Dead Man's Guns

by Paul Lederer

  ‘We don’t need to hear no old war stories,’ the man with the Winchester, Riley, said. ‘We told you to keep moving. Do it.’

  Ned had eased nearer as he spoke, still smiling stupidly. Now he shrugged, using only his hands and began to turn away. He launched himself then at the man with the two revolvers, gripping both of the Colbert man’s wrists. He smashed his skull into the gunman’s nose, feeling the hot spurt of blood as bone cracked. The rifleman, Riley, had started to raise his Winchester, but realized that he was too close to fire. Any bullet that missed by inches, even one that tagged Ned, was likely to hit his partner.

  The man with two guns sagged in Ned’s hands. And knowing he could not hold him up any longer, he released him, lunged at the rifleman and managed to get both hands on the barrel of the Winchester as Riley back-pedaled away. Riley’s eyes were wide with fear. The barrel of his rifle was now aimed at the treetops and Ned Browning was the stronger man.

  The pistol boomed behind Ned. Gunsmoke drifted across the clearing as Riley’s hands fell away from the rifle. The gunman slumped to the earth, his hands clawing at air. Ned hurled the captured rifle away and spun angrily to see Andy Bright, flushed with triumph, emerge from the trees.

  ‘I got him!’ Andy said excitedly. Ned didn’t speak a word. As Lofton and Paulsen entered the clearing, Ned Browning was crouched down over the two-gun man, disarming him.

  ‘Help me tie this one up,’ Ned said to Paulsen.

  ‘I got the other one with a clean shot,’ Andy was babbling.

  ‘I told you not to shoot,’ Ned growled without rising to face Andy.

  ‘There wasn’t any choice,’ Andy said, holstering his weapon.

  ‘Looked to me like the situation was well in hand,’ Billy Lofton said sourly.

  ‘That shot might have been heard across the river,’ Paulsen said to his friend. ‘They might think it meant something, might not. All the same, get the boys working on this tree now!’

  After binding the gunman with his own belt and bandana, Ned stood, hands on his hips, studying the opposite bank of the river. Behind him the three-man crew of lumberjacks had begun their work. The man with the axe was cutting a notch in the tree, ensuring that the tree fell away from the river as those with the two-man saw began working on the opposite side of the big pine.

  ‘Think they could have heard it?’ Ned asked as Mack Paulsen eased up beside hint

  ‘There’s no telling. I’ve heard hunters on the opposite side from time to time – it all depends.’

  ‘It was just one shot!’ Andy Bright was protesting. ‘That could signify anything!’

  ‘Anything at all,’ Ned agreed, now facing young Andy Bright for the first time. ‘But if you’re wary, ready for an attack like Lyle Colbert’s crew is, it could alert them, suggest that maybe they should take a look to see what the shot did signify.’

  There was nothing they could do about it now. They continued to watch the opposite shore for any gathering of men, for a boat being launched from Colbert’s stronghold. Meanwhile, the saw continued to bite deeply into the pale wood of the big pine. The two lumbermen were strong, used to this work and competent, but still five feet of green wood was going to take some time to cut through.

  ‘Billy,’ Mack Paulsen said to his friend, ‘why don’t you go back upstream? Your crews and mine should be ready to launch the barges at a moment’s notice. You’ll be able to see the pine when its felled, it’ll riffle the rest of the trees around when it goes. Raise anchor then, and start downriver. We’ll be only seconds getting the chain off the stump. My crew, tell Lew he’s to take my barge with you. If I can’t catch up, well, he’s in charge.’

  ‘Andy,’ Ned Browning said. ‘You’d better get across the river, if Billy will loan you his canoe. Get to your father and tell him what the plan is. Have Amos and Bert Smart ready to start the timber barges downriver at the first sign that Billy’s and Mack’s crews are heading that way. Three barges together, each with armed men on board, will have a better chance of making it.’

  ‘But you—’ Andy began to object. Ned cut him off.

  ‘Get back there. And tell Mother Rose and Tess they’re to go with you. They can’t stay behind, not with the mood Lyle Colbert’s going to be in. Now get going!’

  Ned returned to where Billy Lofton stood watching the river. The man they had tied up glared up ferociously at Ned Browning as he passed. The Colbert man was struggling with his bonds, trying to curse past the gag in his mouth. ‘Just take it easy,’ Ned told him, ‘your friends are bound to come looking for you sooner or later.’

  ‘Looks like sooner, Frank,’ Billy Lofton said. He raised an arm to indicate the far bank of the river with a pointing finger. ‘Someone’s launching a boat. Either they heard the shot or it’s time to relieve these two guards. Either way,’ Lofton said anxiously, ‘we don’t have much time.’

  The rowboat, painted blue and white, carried only three men. Two of these were at the oars. Rowing across the river was not easy. They had to angle into the current upstream to keep from being swept away. Nevertheless, these two seemed to have had some practice at their job. The boat neared slowly but inexorably as the lumbermen sawed frantically at the bulky pine tree. Glancing at the trunk of the tree, Ned could see that they were still no more than halfway through.

  ‘Looks like we’re going to have to hold them back,’ Lofton said.

  ‘No,’ Ned said. He now held Riley’s Winchester in his hand. ‘Just me. You’d be helping more if you go back to the timber camp and assist Mack. I’ll send your ’jacks on the run once the tree is felled.’

  ‘Even if you manage to hold them off,’ Billy said, studying the blue and white boat, ‘More shooting will alert Colbert to what’s really going on.’

  ‘Yes, it will.’ Ned’s mouth tightened. ‘We all knew it from the start. Maybe we’d hoped it would be different, but it won’t be: you’ll have to fight your way downriver.’

  Ned watched the approaching boat with narrowed eyes, glancing only now and then at the slow progress of the lumberjacks. The men were bathed in sweat, strain showing on their faces. They were used to this kind of work, but seldom had they had this sort of pressure to contend with.

  The boat was near enough now so that Ned could make out the faces of the approaching men. He considered firing a warning shot, but that would only alert them to trouble sooner. In another few minutes there would be no choice. The tree had to be felled; the chain had to be raised. That was all there was to it. The entire plan rested on that; the livelihoods of all of the timbermen depended on it. The man in the bow of the boat was standing now, and Ned quite distinctly saw him raise a pointing finger in their direction.

  ‘Get back!’ one of the ’jacks shouted urgently and Ned frowned at the man, not understanding. ‘Get away!’ the timberhand shouted again.

  Ned leaped aside as the great tree shivered and groaned. Then it toppled with an explosion like muted cannon fire. Ned, who had expected it to fall in near silence, stared with amazement. As the huge pine fell, the lower end of the tree kicked back toward where the men with the saw and Ned had been standing. Had he not been warned, Ned would have been battered by the tons of timber.

  The treetop smashed into the surrounding trees, sending tremors through the ranks of pines. The trunk began to roll off of the stump and slowly settle to the ground. Branches had flown like shrapnel, the dust cloud around them was thick and roiling.

  That signaled the watching men in the boat and immediately rifles aimed at their position opened fire. ‘Run for it, men!’ Ned ordered. ‘I’ll take care of the chain. No, leave that saw, just go!’

  There was no argument. The timbermen took to their heels, disappearing through the forest. Ned went to one knee and fired three carefully spaced shots through the barrel of his Winchester, sending the boatmen to the sheltering bottom of their craft. There was a brief lull then and Ned used it to return to the jagged stump of the pine. Placing his rifle aside, he gripped the heavy chain with
both hands and pulled. The massive steel links moved no more than six inches and then could be lifted no farther. Ned cursed himself for having let the lumberjacks run away so soon. It was obvious that it would take two men, one on either side of the stump, to alternately lift the steel collar.

  He did not have two men. Holding the section of chain he had lifted as high as possible, he eased his way to the far side of the stump and lifted the section there. Then he shifted back to the other side. It was slow going. The two-inch links of chain were even heavier than he had imagined them to be.

  And now the riflemen in the boat had opened up again. They were still too far out for clean shots, but the hum and thwack of their bullets moving past his head to clip branches from the surrounding trees was near enough to unnerve him. He worked on frantically, his own shirt now soaked with perspiration.

  Inch by inch he raised the chain, alternating sides of the stump. Glancing across his shoulder, he could see the blue and white boat, ever nearer. A trio of shots sounded, their reports nearer at hand, and one of the bullets – a lucky shot? – tagged the huge stump of the tree only inches from his hand, near enough to send bark flying into his face with stinging force.

  Only a little more. He repeated this to himself as he continued to labor, cursing wildly when he lost his grip and the chain slid down a few inches. Only a little more. Eyeing the boat he saw that the oarsmen were making much better progress at their chore than he was. The temptation was to drop the chain, snatch up his rifle and give them a taste of their own medicine, but that would gain him nothing. The chain would slither its way back to the roots and he would have to begin all over again. He let the bullets whip past, although he worked now in a crouch … as if that would do much good.

  Only a little more. He had worked a few links of the chain up onto the newly cut white meat of the stump, and he fought to hold them there, his shoulders trembling, his eyes stinging with perspiration. He could not let the chain go now. Carefully, with one hand securing those links, he worked back around to the far side of the tree, lifting, straining to bring the chain up one link at a time.

  It was free! One half of the girdling chain lay like a defeated silver snake across the jagged stump. Ned left it there for the moment. Leaping toward his Winchester he shouldered it and emptied the magazine in the direction of the boat, sending the men aboard diving under the thwarts again.

  Throwing away the empty rifle, Ned hefted the massive chain in both arms, and while the men cowered in their boat, he hobbled to the edge of the river and dropped the chain into the water. He did not throw it, no man could have, but it was free and the current would drift it inexorably away from shore. A man rose up from the bottom of the boat and another shot was loosed in his direction.

  Ned drew his Colt and returned the shot only to warn the men that he still had teeth, then he struck out through the forest. There was no triumphant exhilaration in his chest, only the hot pain of exertion. If the others thought that they had just won a victory, Ned Browning knew that they had just begun a war.

  SEVEN

  Weaving through the timber at a dead run, Ned Browning burst into the timber camp, startling the three lumberjacks who stood there, drinking water from tin cups. Unnerved at first, the three now recognized Ned and, smiling, they gathered around him.

  ‘You cut that close,’ one of them, the man who had wielded the axe said, clapping Ned’s shoulder.

  ‘Too close,’ Ned agreed. He was standing half-bent over, struggling to regain his breath. ‘But the chain’s in the river. When are Lofton and Paulson starting downriver?’

  ‘Any minute now. You’ll hear a whistle blow. Are you going with them?’

  ‘No,’ Ned replied. ‘How about you boys?’

  ‘We thought of it, but we decided to go into the high timber. We’ve got a shack up there. No one is likely to find us, and if they do, they’ll be sorry.’

  ‘You say you’re not going on the barges either?’ one of them asked Ned, handing him a cup of water.

  ‘No. I need to get back across the river. Is there another canoe that I can use?’

  ‘There is. A couple of them. Have you much experience with canoes?’

  ‘None,’ Ned admitted, handing the tin cup back. The three smiled tolerantly.

  ‘You won’t make it alone, then. Not with that current. Thomas? What do you say that you and I take the man across the river?’

  ‘Sure. He saved our bacon, didn’t he? Just wait until after the barges have started, mister. We wouldn’t want to get in front of one of those. They don’t stop.’

  Ned agreed and expressed his thanks. He stood then on the riverbank, watching the Snake flow. A piercing whistle sounded minutes later and, glancing upstream, he could see the heavily laden timber barges begin to drift from the shore and catch the swift current. They glided, these bulky monsters, on the silver face of the big river. As they floated nearer, Ned could see that each of these two barges carried half a dozen riflemen hidden behind or among the massive trunks of the timber.

  From the corner of his eye he saw other movement and, glancing that way … across the river … he saw that Orson Bright had launched his timber barge as well. He waited, watching as the first barge disappeared around the bend in the river. Riflemen began to fire from across the river, from Lyle Colbert’s camp, and the boatmen answered. He doubted if anyone could hit anyone else under these conditions, still enough guns were being fired so that their smoke gathered in dark wreaths across the surface of the river.

  Bright’s barge was now nearly abreast of where Ned stood watching. Bright was at the tiller, sheltered by two huge logs which had been positioned that far back to afford cover for him. Behind the logs, Amos Shockley and Bert Smart could be seen. Andy Bright had clambered up onto the stack of timber to be able to shoot better.

  Where was Tess!

  There was no sign of the girl nor of Mother Rose. Damn Andy! He had been told to make sure that Tess and Mother Rose were on the barge. There was no sign of the women, and Ned would have seen them if they were on board, since they would be riding on the sheltered side of the boat.

  Farther along, the guns continued to roar. Lyle Colbert’s men had not given up yet. Colbert himself must have known that he was beaten for the moment. But it would be a short-lived victory. As had been pointed out, Colbert would simply order the chain grappled from the river depths and reattached on the south bank.

  Perhaps a moral victory was better than none; maybe the timbermen would be emboldened enough to fight for themselves once they had delivered their logs to the sawmill.

  ‘You ready to go?’ the lumberjack named Thomas asked. At Ned’s nod, he said. ‘Good, the boys and me are wanting to get up in the tall timber as quick as possible in case Colbert takes a notion to burn out the camps while Lofton and Paulsen are gone.’

  A canoe was dragged from the trees and held for Ned. Stepping in, the two timbermen shoved off into the swift current, one of them nimbly boarding from the water to take a kneeling position at the bow, the other similarly positioned behind Ned.

  They had been right. There was no way Ned Browning could have crossed this river alone in a canoe. These two were skilled at battling the current, and sure in their paddle strokes. The light craft skimmed rapidly across the rolling river to the far shore where Ned clambered out, shouted his thanks, waved a hand and entered the deep woods below the Bright cabin.

  The shadows were deep and cool, the long ranks of the trees nearly blue. Jays and an occasional woodpecker whirred away at his approach, but there was no other movement, no other sound in the deep forest.

  No smoke rose from the stone chimney of the cabin. No one called out as he reached the yard, crossed it, and mounted the front porch. The door stood closed; the latch string was out. Ned felt his heart sink a little. The house felt empty. He knew before he toed the door open and entered, pistol in his hand, that he would find no one there.

  Tess Bright stood at the door of the timberline shack where A
mos Shockley and Bert Smart lived. Mother Rose lay behind her on Bert’s cot, her narrow chest rising and falling shallowly. She was not sick, she had told them, only tired.

  When Andy Bright had burst into the house, his eyes excited, his words wildly spoken, he had given his command: ‘You two have to get over to the barge mooring. We’re going downriver to the sawmill. Now! Frank Lavender says to make sure that you’re on board, Tess.’

  ‘I’m not going,’ Mother Rose said, keeping her back to them as she scraped the top of her stove. ‘I’m too old to jump on a raft and ride the river with men shooting. You go if you must, Tess.’

  Tess stood irresolutely between her brother and her grandmother. ‘You’ve got to hurry,’ Andy went on as if Mother Rose had said nothing. ‘The barge will be off in a matter of minutes.’

  ‘Why does Ned say I should go?’ Tess managed to ask.

  ‘Ned? Oh, Frank! He’s afraid that the Colbert bunch might take a notion to ride over here and burn down the place. And who knows what else.’

  ‘We won’t be losing much,’ Mother Rose said in a dry, far-away voice.

  ‘We should go,’ Tess tried.

  ‘No.’ The old woman’s voice was thin but firm. ‘I’m riding no riverboat.’

  Tess looked at Andy as if to say, ‘You see how it is.’ Shaking her head, she told her brother: ‘I guess I’ll be staying too.’ It wouldn’t do to let Mother Rose stay alone. Maybe she could at least talk the old woman into slipping away to a safer place.

  And so they had trudged up along the mountain trail to the tiny shack where Shockley and Bert sheltered. Mother Rose had almost immediately stretched out on Bert’s poor cot, claiming that she was not used to such exertions – mountain climbing was nearly as bad as river-rafting. It seemed to Tess, however, that there was more to Mother Rose’s complaint than she was willing to share.

  Now Tess stood at the leather-hinged door to the shack, looking downslope toward their cabin in the pines. She could barely make out the chimney and a portion of the roof, but she would have seen anyone approaching up the road. The timber barges were gone around the river bend. They had begun their journey to the sawmill while she and Mother Rose were still in the forest, climbing toward the lumberjack’s shack. It was strange to see no one anywhere, no sign of life. Nothing but the long blue-green ranks of trees in whichever direction she looked – that and the silver glint of the Snake River making its way south toward Hoyt’s Camp and the faraway places.