Hero's Stand

by Charles G. West

  “Gawdammit,” he roared in angry frustration and rolled over to the cabin door just as another slug whined overhead, passing through the open window. Worried about Clay, who had disappeared from sight around the side of the cabin, he nevertheless had to watch Jim behind the pine tree. Pushing the door slightly ajar, giving himself just enough room to see the pine, he was alarmed to discover tracks leading from the tree down toward the other side of the cabin. They were on both sides of him now, out of his field of vision. He cursed Simon Fry for leaving him in this position. He knew that he couldn’t watch both sides at once while they gradually closed in on him.

  He could see how this was going to end if he stayed in the cabin. While he fired at one of them on one side, the other would move in closer. The two would alternate back and forth until one of them was close enough to stick a rifle through the window and cut him down at point-blank range. He quickly decided his chances were better on the outside. If he could surprise the one who had been behind the pine, he might just be able to hit him before he realized he was being attacked. Also, his horse was in that direction, feeding in the willows. If he got to his horse, then he could ride around the other man, maybe come up from behind and get a clean shot at him. Then, he promised himself, I’m going after Fry.

  After making sure the magazine of his rifle was fully loaded, he pushed the front door open. Moving slowly and with great caution, he eased his body outside, pausing for a few moments with his back planted flat against the rough wall of the cabin. As he had figured, if he couldn’t see them around the ends of the cabin, then they couldn’t see him. Everything went totally quiet as he inched his way along toward the end of the cabin, his eyes riveted on the comer, ready to fire in an instant at the first sign of motion. For what seemed a long time, there were no shots fired on the cabin, and Pitt could only guess that the two men were quietly working their way into position to release a barrage. Only I ain’t gonna be there, he thought. Ali was still quiet when he reached the comer of the cabin and dropped down on one knee. The only sound was that of the horses in the corral snorting softly as they cocked their heads to watch him. Very cautiously, he eased one eye past the comer of the building. What he saw brought a smile to his grizzled features.

  Reaching the bottom of the slope, Jim paused before making his next move toward the cabin. There were no windows on this end of the cabin, so he decided to try to work his way up to the back. Before leaving the cover of two small pines opposite the back comer of the corral, he hesitated, puzzling over the lone horse standing in a patch of young willows near the river’s edge. Saddled, including a packed saddlebag, it was not hobbled or tied but seemed to be wandering at will. As Clay had seen from the top of the ridge, there were tracks leading around behind the cabin. But Jim had a clear view of the back of the cabin now, and there were no horses. Damned if I don’t believe one of them took off. When he gave it more thought, he realized that all the shots fired from the cabin had come from the front, even though both he and Clay were shot at.

  He couldn’t tell where Clay was, but he decided it was time to move in close. Leaving the cover of the two trees, he ran as best he could manage in snow that was almost knee-deep. Off to his right, he heard the horses in the corral snorting. Glancing in their direction, he saw their heads up, all looking toward the cabin. He was immediately alerted. Without wasting time to think about it, he dived into the snow, bringing his rifle up at the same time. He heard the sizzle of a bullet as it snapped over his head. Not waiting to take dead aim, he cranked two shots out in rapid succession at the rifle barrel protruding from the corner of the cabin. In the confusion of his own shots, he didn’t hear Clay’s shots from the other corner of the cabin. With nothing but snow for protection, Jim lay in the open, his rifle ready, when Pitt suddenly stepped out from the cover of the corner. Jim raised his rifle but didn’t pull the trigger. Pitt’s glazed eyes told him that the big brute was a dead man. Pitt took two steps toward Jim, then crumpled in a heap.

  “Reckon there ain’t but one left,” Clay commented dryly as he walked around the comer after Pitt.

  Jim got to his feet, dusted the snow from his clothes, and walked over to stand beside his brother. “He was a big son of a bitch,” he commented, gazing down at the late Jack Pitt lying face down in the snow. Two bullet holes were placed neatly between his shoulder blades, no more than two inches apart. “It’s a good thing you were there, ’cause he caught me out in the open. I must have gotten off two or three shots, but I didn’t have time to aim. I didn’t hit anything.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Clay replied dryly, the hint of a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “I counted two shots, and you hit the cabin with both of ’em.”

  “At least I didn’t hit you,” Jim said. “I guess his partner kind left him in a bind, didn’t he? I’ll get the horses.”

  * * *

  Steadman Finch, alias Simon Fry, was on the run from justice once again. This time justice came in the form of two deadly avengers whom Fry feared more than the law. He had already been tried and sentenced. These two were the executioners. As near as he could estimate, he had covered close to three miles when he heard the shots behind him. Pitt’s catching it now, he thought.

  He felt no twinge of conscience for leaving Pitt with no one to watch his back. Those were the breaks, as far as Fry was concerned. His primary concern was for himself, just like always, and he had a bad feeling about the two strangers with the rifles. He had a feeling that Pitt was facing more than he could handle. That was the reason Fry felt justified in taking both packhorses. Pitt was going to have no use for supplies in hell. You did provide one last useful service, though, partner. You delayed them long enough for me to get away. It was rough going, plodding through the snow. Fry felt confident they wouldn’t be able to make any better time than he did, and he had a sizable lead. His only concern now was how high the snow might have drifted in the pass. I’ll get through somehow. I always do.

  A long ridge led up to the narrow gap that was the entrance to the valley the settlers had named Canyon Creek. As Fry approached the trees at the foot of the ridge, he pulled his horse to a stop and listened. The shooting in the distance had stopped. It was all over at the cabin, one way or another. Maybe his gut feeling was wrong. What if Pitt had managed to kill the other two? Then he would be coming after Fry with murder on his mind. He turned in the saddle and stared back at the frosted valley behind him. He’s still got to catch me, he thought and turned to face forward again.

  It was a solid blow, like someone had punched him in the chest with a fist. Startled, he jerked his head back in surprise. At first, that was the only sensation he felt: a heavy blow to the chest. It happened so quickly. Confused, he felt another blow, this one lower in his abdomen. But now there was a deep, fiery pain scorching his insides. Fry looked down and recoiled in horror when he saw two arrow shafts protruding from his body. Now the pain became intense, and his head started to spin. He could feel himself falling, so he tried to dismount, barely getting one foot out of the stirrup before his balance failed him, and he went crashing to the ground. The impact with the ground caused him to scream in pain as the arrows shifted in his organs.

  He lay helpless in the snow, gasping for breath that was reluctant to come, his stomach periodically heaving in an effort to vomit the blood that was rapidly filling it. His eyes barely registered the blurry image of the half-breed boy walking slowly toward him, another arrow notched on his bowstring. He tried to raise his hand but found that it was suddenly too heavy to lift. “Please,” he choked. “Please, help me.”

  “I’ll help you,” the boy replied softly and laid his bow aside. Moving deliberately, he drew a long skinning knife from his belt and moved toward Fry. Kneeling, he grasped a handful of Fry’s hair and jerked his head back.

  Unseen by Simon Fry, Katie Mashburn walked her horse unhurriedly out of the thicket of young pines and dismounted to stand behind Luke. She did not turn away from the grisly ritual as sh
e had done when Wiley Johnson was scalped. Fry’s blood-curdling scream when his scalp was lifted only served as balm for the consuming desire for vengeance that raged inside her. Taking Luke by the arm, she pulled him aside so that Simon Fry could see her. Gazing down at the dying man with eyes as hard as flint, she spoke. “This valley is my home. I’ll not be driven out of my home by scum like you.”

  Fry stared up with eyes rapidly glazing over as he looked upon approaching death. Too far gone to know who was talking or what was said, his only sensation was one of excruciating pain and horror. “Help me,” he sobbed, fearful of what might be waiting beyond the dark doorway that loomed before him.

  Luke waited silently beside her while Katie stood impassively watching the final moments of the man responsible for sc much pain in her life. She made no move to back away when he reached out for help, his feeble hand grasping her boot. After a few moments, she slowly drew her pistol and, in a deliberate motion, aimed it at the center of his forehead. Then she pulled the trigger. She remained standing over the body for a long while before finally kicked the lifeless hand away from her boot and turning to meet Luke’s solemn gaze.

  * * *

  A little more than a mile away, Clay Culver held his hand up and pulled back on his reins. “I thought I heard something.”

  “I heard it, too,” Jim said. “Sounded like somebody screaming.” A few minutes later, a shot rang out.

  “Better keep your eyes open,” Clay advised. With a gentle pressure of his knees, he signaled his horse to continue.

  They had not ridden far when they spotted the source of the sounds they had heard. It appeared to be two men standing over someone on the ground. There was no one else in sight. As Clay and Jim approached, the two men turned but made no move to run. They just stood there, watching the two riders approach. Closer now, Jim could see that it was a young man and a woman. The young man was holding a bloody scalp in one hand and a skinning knife in the other. Jim started to draw his Winchester from its holster.

  “Hold on,” Clay said. “I know them.” Then he called out. “Luke, Katie, it’s Clay Culver.”

  There was an immediate reaction of relief on the part of the woman as she recognized the big mountain man. Clay and Jim pulled their horses up before them. Glancing down at Simon Fry, Jim said, “Looks like you folks don’t need any help from us.”

  Luke seemed to be in a daze as he stood there for a few moments without speaking. He glanced back and forth at the faces of the two brothers as if trying to place them. Finally, his gaze settled on Clay, and a light of recognition flared in his eyes. “Mr. Culver,” he said.

  “That’s right,” Clay replied. “You remember me, don’t you? I ate supper a time or two at your place.”

  “Yessir,” Luke said. He took a step away from Simon Fry as Clay and Jim dismounted. “You got whiskers now,” he offered as an excuse for not recognizing the big mountain man at first. Looking down at the body before them, he said, “Him and his men killed Monk Grissom.”

  “I know,” Clay said. “This one’s the last one. The rest of them’s gone under.” Looking down for a moment at the body of the man who had brought death to the peaceful valley, Clay then turned to Katie, who had suddenly been drained of emotion. “Are you all right, Katie?” Although she looked about to wilt, she picked up her chin and nodded. “I saw where they burned you folks out,” he said. “Who’s in the grave under the cottonwood?”

  “Pa,” Katie replied, eyeing Jim with curiosity.

  “I suspected as much,” Clay said. Then, noticing her scrutiny of Jim, he said, “This here’s my brother Jim.” Figuring that was introduction enough, he went on. “Folks in the settlement figured you two might be dead.”

  “I expect we might be if we hadn’t run,” Katie said. When Clay expressed surprise that she had come back to the valley knowing Fry and his men were still there, she explained. “We knew we would be safe in the Shoshoni village, but I had no intention of letting that collection of riffraff drive me out. We stayed with Luke’s people for a couple of days, just long enough for Fry to think I was gone for good. I figured it would be easier to get a shot at some of ’em if they didn’t know I was looking for ’em.” She paused to glance at Luke. “Of course, I had plenty of help. He watches over me like a mother hen.” The look in her eyes revealed the pride and maternal admiration she felt for the boy.

  Clay shook his head in wonder at the woman’s spunk. Monk Grissom had always said that Katie Mashburn was worth more than the rest of the folks in Canyon Creek combined. Clay was beginning to appreciate Monk’s regard for the young woman. “Well, like I said, Fry’s the last of the bunch. There ain’t no more Montana Militia in Canyon Creek.”

  “The bastards burned my cabin down,” Katie said.

  “I’m afraid so,” Clay replied, “but I reckon we can help you build a new one.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate your offer.” She smiled for the first time since they had ridden up. Then, gesturing toward Jim, she asked, “Does that include him? He looks like he’s got a strong back.”

  Jim grinned. “Yessum, that includes me.”

  Nodding contentedly, she looked from one face to another. “All right, then. We’ve got a lot of work to do.” She stepped up in the stirrup. “We’ll just let this buzzard lay right where he is. Luke, grab onto his horse.” Turning back to the two brothers, she asked, “Did anybody find my cow?”

  Clay couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I think Horace Spratte’s got her.” He turned his horse toward the settlement, shaking his head in wonder.

  * * *

  Lettie Henderson stood in the doorway of Nate Wysong’s little store, watching the trail that led past the church and on toward the north pass. Behind her, the Wysongs, the Sprattes, the Lindstroms, and Whitey Branch were crowded around the stove and in the midst of an earnest discussion about the future of their little community. Horace Spratte was concerned by their recent proof of vulnerability and openly wondered if they all weren’t insane to stay in the isolated valley. He admitted that he and Effie had already been discussing the possibility of pulling up stakes and leaving. Reverend Lindstrom was doing his best to discourage this pessimistic talk, Canyon Creek having long been his dream. But there was a sense of worry that hung over the tiny gathering. The discussion was interrupted by a comment from Lettie by the door.

  “Somebody’s coming,” she said. “It’s Jim and Clay, and there’s two people with them.” Her remark prompted everyone to get up and come to see for themselves.

  “It’s Katie and Luke.” Nate was the first to recognize the two riders following along behind the two brothers. He pushed past Lettie. The others followed.

  While the others rushed to greet Katie and Luke, Lettie took only a moment to look at the new arrivals before walking to the hitching rail. Hands on hips, she planted herself before Jim and demanded, “He got away, didn’t he?”

  “What makes you say that?” Jim asked.

  “Why, because I don’t see him with you,” she retorted.

  “Well, you see his horse, don’t you? He’s dead. I didn’t think I had to bring his carcass back for you,” Jim said as he stepped down from the saddle.

  She relaxed her stem countenance. “Is he really dead?” He nodded. “I can’t believe he finally got what he deserved,” she said, her voice suddenly losing its edge. Jim thought for a moment that she was about to wilt. But, just as suddenly, she pulled herself together and announced, “Well, that’s that.”

  “I reckon you’ll be heading back east when the weather lets up,” Jim said.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Stay here for a while, I guess. I told Clay I’d help him build a new cabin for Katie Mashburn. After that, I don’t know.”

  “I might stay here a while myself,” she said, nodding her head thoughtfully. “It’s a long time till spring. I’ll just see how I feel then.”

  Overhearing the conversation, Clay was forced to smile. You�
�d better watch out, baby brother. Thai young lady looks like she might be making up a halter to slip over your head.

  Mary Wysong interrupted the fuss being made over Katie Mashburn long enough to introduce her to Lettie. Katie gave the young girl a good hard look before extending her hand. She decided at once that Lettie was the kind of person Canyon Creek needed when Mary explained that Lettie had traveled clear across the country to find her father’s murderer. “Welcome to our community,” she said. “We need some strong women.”

  “I kinda figured you’d be thinking about moving away from here,” Horace Spratte commented to Katie.

  “Why would you think that?” Katie asked, surprised.

  “Why, after what you’ve lost . . .” Horace started.

  Katie snorted. “It’d take a helluva lot more than that to run me off.” She looked at those around her. “Why, hell, we’re just getting started. Ain’t we, Reverend?”

  “Amen,” Lindstrom replied. “We’re just getting started.” He turned to look at Horace Spratte.

  Horace was too sheepish to respond, but Effie spoke up. “Amen. We’re gonna be here.”

  Reverend Lindstrom’s smile conveyed his satisfaction; his dream of establishing a bona fide town was still alive. He felt the need to make a statement. “Friends, I think I speak for all of us when I say we owe Katie Mashburn an apology. We should have listened to you and Luke, Katie. I’m sorry.” Katie acknowledged his words with a simple nod. Raising his voice then, Lindstrom said, “I think we ought to celebrate a new beginning tonight. You’re all invited to my place for supper.” His invitation was met with a rousing cheer.

  * * *

  Jim Culver looked around the crowded cabin and realized his brother was missing. He walked to the door and looked out to discover Clay standing near the comer of the cabin, gazing at the snow-covered mountains that surrounded Canyon Creek. Hearing the door open behind him, Clay turned and smiled at his younger brother. “It gets a little too hot in that crowded space with everybody so close, doesn’t it?”