Death Rattle

by Sean Lynch

  Saunders instantly dropped his revolver and raised both hands. “Don’t kill me, Joe,” he begged, recognizing the giant lawman who’d arrested him once before.

  “Why would I do that?” Pritchard said. “You’re worth a lot of money to me. Dead or alive, of course. I’d rather have you walk under your own steam to jail, but for a thousand dollars I’m happy to drag you.”

  “Don’t shoot,” Saunders said, his voice trembling. “I’ll walk.”

  “Figured you would,” Pritchard said.

  Paul showed up and recovered the two dropped revolvers. Ditch, Paul, and Pritchard marched a despondent Six-Card Saunders to the marshal’s office.

  “I like these new Colts,” Pritchard remarked, as they walked through the streets of Kansas City. “They’re fast out of the holster. Point well, too.”

  “Faster into action than your old Remingtons?” Ditch asked.

  “I hate to admit it,” Pritchard said, “but I’m afraid so.”

  “I didn’t think you could get any faster,” Paul said.

  They turned in their prisoner, got a chit for a thousand dollars, and deposited it the next morning, along with the money Ditch “won” at the crooked card game, in the Kansas City office of Wells Fargo.

  Then they bought three railroad tickets to Atherton.

  Pritchard was largely silent for the short train ride from Kansas City to Atherton. He stared out the window with his hat in his lap, as memories and emotions he’d suppressed for a decade came flooding back.

  “Feels kinda strange,” Paul remarked, “comin’ home, after all these years.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to this day,” Ditch said, “and dreading it, for over ten years. What about you, Samuel? How do you feel?”

  “It’s not every day,” Pritchard said, “a fellow gets to visit his own grave.”

  When the train pulled into the station, and other passengers attended to their luggage and began to disembark, Pritchard discreetly checked his revolvers.

  “Relax,” Paul said. “The war’s over.”

  “Maybe for you,” Pritchard said.

  It was early afternoon when Pritchard, Ditch, and Paul stepped off the platform into Atherton, Missouri, with their horses in tow. All agreed the town had changed.

  The once-tiny burg was now a bustling place, with a modern train station, several more hotels, saloons, and restaurants, and too many new buildings on the main street to count. Atherton was still a small town, but a vibrant one, and had clearly prospered during the postwar years.

  The trio led their horses to the livery, in the same spot as the one they all remembered, but now much larger. They paid the attendant to board their horses and turned to one another.

  “Well,” said Paul, “here we are. Sure doesn’t feel like home.”

  “Ten years is a long time,” Ditch said.

  “A lifetime,” Pritchard said.

  “What are you gonna do?” Paul asked Pritchard.

  “I’m going to find Idelle and Ma, if they’re still around,” Pritchard said. “Then I’m going to pay a visit to Burnell Shipley and Eli Gaines. There’s going to be blood. I won’t take it personally if you boys would rather steer clear of me.”

  “I’ve stuck with you this far,” Ditch said. “We’ve been through some bloody times, you and me. I think I’ll stick with you today.”

  “Me, too,” Paul said. “I’d like to find time to visit’s Pa’s grave, though.”

  “We will,” Ditch said. “But we’ve got a score to settle first.”

  Several years back, just as the SD&P was beginning to prosper, Ditch sent a wire from Fort Worth to Atherton inquiring at the newspaper office about his father. He’d planned to send money for a stagecoach ticket to Texas and have him join them at the ranch. He and Paul were informed, via a return telegram, that their father had died during an influenza outbreak the previous winter and was buried in the town’s cemetery.

  “Be honored to have you along,” Pritchard said, “but if you boys don’t mind, I believe I’ll remain Joe Atherton a while longer.”

  “I understand,” Ditch said.

  “Sure thing,” Paul said.

  Their first stop was Shipley’s Mercantile and General Store. The sign was still the same, but the store itself, and the warehouse behind it, had been renovated and expanded since they’d left. They found Mr. Manning, who’d gone from old to ancient, behind the counter.

  “Good afternoon,” Ditch said. “We’re looking for someone. We figured as the storekeeper, you’d probably know just about everyone in town. Her name is Idelle Pritchard.”

  “I know her, all right,” Manning said. “What do you want with her?”

  “That’s our business,” Pritchard said. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t much like your tone,” Manning said, squinting up at Pritchard. “Nor your looks. Get out of my store and find somebody else to tell you where she is.”

  Pritchard grabbed the old clerk by the collar, and with one hand pulled him over the counter. The terrified shopkeeper found himself nose to nose with Pritchard, and his feet off the ground.

  “Tell me where she is,” Pritchard said, “or I’ll tear this place down around your ears.”

  “Take it easy,” Ditch said, looking nervously around at the other customers who were watching.

  “She’s a-at the s-schoolhouse,” Manning stuttered. “She t-teaches school.”

  “Thank you, kindly,” Pritchard said, smiling and tipping his hat. He released the old store clerk, who slunk to the ground on shaky legs, and walked out.

  “Are you okay?” Ditch asked, as he and Paul struggled to keep up with Pritchard’s determined stride.

  “It’s been ten years,” Pritchard said over his shoulder, “since this town strung up my father, burned my home, stole my family’s land and livelihood, tried to murder me, and did who-knows-what to my ma and sister. I ain’t gonna take any guff from anyone in Atherton. Not today.”

  Ditch looked anxiously at Paul, who returned the concerned look. The only consolation Ditch took in Pritchard’s darkening mood was that he had yet to see the familiar shadow descend upon his friend’s face.

  They reached the schoolhouse just as the children were being released from classes for the day. Pritchard, Ditch, and Paul all recognized their former teachers, Rodney and Alice Nettles, standing in the schoolyard.

  Idelle spotted them as they approached.

  At first, she was alarmed. Three men, all apparent strangers, one very large, were approaching the school at a fast walk. She watched them with apprehension as they came closer.

  Suddenly, recognition struck her. Idelle dropped her book and ran into Pritchard’s arms. He picked her up and held her tightly as she let out ten years of worry, grief, and fear.

  “Samuel,” she sobbed. “Oh, Samuel. You’ve come home.”

  “I’m here, Idelle,” he said. “And I ain’t never gonna leave you again.”

  She looked up at him with her crystal blue eyes, brimming with tears. “Promise?”

  “I swear it.”

  After a long minute, she stepped away from Pritchard’s embrace, collected herself, and faced Ditch.

  “Hello, Idelle,” he said, his voice cracking. He could hardly believe that the stunning young woman standing before him was the same little girl he’d last seen behind the school’s woodpile a decade ago.

  “You came back, Ditch,” she said, her eyes lighting up, “just like you promised.”

  “I didn’t forget,” he said.

  She couldn’t resist, and gave him a fierce hug. She thought Ditch was even more handsome, with his dark hair and eyes, than she’d remembered in her dreams.

  “You recollect my brother, Paul,” he said, flustered and not knowing what else to say.

  “Of course,” Idelle said, finally detaching herself from Ditch and shaking Paul’s hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

  The Nettleses watched the reunion with hesitation. They recognized all t
hree men, having taught them as children, and were uneasy about what their unannounced arrival, after so long an absence, foreboded.

  “Where’s Mama?” Pritchard asked.

  Idelle looked down at her feet. “You know where she is.”

  “How could I know?” he protested, but knew Idelle was right. “I haven’t been back home since the morning after Pa was killed.”

  “Mama lives at the Atherton Arms Hotel,” she said.

  “She’s Shipley’s wife, ain’t she?” Pritchard said.

  “You know she is,” Idelle said. “It’s the reason you’re not dead.”

  Ditch watched the shadow creep over Pritchard again. “That ain’t the reason,” he said softly.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Idelle said, oblivious to the silent fury overtaking her brother. “You couldn’t have come at a better time. Things are bad. Mama’s sick, and I’m supposed to be getting married.”

  “Married?” Ditch exclaimed. “To who?”

  “Burnell is forcing me to marry Eli Gaines. We’re supposed to be wed next month.”

  “Eli Gaines,” Pritchard said under his breath.

  “Mama doesn’t know it yet,” she said, “but I was going to run away. I’m not going to marry that insect and spend my life at his whim.”

  “No,” Pritchard said, “you’re not.”

  “Hell, no,” Ditch found himself blurting.

  At that moment, three riders came loping into the schoolyard. All were wearing badges. Pritchard didn’t recognize any of them.

  “They’re supposed to be lawmen,” Idelle explained, “but they’re nothing but Burnell Shipley’s private army. The two smaller ones are town marshals. The big, fat, one with the beard is a county deputy. His name is Bernie Moss. He’s usually with Gaines. Watch out, Samuel. They’re mean, and not afraid to use their guns.”

  “Got a report of one of you boys roughing up a store clerk in town,” one of the marshals said. “You’re all under arrest. Turn over your guns.”

  “Nobody was roughed up,” Ditch said. “It’s all a misunderstanding. There’s no need for an arrest. We’d be happy to go back to the store and apologize, even pay a reparation, if that’ll smooth things over.”

  “The marshal didn’t ask you for an explanation,” Deputy Moss said, aware he had Idelle for an audience. “He gave you an order. Drop them guns.”

  “I ain’t carrying one,” Ditch said, opening his coat.

  “Me, either,” Paul said, doing the same.

  “I am,” Pritchard said, stepping away from Idelle, Ditch, and Paul.

  “Who’re you?”

  “My name’s Joe Atherton,” Pritchard said, raising Idelle’s eyebrows. “I’m a Texas Ranger. And I ain’t turning my guns over to a bag of guts like you.”

  “Is that so?” the deputy said, sitting taller in the saddle.

  “That’s a fact,” Pritchard said. “If you want my guns, Deputy, you’re more than welcome to come down off that horse and take ’em.”

  Moss wasn’t prepared for resistance, having bullied the townsfolk for so long without any. He faced a dilemma. He couldn’t very well back down in front of the marshals and Idelle, but the huge, muscular, man with the star on his chest and the brace of Colts on his hips didn’t seem intimidated and had called his bluff.

  This left him with only one option. Deputy Moss leaned over his draft horse, acted like he was merely spitting tobacco juice, and reached for the revolver in the cross-draw holster at his considerable belly.

  Pritchard let the deputy get his gun out, far enough for everyone to see that he drew first, then drew his Colt and shot him between the eyes. His massive body fell to the ground with a loud thud.

  The other two marshals froze, their eyes widened in fear. Idelle’s mouth fell open. Both Nettleses gasped. Paul shook his head, and Ditch once again saw the shadow darken Pritchard’s brow.

  “Either of you want my guns?” Pritchard asked the marshals.

  “You can keep ’em,” a scared marshal said.

  “Thank you,” Pritchard said. “Where can I find Eli Gaines?”

  “He’s in Kansas City,” the other marshal said, “with Sheriff Foster. He ain’t due back until tomorrow, on the noon train.”

  “I’ll be waitin’ at the station,” Pritchard said. “Now git. And take your friend with you.”

  “We can’t,” the first marshal said. “He’s too big for us to lift.”

  “Then go get a wagon,” Pritchard said, “and a few more of Burnell’s hired guns. But you’d best tell ’em that if anyone else tries to arrest me, they’re gonna end up like the ex-deputy here.”

  The two marshals rode off at a gallop as Pritchard reloaded and holstered his gun.

  “That went well,” Paul said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Stand ready,” Pritchard said, “because it’s about to get worse. I came home to set things right, not have a friendly reunion.”

  “We’d best get back to the livery,” Paul said to his brother, “and get our guns.”

  “Welcome home,” Ditch said.

  Chapter 53

  Word of the shooting spread throughout Atherton like wildfire in a drought. There had been no shortage of gunplay in Atherton since the war, but it was almost always the marshals or deputies doing the shooting. Those getting shot were usually drunks, saddle tramps, or belligerent mill workers. No one had ever shot back at a deputy or town marshal because they couldn’t; the lawmen rarely shot armed men. Certainly no deputy or marshal had been killed since the war. By the time Pritchard, Ditch, Paul, and Idelle walked back across town to the livery, people were staring and scurrying to get themselves off the streets. Doors were closed and windows shuttered.

  “Those marshals ain’t gonna wait for tomorrow at noon,” Ditch said, as they collected guns and ammunition from their saddlebags. Pritchard refilled his empty pistol belt loops with .44 cartridges, while Ditch and Paul belted on their revolvers. Following Pritchard’s lead, they’d each bought a new Colt revolver from the wagon vendor in Abilene.

  “They surely won’t,” Paul agreed. “They’ll send for help from the county deputies. When they feel their numbers are sufficient, they’ll come for us.”

  “How many marshals and deputies does Shipley have?” Pritchard asked Idelle.

  “Five or six town marshals,” Idelle said, “counting Marshal Stacy. Sheriff Foster’s got at least ten deputies, but he and Chief Deputy Gaines are out of town.”

  All three took Henry rifles from their saddle scabbards and ensured the tubes were fully charged with fifteen rounds each. They finished by stuffing their pockets with cartridges.

  “How do you want to play this?” Ditch asked Pritchard.

  “I’m going to the Atherton Arms, to visit with Burnell and get Ma,” he said.

  “I’m going with you,” Ditch said.

  “Paul,” Pritchard continued, “you and Idelle take our horses, get back to the schoolhouse, and wait for us. The schoolhouse is built solid and backs up against the woods. Hide the horses there. We shouldn’t be too long. If we aren’t back in an hour, you and Idelle ride to Kansas City and catch the first train out of Missouri.”

  “I don’t want to go back to the schoolhouse,” Idelle protested. “I want to go with you, Samuel.”

  “Not a chance,” Ditch answered before Pritchard could. “I want you safe. Get back to the Nettleses’ place, pack what you can’t live without, and be ready to ride.” She nodded.

  Pritchard, Ditch, and Paul shook hands.

  “You boys ready to be welcomed home by the town of Atherton?” Pritchard asked.

  “Let’s make ’em regret what they done to us,” Ditch said.

  To his surprise and hidden delight, Idelle, without warning, hugged Ditch again. “Be careful,” she said. Then, to his utter amazement, she kissed him.

  “Get going,” Pritchard told her, shaking his head.

  Pritchard and Ditch watched as Paul and Idelle mounted, took Rusty’s rei
ns, and rode out of the livery.

  “You ready for this?” Ditch asked, as he cycled his Henry’s lever and topped off the magazine.

  “Ready as hell,” Pritchard said, levering the action of his own rifle.

  They walked out of the livery, toward the town square, with their rifles held across their chests. Despite the fact that it was approaching suppertime, and Atherton should have been bustling with activity, there wasn’t a soul to be seen.

  The Texas rancher and Texas Ranger scanned both sides of the street as they made their way towards the Atherton Arms Hotel. They felt the countless eyes of the townsfolk upon them, from within the buildings, and searched for those that might be watching from behind a gun.

  Suddenly a marshal stepped from around a corner and leveled a rifle. In a flash, Pritchard shouldered his Henry and fired. The lawman fell dead on the sidewalk.

  “Looks like they ain’t even gonna try to arrest us,” Ditch said.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Pritchard said, levering his rifle.

  Another hat and rifle popped up above the mercantile, two stories above them. Ditch fired, levered his carbine, and fired again. The deputy tumbled down to the street, his gun landing next to him.

  As they approached the saloon, three men, two with rifles and one with a pistol, came out shooting. Another broke out a tavern window and began shooting from inside.

  Pritchard and Ditch separated, taking cover behind a trough and rain barrel. The lawmen fired rapidly and recklessly. None of their rounds struck near either Pritchard or Ditch. Pritchard took careful aim and shot the gunman inside the tavern, through the window. By then, Ditch had already taken out two of the lawmen foolishly shooting from the open. Pritchard dropped the third with a headshot.

  “These Atherton lawmen sure don’t shoot very well,” Ditch commented, as he and Pritchard reloaded.

  “How good a shot do you need to be,” Pritchard replied, “to shoot unarmed men in the back?”

  They resumed their march to the hotel. They’d made another twenty yards when a deputy began shooting with a pistol from an open, upper, window at the Sidewinder Saloon. Both Pritchard and Ditch retuned fire. They were rewarded with a woman’s scream from within the room. The lawman slumped forward, his body half in and half out of the window. His revolver clattered to the wooden sidewalk below.