Lynch Law

by Len Levinson

Dawson sipped the fresh coffee. It was hot and black, bitter as a killer’s heart, just the way Dawson liked it. Dawson felt wide awake and anxious to move out. He was tired of sitting around.

  Red Feather approached and squatted down in front of Dawson.

  “I found their trail,” Red Feather said, and he pointed south. “They went that way.”

  Dawson looked at Red Feather, measuring the man. Could this physical wreck of an Indian really track somebody? He turned to Atwell. “Tell the men to saddle up.”

  Atwell got to his feet and shouted orders to the cowboys, who gathered their gear. Dawson didn’t have to load his belongings, so he lingered with his cup of coffee. He watched Red Feather climb onto his horse and ride south over the rocks, and realized the Indian sat straighter in his saddle and seemed more vital than when they’d first met. He’d become a young bloodhound again.

  Dawson arose, threw his tin mug toward Cookie, and waddled toward his horse. He stuck his foot in the stirrup and laboriously raised himself into the saddle, knowing in another few years he’d need somebody to help.

  Dawson and his men drifted south, following the old Indian sitting on his horse like a young warrior.

  Stone and McDermott rode across a terrace fringed with silver spruces. “I’m purty sure we lost ’em,” McDermott said.

  Stone replied, “Dawson won’t give up easily. I’m sure he’s still out there, trying to find us. He’ll do anything to catch us.”

  “You ever see the old man?” asked McDermott.

  “Only for a few minutes.”

  “Big fat son of a bitch, and when I say fat, I mean fat. The man looks like a whole country walkin’ around on two legs. Once I seen him eat in the saloon in Dumont, and I swear the man swallowed an entire pig. It just went on and on, with the yams in honey sauce, the biscuits, and afterward he ate a whole apple pie. Then he burped, farted, and grabbed a waitress’s ass.”

  “What about Wayne’s mother?”

  “Been dead a long time. Some folks say the old man killed her. Hank Dawson does anything he wants and everybody in Dumont County works for him except two crazy sons of bitches, you and me.” McDermott laughed. “I guess we showed old Hank Dawson he can’t fuck with all the people.”

  “I admire your confidence, considering we have three bullets between us, no money, and no friends.”

  “We’ll be okay once we get to Eagleton. We’ll get fresh horses and food there, then we’ll head for Mexico and find us some friends. Ever screw a Mexican senorita? Like wrasslin’ a tiger. And then there’s the mescal. Ever try mescal? Smoothest stuff you ever drank, and it makes you see things like colored lights dancin’ in the air, and places you ain’t never seen, and that never was.”

  Stone didn’t want to go to Mexico, but had to hide from Hank Dawson until things cooled down. Then he could return to Texas and resume his hunt for Marie.

  “There’s this little general store in Eagleton,” McDermott said. “We’ll waltz in with our guns in our hands and take what we need for the trip south. I know you don’t want to do it, but you got to. A man can’t worry about other people’s feelin’s when he’s on the dodge. It’s their feelin’s against yore life, and which you think is more important?”

  Hank Dawson sat heavily on his horse, outside the cave. His men surrounded him, looking inside the murky darkness from which Red Feather was emerging.

  “This is where they sleep last night,” Red Feather said.

  “Where are they now?”

  “I not know yet.”

  “Well find out, goddammit. What the hell d’ya think I’m pay in’ you for?”

  Red Feather looked up at Dawson and frowned. Then he turned around and gazed at the ground. He dropped to his knees, examining tracks, then arose again and walked into the bushes. Dawson reached for his canteen and took a swig. The sun was hot and he was impatient. Stone and McDermott were getting away.

  He sat in the shade and wished he had something to eat, but they had to conserve their food. He felt that he was getting weak from lack of nourishment, and took off his hat, wiping his forehead with the back of his hairy arm. Stone and McDermott had been here, gloating over killing Wayne. Dawson felt a cold, bitter anger. He wanted to pound them to death with clubs.

  Red Feather returned, huffing and puffing. Sweat poured off his body and soaked his shirt. “I found their tracks,” he said to Dawson. “They still head south. My guess is they go to Eagleton. I know shortcut through mountains. If we leave mules and chuck wagon behind, we can beat them, maybe. I say maybe. I not promise anything. The decision is up to you, Mr. Dawson.”

  Dawson lit a cigar and thought Red Feather made sense. Stone and McDermott needed supplies, and Eagleton was the next town south on the way to Mexico. He turned to Atwell.

  “Leave Standfield and a few other men with the mules and chuck wagon. Tell them to follow us to Eagleton.”

  Atwell rode off to carry out the orders. Dawson looked at Red Feather, who’d mounted his Appaloosa. Red Feather wore a knife on one side of his belt, a holster on the other side, and a rifle in a scabbard attached to his saddle.

  “You’d better be right about this,” Dawson said.

  “I not know whether I right,” Red Feather replied, “but I know I find the men who killed your son. They not get away. I swear it.”

  Red Feather kicked his heels at the belly of his Appaloosa, and the horse stepped away from the cave. Dawson followed him, and the rest of his men gathered behind in a column of twos. The main body of riders headed south, leaving the mules and chuck wagon trailing behind.

  Craig and Cynthia Delane, and a few of their men, were riding on the open prairie. Cynthia wore a white cotton shirt and blue jeans that’d shrunk considerably since she’d bought them in town.

  “Take a good look at this land,” Craig said to Cynthia, “because it won’t be this way for long. In another month or two, cattle will be spread out for as far as the eye can see. We’ll get rich out here, if we can just hold on.”

  Cynthia looked around at the vast rolling plains and the purple mountains in the distance. It certainly was beautiful, she couldn’t deny that. The sun shone brightly and she wore a wide-brimmed cowboy hat to shield her eyes. She always felt expansive and almost spiritual when she was on the prairie. Raising her eyes, she looked at the blue sky.

  “Remember the plans we made in New York?” Craig said to her. “They can all still come true, Cynthia. I wish you wouldn’t leave me now. I can’t do this without you.”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore, Craig. Last night was very disturbing.”

  “We can’t let it stop us, because we’re stronger than anything, or at least we should be.”

  Cynthia thought of the evenings they’d spent at their apartment on Fifth Avenue, reading books about the West, making plans and dreaming dreams. They were going to build a great future for themselves, and still could do it.

  She had to admit that she loved the land. She’d never imagined that geography could be so enthralling. New York was dirty and crowded, and the soot in the air made you cough, but here the air was sweet and pure, fragrant with green grass growing in the sun.

  “Injustice is everywhere,” Craig said. “But this is virgin land. Lawlessness will decrease as it’s settled, and we’re building a first-class, large-scale cattle operation. In ten years we’ll wield enormous power, and we’ll have friends in Washington. Then we can fight Hank Dawson and everything he represents from a position of strength.”

  Cynthia felt her resolve weakening. Maybe she shouldn’t panic and run from a decent marriage and promising opportunity, just because of an unpleasant incident in a restaurant.

  “I suppose I’m rather confused,” she said.

  He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Take your time. Think it through. Whatever you decide, I’ll understand, but it’ll be hell here without you.”

  The plains spread out all around her, and a hawk floated lazily in the sky. The vast space filled her with a st
range euphoria. She turned to look at Craig, wearing his business suit as he bounced up and down on his saddle. He looked out of place on the prairie, but he was determined to make it his land, and she couldn’t help admiring him.

  “I’ll give you my answer tonight,” she said. “Just let me think it over a little while longer.”

  “Take as long as you like,” he replied. “There’s no rush.”

  Some treated their wives like servants, but not Craig. She was his equal partner in life, helped him with the business. They were good friends and good companions.

  She began to wonder how she could ever seriously consider leaving him.

  Chapter Five

  The farmhouse was a small squat structure made of logs taken from the woods nearby. A woman hung wash on the line in the backyard, and a few dozen cattle grazed in the adjacent field. Smoke curled into the air from the stone chimney on the roof.

  Stone and McDermott lay on their stomachs on top of a hill on the southern side of the farmhouse. They smelled baking bread, and Stone’s mouth watered.

  “I don’t see no men about,” McDermott said, his eyes scanning the barn and fields surrounding the farmhouse. “Think she’s alone?”

  “She looks alone.”

  “Her menfolk prob’ly went to town, or maybe they’re out ridin’ the range.”

  “They can’t be too far away,” Stone said. “They wouldn’t leave her alone.”

  “They’re far enough for us to go down there and take what she’s got.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Them horses for openers, and we can git some grub. She’s prob’ly got a rifle too, and ammunition. She might even have money. I been through this before, and I know how to pull it off.”

  McDermott made a motion to return to his horse. Stone grabbed his sleeve.

  “Wait a minute.”

  McDermott looked at Stone’s hand on his sleeve, then looked Stone in the eye. McDermott’s beard had grown longer and he was starting to resemble a wolf in black clothing. “What’s the matter?”

  “I can’t rob that woman.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  How could Stone argue morality with a man who had none?

  “I’m not a thief.”

  “I’ll need you to cover my back. We got to have fresh horses, food, guns, and ammunition. The meanest man in West Texas is after us with a posse. We got to take care of ourselves, or we’ll wind up buzzard food.” McDermott looked him in the eye. “Are you gonna help me or aren’t you?”

  Stone shook his head. “Can’t do it.”

  McDermott stared at him. “What kind of goddamned fool are you anyways?” he asked. “Do you want to live or do you want to die?”

  “We can take what we need at Eagleton.”

  “A miracle you got this far in life. Maybe it’s time we split up.”

  “Whatever you say. I don’t want to get in your way, and I don’t want you to get in mine. Thanks for saving my life.” Stone held out his hand. “It’s been good to know you.”

  “I should’ve left you swingin’ from that noose.” McDermott looked at the farmhouse longingly. “We can’t split up now. Two guns is better than one.”

  “It’s up to you,” Stone said.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  They crawled back to their horses, picketed at the bottom of the hill, and climbed into the saddles. They headed south, while down in the valley, the woman continued hanging wet clothes on the line.

  Red Feather led Hank Dawson and his men through a narrow defile in the mountains. The trail twisted to the left and right and then curved back on itself, and in some spots there were only inches between the men’s elbows and rock walls.

  Dawson sat on his horse and watched Red Feather pass out of sight around a bend in the trail. Dawson had never known about the defile, although he’d been in this part of the country approximately ten years ago, checking on a herd on a nearby range. The damned Comanches knew the country better than any white man.

  Dawson glanced at the sun, directly overhead. He was tired and hungry, accustomed to sitting in his office, and his muscles were slack on his bones underneath the thick layers of fat.

  He knew he shouldn’t be away from the ranch for long. His management skills were required on a round-the-clock basis, because so many important decisions had to be made. The hunt for Stone and McDermott was becoming a major expedition. Dawson figured he would’ve caught them by now.

  He thought of his son, lying on his bed back at the ranch. It was a hot day and the body wouldn’t keep long. Dawson decided if he didn’t catch Stone and McDermott today, he’d return to the ranch with some of his men, and let the others keep after them. He’d hire more men and order them to comb the countryside. Sooner or later Stone and McDermott’d have to show their faces someplace, and then they’d get it.

  Up ahead, Red Feather stopped his horse and raised his hand. Dawson, his big belly hanging over his belt, continued to ride until he reached Red Feather’s side.

  “What’re you stoppin’ for, injun?” Dawson asked.

  Red Feather pointed straight ahead. Dawson looked in the direction of his finger and saw a little town a few miles away in the valley, basking in the sun.

  “Eagleton,” Red Feather said.

  The farmhouse receded into the distance behind them. Stone and McDermott rode along silently, and Stone could see McDermott was mad. The outlaw’s eyes were half closed and his jaw set in a grim line. He looked like a naughty little boy whose mother had just told him to keep his cotton-picking hands out of the cookie jar, and Stone let loose a peal of laughter.

  McDermott was startled and turned toward him. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  “You’re mad because I wouldn’t let you shoot that poor housewife.”

  “I wouldn’t’ve shot her unless she got ornery.”

  “How could you shoot a woman? What’s wrong with you?”

  “Once I was in a whorehouse in Dodge, and a whore took a shot at me. Her gun jammed, otherwise I wouldn’t be here right now. I didn’t have my clothes on at the time, otherwise I would’ve plugged her dead game.”

  “Why’d she want to shoot you?”

  “I tried to git out without payin’.”

  “Have you ever in your life had a job?”

  “What the hell do I want a job for? I want to be free.”

  “You’re not free. You live like a hunted coyote.”

  “Better’n a job, and more fun too. ‘Course you have to be ready to use that thing in yore holster. Some men wears ’em for decoration, but not Tad McDermott.”

  They came to the top of a hill. McDermott raised his arm and pointed. “ Looka there

  Stone saw trees and bushes straight ahead, a water hole. They rode toward the trees, and their horses moved more eagerly, because they’d smelled the water. Stone was thirsty too, and still ached from the beating he’d taken in jail.

  They drew their guns and rode among the trees, glancing about, looking for Indians. The horses walked faster, and Stone thumbed back the hammer of his pistol. The horses came to the water hole and lowered their heads into it. Stone and McDermott climbed down from their saddles, took their canteens, and dipped them into the water. They filled the canteens and raised them to their mouths, leaning back their heads, drinking deeply.

  McDermott wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Let’s rest here for a little bit,” he said. “Then we’ll head into Eagleton and rob the general store.”

  McDermott stretched out on the ground and fell asleep as if lying on a sofa in his living room, and Stone realized McDermott was at home when he was on the dodge. It was his natural way of life and the bare ground was his furniture.

  Stone looked at the bushes and trees. Once, when he was scout on the wagon train, he’d been ambushed by Indians at a water hole like this. They’d shot arrows at him, and one went through his leg.

  He’d survived the Comanches, and wondered if he’
d survive Hank Dawson. He knew Dawson was out there someplace, looking for him. Dawson was a rich and powerful man, and would spare no expense.

  It was wide-open country, and there were lots of places where a man could hide. Everything would be all right once they got more weapons and ammunition in Eagleton.

  A half hour later McDermott opened his eyes. “How’re you doin’?” he asked, scratching his ribs. “You might as well git some shut-eye now, and I’ll look out fer you.”

  “That’s all right,” Stone replied. “I’m not that tired. Let’s go to Eagleton and get the dirty work over with.”

  “Can’t wait, huh? I know the feelin’. There’s nothin’ like the power a man feels when he points his gun at a man’s nose and says, ‘Hand over every thin’ you got.’.”

  Stone and McDermott climbed onto their horses and rode out of the little oasis, heading toward Eagleton.

  It was just a main street with buildings on both sides. In the center was a general store and saloon combined. Across the street were the stable, and the whorehouse a few doors down.

  A woman sweeping her front porch looked up as the men on horseback approached, and she recognized Hank Dawson immediately because he was the fattest man in Dumont County and owned Eagleton.

  Dawson pulled back the reins of his horse and his horse stopped in the middle of the street. His men brought their mounts to a halt all around him.

  “Atwell—post two men at one end of this street, and two men at the other end. Tell ’em to keep their eyes open fer Stone and McDermott. Then git another man with good eyesight and tell ’em to git on the highest roof in town, to see anybody comin’. The rest of us’ll git somethin’ to eat.”

  Dawson spurred his horse, and the animal clomped down the street. The woman on the porch stared at Hank Dawson and wondered what he was doing in town. Dawson stopped his horse in front of the saloon, climbed down from the saddle, and stepped onto the boardwalk, which creaked underneath his weight. He scuffed toward the doors of the saloon and pushed them open.

  He entered a dark room that smelled of coffee. A bar ten feet long was straight ahead, with tables in front. Pants and shirts hung from the rafters nearby. On the floor were burlap bags full of beans, coffee, and rice.