Slow John

by C. J. Petit

  He paused for effect and added, “And I do mean take care of the women.”

  Everyone laughed and pounded the table in agreement.

  “Then Jack here will show us where the money is hidden in the Flynn house and we’ll get the cash from the Walsh house after that. Then, we come back here and have ourselves an Irish-free party.”

  “Except for me.” Jack interrupted.

  Handy grinned at him. “Why, of course, Jack. You ain’t Irish anymore, you’re just one of the boys.”

  Jack nodded with his own grin as Lou Harrison winked at Handy. He didn’t have to say, “Idiot.” as it was understood.

  “Okay, Pete, after you finished your drink, you and Swede go over to Washington’s and wait for the ammunition, and as soon as you get it, come back here and we’ll move out.”

  Pete nodded, threw back his remaining whiskey and gestured to Swede before they both stood and left the saloon.

  _____

  John had given each man a pistol and shown him the basics on how to shoot it, but that was all he felt he had time to do. Now, they were all reassembled in the main room, except for Mrs. Walsh who was still hovering over her daughter.

  “I’ve been thinking about this. If they’re coming today, they’ll be expecting to see some men out in the fields working. If no one’s there, they’ll think something is wrong and maybe come back when we least expect it. Now, this is going to sound really odd, but hear me out. What I want to do is to have some women dress in men’s clothes and be out there with two men. When the men get out there, lay your weapons on the ground and do normal weeding or whatever else you were planning on doing. Don’t go very far from your rifle. That will leave two men in the house with two rifles. The women that are out in the fields will drop flat to the ground when the shooting starts. The men will hit the dirt, too, but in on your stomachs near your rifles. You can then fire from that position.”

  He paused and watched for understanding then continued.

  “I’ll be on foot, but not far away. I’ll be in that shallow gully to the south. I’ll leave my horse saddled in the barn, but I’ll have both my Spencer carbine and my Winchester with me. I’ll have enough ammunition to take care of the problem. According to Fred Washington, they have three repeaters and one Spencer. As long as you all stay in the fields more than a couple of hundred yards away, you should be okay. Don’t fire at them unless they come after you. All you’ll be doing is wasting ammunition and telling them where you are. They’ll see your smoke and be able to fire at that, especially the one with the Spencer. I plan on putting him down first.”

  “So, you don’t want us to shoot?” asked Patrick.

  “Only if they come running out after you. You just stay flat on your stomachs and watch. You’re there to protect the women, just like the ones in the house. Those rifles have an effective range of around a hundred yards. That means at a hundred yards, the bullet has enough power left to kill the man. After that, it’ll probably just hurt him. It also becomes more difficult to hit him when he’s farther out because the bullet slows down so much. So, stay put, and shoot any of them that try to come your way. Standing up will only make you an easy target.”

  “Now, the ones in the house, I’d recommend you put your rifles on the floor and just sit with your back against the wall with a shotgun aimed at the two doors. If someone comes in with a pistol drawn, give him both barrels, then pick up your rifle.”

  “What are you going to do, Slow John?” asked Dennis.

  “Get every last one of them.” he said softly.

  Assignments were made, and Martha and Maggie elected to go out into the fields with Dennis and Patrick. Eliza tried to volunteer, but no one, including John, wanted her out in the fields. Mary Flynn would join them, so all the women went to change into overalls, shirt and boots, all of which belonged to them anyway. They were farm women.

  At one-thirty in a bright, warm almost-May day, five people all dressed like men left the Flynn kitchen, two carrying Henry rifles and wearing pistols. They walked two hundred yards out into the fields and the two gunbelts were removed, and the rifles laid down before they began to work.

  While they were leaving, John took a few seconds to see how Kate was doing. She was unchanged, so he turned, walked down the hallway, out the kitchen door and into the barn. Cross was already saddled, so he just picked up his carbine, another tube of Spencer ammunition and his Winchester and headed for the barn door.

  John gave a quick examination of the farm and thought it looked innocent enough, so he jogged quickly to the south of the barn, hoping that this wasn’t just his imagination running wild. He found the gully and stepped down. It was only two feet deep and six feet wide, but it was just about ideal for the situation. He carefully set his Spencer and Winchester down and laid the extra Spencer tube next to the carbine. He took off his Stetson and began to scan the horizons. He expected them to come from the south, but they might swing to the north first and come from the west. His only problem was if the kept going north and then came at them from the direction of the Walsh farm. He just hoped they weren’t that smart.

  _____

  “What do you mean there weren’t no Spencer cartridges?” shouted Pete Smith.

  “Sorry, Mr. Smith, all I have is the .44 cartridges. If you wanted some Spencer cartridges, you should have told me before and I would have added them to my order. I believe you have the only Spencer around.”

  “Damn! I needed some extra, too.”

  “Goin’ after some buffalo, are you, Mr. Smith?” Fred asked innocently.

  Pete snickered and replied, “Nope. Just two-legged critters this time.”

  He and Swede slid the six boxes of .44 cartridges from the counter and left the store.

  Fred watched them leave and said quietly, “On second thought, I do believe there is another Spencer carbine around here.”

  Pete and Swede returned to the saloon and dropped the boxes of cartridges on the table.

  “Washington didn’t have no Spencer ammunition, Handy, but I should be okay. There’s only five men anyway, and I’ve got six shots. Besides, with your plan, those repeaters will take care of the rest.”

  Handy didn’t like having so few rounds of the longer-range cartridges, but Pete was right. He only needed to get one of the Irishmen and the others would either run away or try to run to the house and be met with the repeaters.

  “Alright, let’s get moving.” Handy said with an effective growl.

  Jack was smiling as he stood and walked out the batwing doors, not realizing just how short his life would be even if everything went perfectly.

  _____

  John had been in the gully for a half an hour and the weather was being obnoxious as it was behaving like the middle of June instead of the end of April. He had to wipe away sweat as he stuck his head up and scanned for movement again.

  He stopped swiveling his head when he thought he saw a dust cloud at the edge of North Platte. He took a chance and stood up to gain the extra height and let him see farther. He quickly dropped back down and picked up his Spencer. He hadn’t done an exact count, but he estimate between six and eight.

  John began running probable attacks in his mind. The pistol-shooters would hold back for fear of the shotguns. They might just let the repeaters stand off a hundred yards and shoot in safety, but with the Spencer around, they’d probably let him take out as many as he could before the repeaters took over, then the others would come in and clean up. If they thought all the men were in the fields, it would be a good plan. But he was certain that they didn’t know about him, his Spencer, or the other rifles, unless Pappy or Fred said something, which he thought unlikely.

  ____

  “Okay, let’s turn north and split up. Keep those horses walking.” ordered Handy.

  No one replied, but all of them turned north. Jack felt out of place again because everyone else was on a horse, and he was riding bareback on a mule. Nobody had said anything, but he knew they were
all laughing at him. He’d show them when they got into the house and they needed him to show them where his parents kept the money. Then, they wouldn’t laugh anymore.

  After they had ridden another mile, Handy put up his hand to have them stop. The four riflemen all stepped down and began jogging toward the barn, just under a mile away. It would take them fifteen minutes to get into position.

  Jack and the others all watched eagerly as the plan unfolded.

  _____

  John could hear them coming as he stayed motionless on his back, the sweaty shirt turning the dirt into mud. He estimated that they would cross the gully about a hundred yards to the east, or at least he hoped so. Even then, if one of them looked in his direction, he would have to pull his Winchester and fire, ruining his advantage of surprise. His Spencer and his Winchester were both cocked and ready to fire. He just had to be patient.

  They were all breathing hard as John saw them all run down into the gully and leap back out without so much as a glance in his direction. He breathed easier now, because he knew he had them all. He was already trying to figure out how to get the pistol-shooters that had stayed back. After he had killed all their riflemen, they’d probably run back into town, which would present a whole different set of problems.

  Right now, he just waited for them to get into position. The barn was just two hundred yards north of the gully, so he was in perfect shooting position. He’d have to shoot quickly, though just in case the riders decided to come to the riflemen’s assistance. He didn’t think they would, but it was never a good idea to disregard the possibility. Hostile guns at your back was never a good thing.

  _____

  Handy could see the farmers out in the field and his boys getting in position. This was going exactly as he had planned. He smiled and patted his horse’s neck.

  _____

  John didn’t want that Spencer shooter to get a free shot off, so he picked up his carbine, crouched and once he was comfortable, stood up, quickly bringing the Spencer to bear. He picked out the one with the carbine easily, as he was getting set up to fire.

  John aligned the man in his sights and squeezed the trigger, as soon as the carbine had spat out its deadly missile, John quickly cycled the lever and cocked the hammer for his second shot.

  Before the sound reached the riflemen behind the barn, John’s .56 caliber calling card arrived and pulverized Pete Smith’s right shoulder blade even as he was targeting Dennis. The heavy piece of lead, after shattering the thin scapula, then exploded his aortic arch, killing him instantly. Pete and his Spencer never needed that extra ammunition after all, not even the ammunition he had. He fell forward into the barn as the Spencer clattered to the hard prairie soil.

  Handy had seen John stand and, like all the other pistol shooters, was stunned by his sudden appearance and simply watched.

  The other three riflemen were equally shocked by the sudden change in their plans and whirled around to face the sudden threat from their backs.

  All the Walshes and Flynns in the field had dropped to the ground on hearing John’s shot. All of them could see him standing underneath a large black cloud and preparing to fire again. Dennis and Patrick slid their Henrys close but stayed put and let John work.

  John fired his second shot, taking advantage of the shock. Unintentionally, he had targeted Swede Jorgensen, not knowing he had the Winchester. Swede was lifting the Winchester to fire at John when John’s second shot plowed into his stomach, just below his sternum. The bullet tore apart his gut, and cut his abdominal aorta in two, emptying quarts of blood into his abdominal cavity in seconds. Swede just went to his knees before falling on his face.

  _____

  Handy was suddenly indecisive. Everything was going so wrong! What had just happened? It was Lou Harrison who finally got through to him, and then only partially.

  “Handy! What do you want to do? Do we go in there and get that guy?”

  Handy heard the last part of Lou’s question and interpreted it as a statement.

  “Okay. Let’s get that guy!” he shouted as they all pulled their pistols and set their animals north at a fast trot.

  Jack had seen the shooter just suddenly appear out of nowhere. He had just risen from the ground like he had crawled out of a grave. It gave him a chill, but he had the mule going with the other two and was waving his pistol over his head like a saber.

  _____

  John knew the Spencer wasn’t going to work anymore, so he laid it down and grabbed his Winchester, leapt from the gully and began to run at the shooters, who were amazed to see John running at them. They hadn’t noticed his switch in weaponry, but began to fire at him anyway while he didn’t aim their direction.

  John was running a varying zig-zag toward the two men with his eyes glued to them, he was within a hundred and fifty yards and their shots were still all short or wide, usually both. They were both panic-firing and not really taking their time to lead him. They could get lucky, but his luck had held out so far. He could hear the horses in the distance, so he had to act quickly.

  John suddenly stopped at ninety yards and fell to the ground.

  Jim Walters turned to Corn Jackson and shouted, “I got him!”

  Corn took a second to look at Walters to tell him that he hadn’t when John’s first Winchester round arrived and caught Corn Jackson in the left side of his neck, blood from his carotid artery spurting like an oil well for just a second before Corn collapsed, his left hand beginning to reach for the wound. It wasn’t a pretty sight and a horrified Jim Walters began to scream. He was dropping his Henry when John’s second Winchester round buried itself in his gut. He fell forward, still screaming, but this time it was from his own pain and not the gory sight of Corn Jackson almost losing his head.

  John sprang back to his feet and turned back to the riders who were still thundering toward him, pistols drawn. He began to walk toward them, his Winchester leaning on his right shoulder. He had no idea why they were still riding at him after watching him kill the four riflemen. All they had were pistols, and one of them was wielded by Jack Flynn. He was easy to spot on his saddle-free mule. He looked ludicrous as he tried to be a gunman.

  They began firing at sixty yards, and John flipped his Winchester level, levered in a new cartridge, and opened fire, catching Lou Harrison in the right shoulder, taking him out of action.

  It was only then, when they were within fifty yards that Jack realized who was shooting at him. It was Slow John! He was real, and he was delivering death to them all!

  Jack slammed his unfired pistol into his holster, and suddenly hunkered down over his mule’s neck, veered to the left and rode away in a mammoth cloud of dust.

  John’s Winchester’s sights had Jack dead to rights, but he couldn’t pull the trigger, so he quickly began swinging the barrel back toward Handy Lewis, when one of Handy’s shots struck the repeater’s wooden stock, ripping the rifle from his hands and knocking him to the ground.

  Handy was positively euphoric when he saw the shooter go down. Then, Handy Lewis committed a cardinal sin among gunfighters, he assumed that he had killed his target. The reason he made the mistake was that for all his rhetoric and tough-guy talk, this was the first time he had actually shot at an armed man. He rode up to John, expecting to see blood everywhere, and was utterly surprised when John rolled over and pointed a pistol at him.

  Handy’s pistol was still in his hand and he quickly pointed it down at John and was cocking the hammer as John’s double-action Remington rotated a live cartridge into position, drew back the hammer and when John’s trigger finally reached the end of its pull, the hammer slammed into the cartridge and sent the .46 caliber round into Handy’s right upper chest, knocking him from his horse and sending his pistol flying.

  John stood up, and walked to where Handy Lewis landed. He understood the rules and kept his pistol aimed at Handy as he approached him.

  Handy was still alive, but weaponless as he saw the big man who had ruined his perfect pl
an.

  “Who are you?” he croaked, “you ain’t no farmer. You a hired gunny?”

  John stood over him and replied, “No, I’m family. That’s my family you tried to kill.”

  “Who are you?” he repeated as his voice grew weaker.

  “I’m Slow John Flynn.”

  “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  “No, dying is your job.” John replied as Handy Lewis drew his last breath.

  “Another mess that needs cleaning up.” he said to himself as turned and walked back to the gully to retrieve his Spencer and spare tube of ammunition.

  Out in the fields, Patrick, Dennis, Martha, Maggie and Mary all stood, brushed off their coveralls, and the brothers retrieved their guns.

  “Patrick and Dennis, why don’ t you go and help Slow John.” Mary said.

  “We’ll do that, Mom.” replied Dennis.

  Inside the house, Catherine stuck her head out of Kate’s room and asked, “Peter, is it all over? I haven’t heard any more shots for a while.”

  “I think, so Catherine. I’m going to take a quick look.” replied her husband.

  Michael had been worried about Mary when the shooting began and then, when it finally stopped, he had already trotted to the doorway and peered out into the field just in time to see all five Flynns standing and brushing off the dirt. He laughed lightly when he saw his Mary already telling the boys what to do.

  Then, he began to wonder about the only Flynns not accounted for: Slow John and Jack. He continued to walk past the doorway and turned to look south. In the distance, he could see Slow John walking away, gathering horses. He assumed that if Jack was with the group, then he was dead. He knew that it had to be that way, but it didn’t make him feel any better.