by Jory Sherman
Eddie cursed silently. He cursed the perversity of inanimate objects.
Then he waited for several seconds.
He took another step. Closer to the house. It was almost in full view.
More careful steps. One step, pause. Another step, pause.
No hurry.
The door would be the challenge. The noise it might make. Unless it was unlatched.
He prayed that it would be as he took still another careful and light step. He waited until his weight was fully settled on the front foot, then raised the other to advance himself.
He listened and heard only the stillness of the night. Glancing above him, he looked at the silent stars. The blind stars that could not see him or cry out a warning.
The crease of a smile bent his lips and he took another step.
Closer and closer he came to the front of the house. It, too, was silent. Silent as a tomb. The tomb it would become.
No front porch. Just a two-tiered wooden step in front of the door.
His eyes adjusted to the deeper darkness cast by the overhanging roof that jutted from the house. A few more steps and he could make out the door handle, a curved, ornate iron curlicue that beckoned to him.
He stopped when he came close to the steps. He stood there and took a deep breath.
And listened.
He leaned over the steps and put an ear to the door. And listened still more. He heard no sounds from inside the house, and the crease of a smile broke the plane below his nose.
Somewhere, far off, a horse nickered. A mere wisp of a sound. Nothing to do with him. A horse ranch would have such a sound. And other noises as horses moved around in their pens or corrals.
Eddie waited for several moments. He gathered the resolve to try the door handle. He reached down and gripped the handle. He pushed it down and it did not stick.
The door was unlocked.
He stepped up to the first step and then heard the sound of a footfall as Ernesto rounded the corner of the house.
He saw just the dimmest silhouette of a human figure blackened by darkness.
Eddie lifted his boot off the step and turned to face the unwelcome intruder. The fingers of his hand squeezed the grip of his pistol.
Then he saw the man at the corner of the house reach for his pistol and start to pull it from its holster.
A cloud drifted over the moon and deepened the darkness around the house.
Eddie squinted as he snatched his pistol from its leather perch at his side.
Time seemed to freeze in that instant until he heard the man speak.
“What are you doing here?” Ernesto said as his pistol cleared leather.
But the man at the door of the house did not answer. And his arm and hand were moving. There was a pistol in the man’s hand and it rose to a deadly level.
TWENTY-SIX
Ernesto squeezed the trigger and felt his pistol buck in his palm.
At the same time, Eddie fired his pistol. At a shadow. At a wavering shadow thirty yards away.
Ernesto’s shot went wide of its mark. Eddie’s bullet narrowly missed Ernesto.
Ernesto heard it sizzle past his ear in a rush of air. He bent over in a crouch and fired again at the man standing at the doorway of the house. He heard a smack as his bullet tore into human flesh. He fired again, aiming his pistol a little lower in the hopes that the trajectory would elevate the round into the center of the man’s body.
He heard a grunt as the bullet smacked home. He saw the man double up.
But Eddie fired again and again, squeezing the trigger of his double-action Colt until all six cartridges were spent. His shots were true.
Eddie leaned against the wall of the house, blood pouring from his leg and abdomen. He knew that he was mortally wounded. He clutched the wound below his stomach and felt the blood gush. He could smell the scent of his own intestines.
It would be a slow death. Eddie had seen gut-shot men and animals before.
He tried to eject the spent cartridges from his pistol. His fingers were slick with blood and he had trouble pushing the ramrod after he opened the gate, and the cartridge cylinder flipped out of the side of the receiver.
He looked at the man who had shot him, but the figure was a blur as his eyes filled with tears. The pain in his leg and gut was intense. Shoots of agony coursed through his body like waves of electrical shocks.
Ernesto crept forward along the wall of the house. He couldn’t remember how many times he had fired, but he thought he had at least two bullets left in the cylinder of his converted Remington. Two .44 slugs left to finish off the intruder.
Eddie slumped down to a sitting position on the top step. He held his gut in, but he still bled with every pump of his heart.
Ernesto put the muzzle of his pistol close to Eddie’s temple.
“You do not have long to live. Why did you come here?”
“I ain’t sayin’, you damned greaser.”
Ernesto uttered a wry laugh. “You call me names, but you are the one who is dying.”
“I ain’t talkin’ to no greaser,” Eddie said through tight lips.
“Then go to where you belong, gringo. To the grave.”
The front window glowed with lamplight from the front room.
Ernesto heard sounds from inside the house: padding feet across the floor, women’s voices.
The door opened and Abigail jumped back when she saw the man on her step and Ernesto holding a pistol to his head.
A moment later, Lelia appeared behind her and looked over her shoulder. She gasped and put a hand to her mouth.
“Ernesto. I heard gunfire. Who is this man?” Abigail said as she regained her composure.
“He try to break into the house,” Ernesto said. “I do not know who this man is. But he try to shoot me and I shoot him.”
“He doesn’t look familiar.” She turned to Lelia. “Have you ever seen that man before?” she asked.
Lelia shook her head. “He’s all bloody,” she said. “Oooh, I can’t look at him.”
She turned away, but Abigail continued to stare down at the bleeding man.
“He’s dying, isn’t he?” she said to Ernesto.
“Yes, he dies.”
“All I can think of is that he was sent here by Horace Weatherall. Probably to kill us so that he could foreclose on our ranch.”
Ernesto said nothing, but he mulled over what Abigail had said and nodded his head.
“He is a bad one,” Ernesto said.
“You won’t . . . have . . . this ranch long, lady,” Eddie said in a halting voice.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, mister,” Abigail said.
“Shoot me, Mex,” Eddie said. “Go ahead and get it over with.”
“You die slow. You have time to think about your sins, gringo.”
Eddie doubled over in pain. He rocked back and forth on the porch. Then he stopped and one of his legs kicked out as a surge of pain struck him in his abdomen. He stifled a cry and Ernesto could hear his teeth rub together.
Ernesto stepped back and eased down the hammer of his pistol. He slid it back in his holster. Then he grabbed Eddie by his shoulders and pulled him off the step and out into the open, where he shoved him down so that the gunman was flat on his back. He searched him to make sure he didn’t have a gun.
He turned to the doorway.
“Go back to bed, Abigail,” he said. “He will die before morning. No need for you to worry.”
“Oh, I don’t know if we can sleep after this fight,” she said. “But good night, Ernesto. And thank you for saving our lives.”
Abigail closed the door.
A moment later, the window went dark as the lamp was extinguished.
The house went silent again as the women returned to their beds
.
Ernesto winced as the wounded man’s body twisted around in agony. He hated to see anyone, any animal, suffer. But he knew that the man he had shot had come to murder or kidnap Abigail and Lelia. And he knew that Horace had sent him. Horace wanted the JB Ranch. He had bought the mortgage from the bank for just that purpose.
Where was Wild?
Wild would want to know about the mortgage and this man who had sneaked up to do harm to the heirs of Jesse’s ranch.
“Kill me, greaser. Shoot me.” Eddie croaked the words out. His voice was weak.
Ernesto was tempted.
“You’d shoot a horse with a broken leg, Mex. Do the same for me. Please.” The last word from Eddie’s mouth sounded pitiful to Ernesto. It tore at his heart and disturbed his conscience. It was not good to let a man suffer like that. But perhaps it was just.
“I will say a prayer for you, gringo. But you must suffer for your sins.”
“Crap,” Eddie said. “I’m dying. What more do you want?”
“That is enough, gringo. You will die soon.”
Eddie moaned in pain.
Less than an hour later, he gave a last gasp. His body spasmed and then he was still. Ernesto leaned down and listened close to the man’s mouth. No air was going in or coming out.
He felt a great sense of relief. The stench from the collapsed sphincter muscle assailed his nostrils and he stood upright.
He walked away, toward his quarters. He was tired. He was sleepy.
A bad man was dead.
He crossed himself and said a Hail Mary as he looked up at the stars, the Milky Way.
Was the prayer for himself or for the man he had killed?
Ernesto crossed himself again.
The prayer was for both of them, he decided.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Just before dawn, Ernesto and two other men tied Eddie Lomax’s corpse to his horse. They draped the body facedown across the saddle, roped his hands and feet across the horse’s belly, and for good measure, tied a length of rope to his belt and looped it beneath the horse.
Ned Parsons tied the last knot.
“Ned,” Ernesto said, “you and Pat know what I want you to do?”
Pat Varnum nodded as he held on to the reins of Eddie’s horse.
“Yeah, you want me and Pat to tote this horse and dead man over to the 2Bar2 Ranch and run the horse up toward the house.”
“Right,” Pat said.
“Be real careful. Horace may have riflemen watching for just such a thing.” Ernesto breathed a lungful of air.
“We’ll watch our topknots, Ernesto,” Parsons said.
He turned to his horse and stepped into the stirrup. Then he led Pat’s horse over to him and took the reins of Eddie’s horse while Pat mounted up and settled into the saddle.
“See you by and by,” Pat said to Ernesto.
“If you run into Cord Wild, you tell him to hurry.”
“Will do,” Pat said.
The two men with their grisly cargo rode off into the dawn.
Ernesto heard the front door creak and turned, walked up to the house.
“Ernesto?” Abigail said.
“Good morning, Abigail. You are up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep. Are those men taking that dead man somewhere?”
“They’ll let Horace know that his little plan did not work.”
“Good. But I wish Cord were here. I’d feel safer with a strong man around.”
“He will come.”
“When?” she asked.
Ernesto shrugged. “Who knows? He comes when he comes.”
“That’s true,” she said. She paused and drew in a breath. “Well, see what stock we can drive to Fort Laramie. We must get some money before we lose everything.”
“I will have some horses to sell by nightfall,” he said.
The conversation over, Abigail closed the door. Ernesto walked to the stables. He looked to the east and the sky was still dark. Only a little while before sunrise, he knew.
And then there would be a surprise for Horace Weatherall.
• • •
Pat and Ned reined their horses to a halt a short distance from the 2Bar2 Ranch.
Two men rode up on either side of them. They rode in out of the dark, pistols shining in their hands.
“Hands up,” Cord said.
Both men raised their hands.
Cord rode up and looked at the faces of the two men.
“Pat?”
“Yeah, Cord. It’s me and Ned.”
“What you got there on the horse you’re leading?”
“Dead man,” Pat replied. “You still need that gun on us?”
Earl and Cord holstered their pistols.
“Who is he?” Cord asked.
“Don’t know,” Pat answered. “Ernesto shot him. Said he was tryin’ to break into the ranch house.”
“What?”
“That’s what Ernesto said. The women didn’t get hurt, but Ernesto said that’s who this one was after, Abigail and Lelia.”
“Damn,” Cord said. “Mind if I take a look?”
“No, if you can see his face in the dark.”
“I’ll light a match,” Cord said. He rode to the rear, then called to Earl, “Come here, Earl. See if you know this jasper.”
Cord struck a match and lifted Eddie’s head so that Earl could see his face.
“Yeah, I know who he is,” Earl said. “Who he was. Eddie Lomax. One of that bunch that raped our mother and who worked for Abner. A no-account. I’m glad he’s dead.”
Cord blew the match out.
“You’re runnin’ the dead man over to the 2Bar2?” Cord rode up to Pat.
“Yeah. Before it gets light, if we can.”
“You’re almost there. Watch out, though, the spread is bristling with guns.”
“We’ll turn this horse loose the first chance we get.”
“You’d better,” Cord said.
“Ernesto said if we run into you to have you skedaddle back to the JB.”
“We’ll wear out leather getting back,” Cord said, and turned Windmill. He and Earl rode off toward the JB, horses at a gallop.
A half hour later, a rent opened in the eastern horizon and spilled creamy light through its fissure.
Cord was glad that he had decided to ride back to the JB before going after Horace.
Weatherall had stepped over a line in the sand by sending a gunman to kill or kidnap Abigail and Lelia. Cord was more determined than ever to put Horace’s lamp out and clean out the whole rat’s nest at the 2Bar2.
Horace had gone far enough. In fact, he had gone too far.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Lelia rushed into Cord’s arms the minute he stepped across the threshold of the ranch house. Nearly knocked him back through the door.
Earl’s eyes went wide as he stepped up just behind his brother.
“Oh, thank God you’re here, Cord,” Abigail exclaimed.
Cord pulled Lelia’s arms down from around his neck.
“Wish I had come sooner,” he said.
Lelia glided away to stand by her mother. Ernesto walked into the room with a tray of coffee cups. He wore a large grin as he set the tray down on a small table in front of the divan.
“Thank you, Ernesto,” Abigail said. “Let’s all sit down and have some hot coffee before our hearts fly out of our chests,” she said.
Ernesto slapped Cord on the back. “Much to tell,” he said.
“Ernesto’s right,” Abigail said as all the men sat down in chairs except for Cord, who joined the two women on the divan after Abigail patted a place between her and Lelia.
Ernesto handed cups of coffee to all who were there and took one for himself.
“I saw the hand
s packing the body of the man you shot, Ernesto,” Cord said. “I’d like to hear just what happened last night.”
“Yes, go ahead, Ernesto,” Abigail said. “Tell Cord what happened. How you saved our lives.”
Ernesto told Cord the full story of his encounter with Eddie Lomax.
“It was frightening,” Abigail said. “I heard those gunshots outside and thought we were under attack.”
“I was petrified,” Lelia said.
“You’re lucky that Ernesto was here to defend you,” Cord said.
“What will happen to us?” Abigail asked.
“If Horace is killed, he can’t foreclose on the JB Ranch,” Cord said. “You won’t lose it.”
“But how? How can you get to that monster?” Abigail asked.
“There’s always a way,” Cord said.
“What will you do?” Lelia asked.
“There are several ways we can get to him. I’m just sorting through the possibilities,” Cord said.
Earl gave him a questioning look. So did Lelia.
“I’ll find a way,” Cord said. “His time on this earth is drawing to a close.”
It was true. Cord was considering several ways to get at Horace and his brother. He had no qualms about killing men who had already shown their murderous ways. He knew that the law couldn’t touch him at this point. There was probably no law outside of Cheyenne, and even that law was pretty weak.
No, this was something he would have to do for himself. He and Earl. He knew they would be facing a formidable opponent. A wily adversary, at that. Horace was cagey and he surrounded himself with top gunmen, men who had killed before and would not hesitate to defend their evil boss.
“I hope you can do this, Cord,” Abigail said.
“I’ll do it,” Cord said.
Abigail rose from the divan.
“I’ll fix all of us breakfast. Lelia, you can help. First, go to the henhouse and fetch me some eggs.”
Lelia jumped up from the couch with alacrity and dashed down the hall to the kitchen and back door.
Ernesto sat there and looked at Cord.
“Do you want me to go with you when you go after Horace?” he asked.
Cord thought about it. There was no doubt that Ernesto was eager to go after Horace and the other men on the 2Bar2, and it’s possible one more man could add to their chances of success, but Ernesto might also get in the way. Cord did not think he had the experience to stalk and kill a man.