The Wild Gun

by Jory Sherman

  “Danny, that you?” Cord said.

  “Yep. Can’t see you, Cord. Show yourself.”

  “Step into the open, Danny.”

  Danny took a step or two until he came into full view of Cord atop the rocky ledge.

  “That’s far enough, Danny,” Cord said. “You tracking me?”

  Danny didn’t answer right away. He peered in the direction of Cord’s voice. But he still couldn’t see him.

  “Just huntin’, Cord,” Danny said.

  “In a pig’s eye,” Cord responded.

  “Elk,” Danny said. “Meat for the ranch.”

  “Like hell. You’re following horse tracks.”

  Danny’s right hand flexed on the butt of his pistol.

  “You jerk that Colt and you’re a dead man, Danny,” Cord said.

  “Habit,” Danny said and raised his hand from the pistol grip.

  He thought about the five-hundred-dollar bounty on Cord’s head. The man was so close, although Danny could not see him. Easy money if he could get a shot.

  “No need to worry, Wild. I ain’t huntin’ you. Let’s chew the fat some. Come down and we’ll talk.”

  “Like hell, Danny. You don’t hunt for Jesse nor anybody else. You just stay right where you are.”

  Danny saw the barest of movements atop the bluff. He said nothing. But his right arm bent at the elbow as his hand descended toward the butt of his pistol. He spread his feet a little wider apart.

  Cord saw the movements. He cocked his pistol.

  In the silence, the sound was very loud, like a metal door opening on a blazing furnace. Like a door opening into hell.

  “You even twitch, Danny, and you’ll never draw another breath.”

  “Go to hell,” Danny said and stepped to one side, toward a pine tree. He drew his pistol in one quick snatch.

  Cord took dead aim on Danny as he moved. He saw the flash of metal from the barrel of Danny’s pistol as a shaft of sunlight beamed down on it.

  An eternity seemed to pass before Cord squeezed the trigger.

  At the same time, Danny’s pistol rose up and the man squeezed the trigger of his Colt.

  Explosions ripped through the silence.

  Bullets whizzed through the air like angry hornets.

  Death was a pair of lead projectiles speeding toward living flesh and bone.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Abner Weatherall skirted Cheyenne. He and his two men drove the horses at a fast walk over the prairie toward the 2Bar2. He wore a smile of satisfaction as he saw the smoke rising from chimneys and the roofs of buildings in the distance.

  He knew he did not have far to go and he was anxious to see Horace.

  “When I give the signal, run ’em on to the ranch at a gallop,” he called back to the other two men on the flanks of the herd.

  They both nodded and grinned.

  When he saw the boundary to Horace’s ranch, he raised his hand and spurred his own horse. The horses picked up speed and started running. They streamed onto Weatherall land and headed for the corrals and the barn and stables.

  The two hands yelled and whooped as they chased the horses.

  Abner halted and wheeled his horse to stop the driven horses. He waved his hat and the horses turned and came to a halt in puffs of dust.

  Horace came out of the barn with a smile on his face. The few men left to him stopped what they were doing to admire the horses Abner had brought all the way from Missouri.

  “Ho, Abner,” Horace called. “Been lookin’ for you.”

  “Howdy, brother Horace. We’re here after driving these horses clear across Kansas.”

  “We’ll put ’em up,” Horace said and started barking orders to his men.

  “Light down and come on into the house.”

  Abner looked long and hard at one of the men rounding up all the loose horses.

  “Hello, Bart,” he called to Jessup. “We wondered where you was at.”

  “Long story,” Jessup said.

  “Can’t wait to hear it,” Abner said as he swung out of the saddle.

  He followed Horace into the ranch house, a place he had visited before, but not in a long while. He took off his hat and beat its brim against his leg as he walked into the front room. Dust rose from his denims as Horace waved him to a chair.

  “Well, you got here,” Horace said. “Pretty good time, too.”

  “We made a good fifteen miles a day, sometimes twenty if we drove ’em long enough into the night.”

  “Any trouble?”

  “Nope. We run into some buffalo in west Kansas, but they up and ran when I whooped at ’em. Saw a lot of antelope and we shot a couple, cooked ’em. Tasted like bad pork.”

  Horace laughed.

  “We had to kill old man Wild. His kid come and chased after Jessup. Glad to see he’s still alive. When we was ridin’ away, we saw smoke. I don’t know what happened, but somebody must’ve started a fire.”

  “That’s interesting,” Horace said. “Jessup didn’t say nothin’ about no fire.”

  “Barn or house, I reckon. Just somethin’ we saw when we looked back. Lots of smoke in the sky.”

  “Well, you’re here. That’s all that matters, and we might take over some more land and really build us a herd of good horseflesh.”

  “That sounds good to me. I come to stay, Horace.”

  “Good. Want a drink? I got some good whiskey in that cupboard over yonder.”

  “I could use a taste. Wash out the trail dust.”

  Abner crossed his legs and watched his brother go over to a cabinet. Horace brought out a bottle and two glasses, poured whiskey in both of them.

  They clinked glasses together and drank, then both sat back down.

  “So, what’s this about expanding your ranch, Horace?” Abner asked.

  Horace told him about the killing of Jesse Barnes and his buying the mortgage for the ranch.

  “So, there’s only Barnes’s widow and a daughter, and I’m pretty sure they can’t make the mortgage payment next month. Not unless they sell some of their horses between now and then.”

  “So it’s not a sure thing,” Abner said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If they make their payments, they keep the ranch, Horace. Plain and simple.”

  “Well, yeah. But I’m pretty sure they won’t. I’ll kick them off the ranch and take over the land and all the stock.”

  “What if Barnes didn’t leave any heirs?” Abner said.

  “But he did.”

  “What if he didn’t?”

  “Then the loan would be in default and I’d have what I want.”

  “That’s just it,” Abner said. “You have to get rid of the heirs.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, you eliminate them two women.”

  Horace sipped his drink and sat back in his chair, deep in thought. Then he let out a breath of air through pursed lips.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “You mean kill them two women?”

  “Yep. That’s exactly what I mean. That’s how you get rid of the competition.”

  “That’s a tall order, Abner.”

  “I got a man who can do the job. You know him. He was with us when we robbed that bank in West Plains.”

  “Who?”

  “Eddie Lomax. He come with me when we stole the horses. He likes to hurt women. His blood runs ice cold when it comes to that.”

  “Oh, I remember. When we knocked over that bank, he bloodied one of the women there when he pistol-whipped her.”

  “And he beat up on Lucas Wild’s old lady when we took them horses.”

  “Hmmm,” breathed Horace.

  “We all raped that Wild woman, but Eddie beat her up pretty bad while he was jumpin’ on her.”
/>   “Yeah, yeah. So you think he might . . .”

  “Eddie will do what I tell him to, Horace. He’ll kill those women, and you’ve got yourself another ranch.”

  “I don’t know. It’s a mighty big step.”

  “I could run it for you. I ain’t goin’ back to Missouri. And we’ve got thirty more horses. That’s cash on the hoof, Horace.”

  “You make a good argument. Getting rid of those two women would sure speed things up. And I would need more hands with that other ranch. Wild has killed some of my men, drove off another. And you could stay over at the Barnes spread and do our breeding and such.”

  Abner grinned. He drank from his glass and wiped his lips.

  “You’re getting the picture, Horace. We’ll be partners, but each have our own spread.”

  Horace finished his drink and smacked his lips.

  “Let’s talk to Eddie Lomax,” Horace said. “He’s got to do it without making much noise.”

  “Eddie’s an expert at these things. He’ll have his way with the women and then choke ’em both to death.”

  “And leave no tracks, no trail to us?”

  “He’ll go in at night and nobody will know the difference,” Abner said.

  “Let’s do it,” Horace said.

  The two got up from their chairs and embraced.

  Then they walked outside to find Eddie Lomax.

  Horace felt good for the first time in days. He saw his dream coming true even sooner than he realized.

  He felt a surge of power in every fiber of his being.

  And if Danny killed Wild, all would be well in his world.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Danny’s bullet was slightly wide of the mark. It spanged into the rock next to Cord and caromed harmlessly into the timber. Cord’s face stung with shattered fragments of limestone.

  Danny felt a burning sensation as Cord’s bullet burned a furrow in the upper part of his leg. It ripped through his denim trousers like a firebrand. He fell against the pine tree and realized his bullet had missed its target.

  Cord lifted his pistol to take aim for another shot.

  Danny circled the tree until it was between him and Cord.

  Cord held his fire while Danny breathed hard behind his shield.

  He beckoned to Earl, who crabbed over close to him.

  “Earl, you hug this rock while I try to get at that gunny.”

  Earl nodded as Cord crawled off the rock and soundlessly walked in a semicircle to a place where he could see Danny behind the tree.

  It took him several moments, but then he saw the man, who was looking backward as he leaned against the pine tree.

  Danny’s pistol was in his right hand. Cord waited until he turned around and the pistol was visible. Danny held it pointed straight down by his knee. He was waiting to lift it and take another shot.

  Cord took aim on Danny’s hand. The hand that held the pistol.

  He drew in a breath, held it; as he started to exhale, he squeezed the trigger.

  Danny yowled as the bullet smashed through the slender bones of his hand. The pistol dropped like a chunk of useless metal from his hand. Blood spurted from the shattered hand and Danny hopped on one foot, away from the tree. He screamed in pain and looked straight at Cord.

  Cord stood there, a few feet away, a tendril of smoke rising from the barrel of his pistol. He recocked his Colt and blew away the shawl of white smoke that drifted like a cobweb over his face.

  “Your shootin’ days are over, Danny,” Cord said.

  Danny bent over to retrieve his pistol with his gun hand. But his fingers did not work and blood dripped from his hand like a leaking faucet.

  “Damn you, Wild,” Danny spat.

  “Come on down, Earl,” Cord called to the top of the rock. He heard a scrambling noise and knew his brother had heard him.

  Moments later, Earl stood by his side, pistol in hand.

  “Are you going to finish him, Cord?” he asked.

  “No, I’m going to let Danny live.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to make a messenger out of him.”

  “Go to hell,” Danny said as he gripped his wrist. His hand still bled and dripped on the ground, spattering against the metal of his pistol.

  He drew himself up straight and stared at the pistol in Cord’s hand.

  “You’re the one who’s going there, Danny,” Cord said. “But first you’re going to take a message back to Horace.”

  “Message? What message?”

  “I could kill you now, Danny, but I’m going to let you live. I want you to tell Horace that I’m coming for him. He won’t know when, but he’s going to die.”

  “You’ll never get to Horace, you fool,” Danny said. “He’ll have your head on his mantel before you even get close.”

  “Just give him the message, Danny. That his days are short and numbered.”

  “What if I don’t? What are you going to do about it?”

  “We’re going to ride you down to the 2Bar2 where he can see you. Earl and I will be your escort.”

  “Damn you, Wild.” Danny pulled his hand up until it was level. He looked at Cord and his eyes fisted shut as the pain shot up his arm. The hand was useless and the pad on his palm had been shot away. It was just a mass of torn flesh. Several crucial bones were splintered and their sharp ends stuck out through what was left of the flesh on the top part of his hand. Tears leaked from his squeezed eyes.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” Danny wailed.

  “Earl, go find his horse and bring it here,” he told his brother. “And holster your pistol. You won’t be needing it anytime soon.”

  Earl shoved his pistol back in his holster and walked away, downslope, to look for Danny’s horse.

  Cord stepped up close to Danny and shoved him away from the tree. Then he stooped over and picked up the man’s bloody pistol.

  Danny looked on with scorn and pain.

  “I paid good money for that Colt,” Danny said.

  “I expect you did. But you won’t be needing this firearm anymore, Danny. Your bushwhacking days are over.”

  “I still got one more hand.”

  “You keep that up, and I’ll smash that one to a pulp, too.”

  “Wild, you’re a pure bastard. Know that? Just a damned bastard.”

  “I ’spect you know all about bastards, Danny, you being one of ’em.”

  Danny scowled as more pain shot through the muscles and nerves of his wrist and arm. Bloud spouted from the wound.

  Cord shoved Danny’s pistol inside his belt after he wiped the barrel on his trousers.

  Earl trudged up the slope. He led Danny’s horse.

  “Take that rifle out of its boot,” Cord told his brother. “You can secure it to your own saddle after we help Danny mount up.”

  Cord grabbed Danny by the elbow of his good arm and shoved him toward his horse as Earl slipped the rifle from its scabbard.

  “I ain’t gettin’ on my horse,” Danny said, and he shoved backward with his good arm.

  “You’re going to ride, if I have to tie you to your horse, Danny.”

  Cord shoved him toward the horse.

  “I can’t pull myself up with this game hand,” Danny said.

  “We’ll lift you up,” Cord said.

  Earl laid the rifle on the ground a few feet away and walked over to stand behind Danny.

  “Earl, you push up when I tell you. We’re going to get this boy in his saddle.”

  Earl nodded and grabbed the elbow of Danny’s right arm.

  Cord lifted Danny’s left foot and rammed the toe of his boot into the stirrup. Then he nodded to Earl, lifted Danny up, and shoved him toward the saddle.

  “Swing his right leg over the horse,” Cord said.

  Earl
pushed on Danny’s right leg until it swung over the horse. Danny sat up straight, his right arm dangling at his side. His left hand gripped the saddle horn.

  “There you go, Danny. Now just sit tight while Earl brings our horses over. Then we’ll all ride together, down the mountain, and back to your rat’s nest of a home.”

  “Wild, you’re twenty kinds of bastard. I’ll piss on your grave one day.”

  “Danny, you’re all mouth, and if you don’t do what I tell you, I’ll crack that other hand with the butt of my pistol.”

  Danny glared down at him.

  “Bring our horses over, Earl,” Cord said as he reached for the reins of Danny’s horse in his brother’s hand.

  Earl scrambled off and Cord aimed his pistol at Danny as he stepped back. He pulled hard on the reins and brought the horse’s head down.

  Danny’s left boot twitched.

  “You touch a spur to that horse, I’ll just shoot you out of the saddle. There’s more than one way to deliver a message. It can be done dead or alive.”

  Danny clamped his lips together. His eyes flashed a look of hatred at Cord.

  Earl returned. He led the two horses by the reins.

  “Mount up, Earl,” Cord said. “And I’ll hand you the reins.”

  A few seconds later, Earl held the reins of Danny’s horse while Cord mounted Windmill. Cord took the reins back as he holstered his pistol, thumbing the hammer back to half cock.

  “We’ll lead out, Earl,” Cord said, ticked Windmill’s flanks with his spurs, and gave him his head with a loose bit.

  They rode down the mountain toward Horace’s ranch. They rode slow and gradual as if they were on a Sunday jaunt.

  Danny never said a word. He just looked at his shattered gun hand and wept.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Earl rode up beside Cord when they stopped to rest in the thick timber.

  It seemed to him that they had been riding through the roughest timber and brush, and he was tired of looking at the back of Danny and his bloody, mangled hand. Danny kept lifting his hand and stroking his arm as if to ease the pain.

  Now their prisoner sat his horse and looked all around at the trees, as if trying to get his bearings.