Alias: The Hangman From Hell

by Franklin D. Lincoln

Something was wrong! Something was radically wrong! Ben Tolbert, Dan Greer and Art Slocum all felt it. They all shifted nervously in their saddles as they rode into the main street of Plainview at mid morning. The sun was halfway to its apex, but it was already blistering hot. Sweat was already pouring down the faces of the three riders. The uneasiness that they were experiencing only added to their discomfort.

  Dan Greer had reported the day before that the streets had been almost empty when he rode in, but today that was not the case. They had met several wagons and several riders heading out of town as they entered. The street was filled with hustle and bustle. Wagons were being loaded with families readying to leave town.

  “I thought you said the town was dead yesterday, Greer,” Ben Tolbert said with irritation.

  “It was. I swear. There’s something wrong here, boss.”

  “There’s something wrong alright,” Greer grumbled. “I’m riding with a couple of idiots, that’s what.”

  “Aw Ben,” Greer started. “You got no call to treat us like ……..” His words trailed off as he noted the vehemence in Tolbert’s stare. It was best to keep his mouth shut.

  Another wagon was approaching. A farmer and his wife were on the seat. Two young girls and a boy, all not yet in their teens were in the back. Ben decided to find out what was going on. He sidled his mount up next to the wagon, turned him on a dime and trotted alongside. “Say Mister,” Tolbert said trying to sound friendly. “Can you tell me what time the hanging starts.”

  The man pulled up on the reins and brought his unmatched team to a halt. “Ain’t gonna be none,” the man said.

  “There ain’t?” Tolbert repeated. “How come?”

  “The sheriff got shot last night and guess who kilt him.”

  “Who?”

  “The hangman, that’s who. Didja ever’ hear o’ setch a thing? Now they’re gonna hafta get a new hangman to do the job. Who knows how long that’s gonna be. Circus is closing up too. Might’s well go home. Got work to tend to anyhow.”

  “Don’t blame you none,” Tolbert said. “Thanks for the info, friend.” He tipped his hat and pulled his horse away. The farmer snapped up the reins and started off again.

  “Now if that don’t beat all,” Tolbert said as he joined back up with his two companions. “There ain’t gonna be no hanging today.”

  “Why not?” Art Slocum whined.

  “Never mind. There just ain’t going to be one, that’s all.”

  “I told you we shoulda done it yesterday, instead of waiting.” Dan Greer chided.

  “Shoulda, woulda, coulda,” Tolbert sneered. “I just wish you two morons would just shut up.”

  “Morons?” Art Slocum said. “What’s a moron. You saying something bad about us again, boss.”

  “No. I’m just saying how smart you two are.” Tolbert said with sarcasm.

  “Oh,” Slocum mumbled. His face was still blank.

  Greer screwed up his face in annoyance. “Forget it Art.”

  Then to Tolbert he said, “Well what are we going to do now, Ben?”

  Tolbert chewed on it awhile. “I don’t know. We sure as hell can’t hit the bank now. Too many people around. Let’s get out of here. I’ve got some thinking to do.”

  “Don’t hurt yourself,” Art Slocum said still mumbling.

  “What’s that?” Tolbert demanded angrily.

  “I said I wouldn’t want you to get hurt, boss.”

  “Get hurt? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Slocum shrugged.

  “C’mon,” Tolbert ordered with annoyance. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They turned their horses and rode back out of town.

  The shoulder wound on Laredo’s horse ran deep and bled profusely. The horse was pained greatly and stumbled often as Laredo made his get away. His speed had slackened to almost a walk and a lame walk at that.

  They had left Plainview scarcely a mile behind when The Kid decided he had pushed his mount hard enough. To expect more of him would be cruel. He pulled the horse to a halt and dismounted. He took a closer look at the wound. It looked bad. The entire shoulder was covered in blood and streamed down his foreleg. “Sorry, old son,” The Kid murmured. “We’ve got to do something about that wound.”

  He led the horse off the trail and into the brush. He had remembered crossing a stream somewhere around there, the night before. Every thing looked different in the daylight, so he couldn’t be sure that he was close.

  A few minutes later, they emerged from the undergrowth into a clearing. The stream was there. He led the horse down to it and let him drink. He slurped greedily. The reins trailed in the water.

  Laredo checked for saddle bags. There were none. No chance for salve, medicine or bandages there. He stripped off the saddle and dumped it on the ground. He slid the saddle blanket off. It was large, thick and bulky but it was cloth. He dipped it in the water, then twisted it into a size that he could handle for swabbing the wound. Once he cleared the blood away so he could see the wound more clearly, he realized that the wound wasn’t as bad as it looked. It was still too bad for him to hold a rider.

  Repeately he dipped the blanket into the cold stream and held it as a compress against the wound until the bleeding began to diminish. He continued until it appeared that the bleeding had almost stopped.

  Laredo hated to use up so much time tending to the horse. It would be a matter of time before a posse could be formed and set out after him. The horse would be of no further use to him now. He would have to set out on foot as soon as possible and put as much distance between him and Plainview as he could.

  He slipped the halter over the horse’s nose and removed the bit from between his teeth. He tossed them on the ground next to the saddle. “Well, old boy,” Laredo said. “We’re both on our own now.” He turned and walked away crossing the stream and disappearing into some more brush on the other side.

  He walked on for an hour, snaking his way through brush until he came to an open meadow.

  Before him in the valley below stood a little soddy. There was a pole corral out back. There were three horses milling about in there. Two looked mangy, but the other one, a gray looked somewhat healthy. He needed a horse. Hopefully he could strike a deal with whoever lived there.

  As he approached, a grizzled old man came out of the soddy. He carried a long barrelled flintlock rifle. It was old and rusty, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t deadly.

  “Who are ya and what d’ya want?” The old man said as he came forward. He held the rifle half high, ready to aim it properly if necessary.

  “I lost my horse a ways back,” Laredo explained ignoring the question about who he was. “Saw you have a few. Thought I could make a deal for one of them.”

  “You runnin’ from something’? You ain’t an outlaw are ya?”

  “If I were an outlaw,’ Laredo said. “I’d’ve just shot you and stolen a horse. I wouldn’t offer to buy it.”

  “Well,” the old man’s voice scratched. “I ain’t got none for sale. I need all I got.”

  “I’ve got cash,” Laredo said pulling a wad of bills from his jeans pocket.

  The old man’s eyes grew wide with interest.

  Half an hour later The Kid was riding away on the big gray. He had wished he had the saddle from the other horse, but he would not have been able to carry it through the underbrush. The saddle the old man threw in with the deal was old and ratty; practically falling apart and was only the next best thing to riding bareback. It would have to do.

  The sky had suddenly grown dark. A breeze picked up quickly and great massive, low hanging rain clouds quickly filled the sky. Huge droplets of water dropped, picking up momentum and quantity quickly. The large drops pelted the dry ground beneath the gray’s hooves, kicking up dust as they hit. At first it was gradual, then soon began to drizzle into a continued rain. It dripped down the neck of The Kid’s shirt and it felt cold in contrast to the heat of the day.

  By the time the fir
st crack of lightning flashed across the sky, The Kid had already ridden out of sight of the old man’s soddy. Thunder crashed and the gray bolted with a start. The Kid let him have his head and let him run. He had wasted enough time. The posse was probably on his trail right now. He dared not guess how much of a lead he had. He only feared that they could be close behind him at this very moment.

  The Laredo Kid’s fears were well founded. At this very moment Clay Shaw and a posse of twelve men had ridden into the front yard of the old man’s soddy. The rain was pouring full force now and the possemen were drenched, although they had broken out their slickers that flapped like wings about them.

  They had followed the bloody trail of The Kid’s wounded horse and had finally found the horse wandering about by himself. It took a while to track The Kid through the brush and follow his trail to the soddy.

  The old man told them about selling the gray and pointed out the direction The Kid had taken when riding away.

  Despite the pouring rain the posse wasted no time getting back on the trail.

  Although the rain came fast and furious, it didn’t last long. As quickly as it came, it ceased almost as quickly, leaving behind lingering wispy dark clouds and an occasional flash of lightning. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Almost immediately, the normally rain parched earth began to quickly suck up the pools of rainwater and steamed off the ground.

  During the rainstorm, Laredo had pushed the gray as hard as he could. The gray had been the best, the old man had to offer, but he was far from a good animal and had very little stamina. He was old and had not had much occasion to exert himself as he had been required to today. He plodded heavily in the mud, slipping and sliding, causing The Kid to have to slow his pace. And now that the rain was over, the gray’s hooves and legs were caked with drying mud that weighed heavily on him.

  From time to time, Laredo had checked his back trail. There had been no posse in sight, but he had left a clear trail in the mud. The posse could trail him easily without slackening their pursuit pace.

  Laredo had ridden off the trail and into a grassy meadow that spread out toward a mountain range to the south and west. On the other side would be New Mexico. Once over the border, the posse would have to call off pursuit. But if the posse picked up his trail here, they would be able to track him by the bent grass, for the grass was at least ankle high here.

  He was about a quarter of the way across the meadow when he looked back to check his back trail. That’s when he saw them. And he knew they saw him, out there in the open. The posse was just leaving the trail and coming after him. They had whipped their mounts into a gallop, sort of. At least as much of a gallop as was possible in the tall grass.

  Laredo turned forward in the saddle, whipped the gray with the reins and kicked him into a run. A gallop was just not in the old horse.

  Repeatedly, he whipped the reins savagely across first one side of the animal’s neck and then the other. Occasionally the old horse seemed to respond, but only momentarily and then tended to falter.

  The Kid glanced behind him. They were getting closer and he could see there was a lot of them; probably a dozen or more.

  “C’mon boy,” The Kid urged. “Is that all you got?” He knew it was.

  Something buzzed past his left ear, followed by the report of a Winchester rifle. They were within rifle range. No time to look back! He drummed his heels against the gray’s sides. Another shot sounded, but the bullet couldn’t have come close for Laredo hadn’t detected it.

  The Kid was practically across the meadow now and he could see that it emptied out into a draw with rocky banks on each side.

  A volley of shots thundered around him, but none came close, for just as the possemen let loose, the old gray stumbled; his forelegs folded and his neck arched downward. The bullets went wild as The Laredo Kid flew over the gray’s neck and pitched into the grass in front of him. The Kid landed on his side and rolled twice before rolling into a half standing crouch on his feet. He drew his Colt and fired blindly behind him at the oncoming riders, just to give them something to think about. He spun on his heels and ran for the draw. Bullets plowed into the ground around his feet as he ran.

  As he entered the draw, he spotted a large boulder near the entrance. He dived behind it. Bullets spanged off the sides of the rock.

  Now the posse was out in the open and The Kid had cover. He fired. A posseman dropped his rifle, clutched his shoulder and sagged in the saddle. The others reined up quickly. Laredo fired again and his slug clipped the brim of Clay Shaw’s hat. Shaw sidestepped his mount and motioned to the others. They turned their horses to retreat out of range of pistol fire.

  Laredo aimed and pulled the trigger again, but the hammer merely fell on an empty chamber.

  While the posse was repositioning themselves, The Kid pushed himself away from the rock and started running further into the draw. He pulled cartridges from his shell belt as he ran. He was breathing hard now and his attention was so much centered on replacing the shells as he ran that he did not notice at first that what he had run into was not a draw at all.

  Just as he finished reloading and slammed the loading gate shut, he finally saw what was ahead of him. It was dead end. This was just a chasm. There were rock walls on all three sides of him and the only way out was straight back the way he came. And the posse would be there waiting for him. Shaw, having lived in this part of the country, probably already knew The Kid had trapped himself. That would account for the posse’s retreat. They would only have to wait him out.

  Well he couldn’t give it up all that easily. He would have to find a way out. He studied the rock walls around him. The one to the left was the shortest and had the most slope. He would have to try to climb it and hope Shaw and his posse didn’t dare to come in there before he got out. If they did, he would be an easy target on the wall.

  He sheathed his pistol and started to climb. The slope was steep and littered with rock. He made his way from rock to rock, using each as a handhold or foot brace. The going was slow but he was making headway. If he only had enough time.

  He was about halfway up when he realized that time had run out. He could hear the drumming of hoof beats as the posse approached the entrance. The drumming turned to a clatter as hooves clicked against the stone floor of the chasm.

  From his perch on the wall, he could see the first riders enter. Clay Shaw was not in the lead. He had two men ahead of him. Just like the weasel, Laredo thought. Let someone else take a chance on the first bullet.

  They saw him immediately and someone fired. The bullet pinged off the rock to Laredo’s right. The Kid hurried to climb faster. No time to look back.

  Two more shots sounded and rock chips flew all around him. He scrambled faster; hand over hand, foot after foot. The sound of rifle fire opened up and a steady barrage ensued. The Kid kept climbing, his breathing labored and his pulse racing. He didn’t realize that bullets were no longer coming near him.

  The rifle fire he heard had opened up from the top of the opposite wall of the chasm.

  The possemen were taken by surprise. A bullet grazed the rump of the first rider‘s horse. The animal reared and twisted. The rider fell off. The second rider took a graze to his head and pitched forward, rolling in front of the two riderless horses, barely missing their hooves as the animals thrashed about.

  The third shot took Clay Shaw in chest. He bent forward in the saddle, clutching at the pommel. He was bleeding badly, but managing. to stay aboard as he wheeled his mount and once again urging his followers to retreat.

  The rifle fire continued as the posse rode out. The two men on foot didn’t bother to catch up their horses. They just ran out into the meadow after their fleeing companions.

  Laredo had reached the top of the wall and had just rolled out onto flat above, when the posse rode off. From where he lay prone, he could see them riding hell bent from Tuesday across the open meadow. He didn’t know why they had ridden off that way. He didn’t know why
he was still alive. He wasn’t about to question it. He just pushed himself to his feet and brushed himself off as he surveyed the land around him. It was hilly, but gradually tapered to a lower flat that was mostly open. He took a fix on the sun and noted that the open land spread to the southwest. Just the direction he wanted to go.

  *****

  Chapter Twenty