talk to her.

  “I guess I need to find a place to stay. Is there a good boarding house in town?” Gideon asked.

  “I got me a shack outside of town. Why don’t you stay with me for a few days while I mend? You can make a pallet on the floor and it’ll save you some money. You can fetch me water and such so I can stay off this leg. I need to give you some educating anyways,” Jack said.

  Sheriff Howell said, “Take him up on his offer. I’ll help you find a place to live later and we won’t have to worry about it tonight. Will I see you in the morning?”

  “You will. I need the job,” Gideon said.

  “I’m going to go see Mrs. Kline. I don’t cherish this, but I guess it comes with the job,” Sheriff Howell said.

  “I’m going to go see Doc Lynn. Maybe that old sawbones won’t be too drunk this late in the day,” Jack said.

  Gideon walked to the nearest saloon to wait for Jack. He bought a bottle of whiskey and sipped from a glass to pass the time. The traveling that day had somewhat lifted his spirits and chased the darkness. The whiskey warmed him and made him feel mellow by the time Jack finally came for him.

  They rode to the shack as dusk settled over the land. The cabin wasn’t much to look at and had seen better days. It consisted of only one room with a bed, table, stove, and fireplace. Jack wasn’t a man of possessions and the place looked sparsely furnished. Gideon h
elped the old man cook a meal and afterwards they sat at the table and nursed glasses of whiskey.

  “Gideon, I really do appreciate what you did for me yesterday. I would have been a goner if you hadn’t stepped up. That was a brave thing you did,” Farting Jack said.

  “I just did what I was trained to do in the cavalry. Sometimes charging is your only option,” Gideon said, fending off the gratitude.

  “No, there’s always the choice to do nothing, especially for somebody that you just met. I’m much obliged,” Jack said.

  “You’re welcome,” Gideon said uneasily.

  “Farting Jack Dolan don’t forget his friends. You remember that, you hear?” Jack said.

  “I will,” Gideon replied.

  “So what’s troubling you? Is killing those boys what’s bothering you?” Jack asked.

  Gideon stared at his glass of whiskey and rubbed the scar on his cheek as he searched for what he wanted to say. He had already grown quite fond of Jack and didn’t want to come off as rude. Finally, he said, “I don’t take any pleasure in killing, but sometimes it’s necessary, especially if you’re the law. Those men gave us no choice. Jack, I don’t stay anywhere very long. I’ve got regrets that keep chasing me.”

  Jack popped the table with his hand. “Boy, there ain’t a man alive that’s worth his salt that don’t have regrets. The best thing you can do is to stare your demons in the eye and chase them away forever and forgive yourself,” he said.

  “I had a friend tell me the same thing just the other day, but Jack, some demons just don’t scare and some things are unforgiveable. Mine will follow me for the rest of my days and the best that I can hope for is to stay a step ahead,” Gideon said before taking a long, slow sip of his whiskey.

  The End

  About the author

  Duane Boehm grew up on a farm outside of Petersburg, Illinois. The two passions he developed early in life were the love of playing guitar and reading books. He eventually moved to a mini-farm outside of Murfreesboro, Tennessee with his wife and replaced planting corn with trees and raising dogs. For a number of years he worked as an IT consultant and eventually became inspired to begin his journey as a novelist.