Deadly Trail

by William W. Johnstone

  “What the hell? Who’s that shooting?” Decker shouted, pulling hard on the reins of his horse, which, though not hit, was spooked by the sight of seeing Matt’s horse go down. “Is it one of our men? Who is it?”

  “Who the hell cares?” Teech shouted back. “Look at him! Jensen is pinned down. Now’s my chance to kill the son of a bitch!” Teech raised his gun and fired at Matt. Although Matt’s right leg was still pinned, he was able to flip his left leg over the saddle and lay down behind his horse, thus providing him with some cover. Teech’s bullet dug into his saddle and sent up a little puff of dust, but did no further damage.

  “Come on, Teech!” Decker shouted. “Let’s get the hell out of here while the getting is good!”

  “I ain’t leavin’ till I put a bullet in that bastard!” Teech said angrily. “I still owe the bastard for what he did to Loomis, Kale, and Malone! Only thing is, I can’t get him from here.”

  Teech slapped his legs against the side of his horse and moved around to get a better shot at Matt.

  Matt made one more desperate grab for his pistol, but it was still out of reach. His rifle, however, was in the saddle sheath on the side of the horse that was on the ground, and Matt could see about six inches of the stock sticking out. He grabbed it, and was gratified to see that the weapon could be pulled free. He jerked it from the sheath and jacked a shell into the chamber, just as Teech came around to get into position to shoot him. “Say hello to my friends when you get to hell,” Teech said, raising his pistol and taking careful aim. The smile left his face as he saw the end of Matt’s rifle raise up, then spit a finger of flame. The .44-40 bullet from Matt’s rifle hit Teech just under the chin, then exited the back of his head along with a pink spray of blood and bone as Teech tumbled off his horse.

  “Say hello to them yourself,” Matt said.

  “He got Teech!” Decker shouted as he galloped away. “Jensen got Teech!”

  Decker rode away hard now, not even bothering to look back to see what happened to Teech.

  In the meantime, another bullet whistled by from the distant rifle. When Matt located the source of the shooting, he saw, at the crest of the next hill beyond the little valley, a mounted man with one leg thrown casually across his saddle. Using that leg to provide a stable firing platform, the shooter raised his rifle to fire again. There was a flash of light, the man rolled back from the recoil, then the bullet whizzed by so close to Matt’s head that it made his ears pop. All this before the report of the rifle actually reached him. With a gasp of disbelief, Matt realized that this man was firing from at least one thousand yards away! Matt fired back, not with any expectation of actually hitting his target, but merely to show his enemy that he wasn’t completely helpless.

  In a way, Matt was running a bluff, because he was practically helpless. He was still trapped under his horse and he knew if he didn’t get himself free soon, whoever was shooting at him would be able to change locations and catch Matt in an exposed position. He tried again to pull his leg free, but he was unable to do so. Then he got an idea. He stuck the stock of the rifle just under Spirit’s side and grabbed the barrel. Using the rifle as a lever, he pushed up and wedged just enough space between the horse’s flesh and the ground to allow him to slip his leg free.

  His first fear was that his leg might be broken, but as soon as he pulled it out, he knew that it wasn’t. The blood circulation was cut off, however, and when he tried to stand, he promptly fell back down again. As it was, that turned out to be a blessing, for another bullet whistled by at that very moment, at the precise place where his head would have been had he been standing. Crawling on his belly, Matt slithered and twisted his way back up to the crest of the ridge. He reached the crest, just as another bullet plowed into the dirt beside him. Matt twisted around behind the crest and looked back toward the place where the shots were coming from. With the crest providing him with cover and a rifle in his hands, he was no longer an easy target. Whoever was after him realized this as well, for Matt saw him put his rifle back in the saddle sheath, then turn and ride away as casually as if he were riding down Main Street. And why not? There was no way Matt was going to hit him at this distance, at least not with a .44-40 Winchester.

  After the rider was gone, Matt managed to capture Teech’s horse, which had trotted away during the shooting but afterward, had wandered back to begin cropping grass. Matt led the horse back to Spirit, then stood there for a moment, looking down at the horse that had served him so well for so long.

  He recalled the day Smoke had given Spirit to him.

  “Come on, I think it’s time we went out to the corral to pick out your horse,” Smoke said.

  “My horse?”

  “Yeah, your horse. A man’s got to have a horse.”

  “Which horse is mine?” Matt asked.

  “Why don’t you take the best one?” Smoke replied. “Except for that one,” he added, pointing to an Appaloosa over in one corner of the corral. “That one is mine.”

  “Which horse is the best?” Matt asked.

  “Huh-uh,” Smoke replied, shaking his head. “I’m willing to give you the best horse in my string, but as to which horse that is, well, you’re just going to have to figure that out for yourself.”

  Matt walked out to the small corral that Smoke had built and, leaning on the split-rail fence, looked at the string of seven horses from which he could choose.

  After looking them over very carefully, Matt smiled and nodded.

  “You’ve made your choice?” Smoke asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Which one?”

  “I want that one,” Matt said, pointing to a bay.

  “Why not the chestnut?” Smoke asked. “He looks stronger.”

  “Look at the chestnut’s front feet,” Matt said. “They are splayed. The bay’s feet are just right.”

  “What about the black one over there?”

  “Huh-uh,” Matt said. “His back legs are set too far back. I want the bay.”

  Smoke reached out and ran his hand through Matt’s hair.

  “You’re learning, kid, you’re learning,” he said. “The bay is yours.”

  Matt’s grin spread from ear to ear. “I’ve never had a horse before,” he said. He jumped down from the rail fence and started toward the horse.

  “That’s all right, he’s never had a rider before,” Smoke said.

  “What?” Matt asked, jerking around in surprise as he stared at Smoke. “Did you say that he’s never been ridden?”

  “He’s as spirited as he was the day we brought him in.”

  “How’m I going to ride him if he has never been ridden?”

  “Well, I reckon you are just going to have to break him,” Smoke said, passing the words off as easily as if he had just suggested that Matt should wear a hat.

  “Break him? I can’t break a horse!”

  “Sure you can. It’ll be fun,” Smoke suggested.

  Smoke showed Matt how to saddle the horse, and gave him some pointers on riding it.

  “Now, you don’t want to break the horse’s spirit,” Smoke said. “What you want to do is make him your partner.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Walk him around for a bit so that he gets used to his saddle and to you. Then get on.”

  “He won’t throw me then?”

  “Oh, he’ll still throw you a few times,” Smoke said with a little laugh. “But at least he’ll know how serious you are.”

  To Matt’s happy surprise, he wasn’t thrown even once. The horse did buck a few times, coming down on stiff legs, then sunfishing, and finally galloping at full speed around the corral. But after a few minutes, he stopped fighting, and Matt leaned over to pat him gently on the neck.

  “Good job, Matt,” Smoke said, clapping his hands quietly. “You’ve got a real touch with horses. You didn’t break him, you trained him, and that’s real good. He’s not mean, but he still has spirit.”

  “Smoke, can I name him?”
/>   “Sure, he’s your horse, you can name him anything you want.”

  Matt continued to pat the horse on the neck as he thought of a name.

  “That’s it,” he said, smiling broadly. “I’ve come up with a name.”

  “What are you going to call him?”

  “Spirit.”

  “You were a good horse and a good companion, Spirit,” Matt said as he took the saddle from Spirit and put it on Teech’s horse. “And you deserve better than to be left out here like this. But I’m pretty sure you would understand. We started on this job together, and I aim to finish it for both of us.”

  Once Matt was mounted, he rode down into the little valley, then to the top of the distant ridge to the spot where the shooting had come from. He wanted to have a look at the place where the gunman had been. A flash of sunlight led him to the first sign. When he picked it up, he saw that it was the brass casing of a .50-caliber shell. He had seen such rifles and knew that, when fitted with a telescope, they could be fired accurately at ranges up to one thousand yards.

  He also saw something else. A .50-caliber bullet with a little piece of paper wrapped around it. He wasn’t surprised by what he saw when he unwrapped the paper.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Layne was wearing gray cotton trousers, a white shirt, and a vest, all belonging to Hodge Decker. She was also wearing a hat, which concealed her full head of hair so that her sex could be determined only if someone studied her closely. She was not bound or restricted in any way, but Strayhorn let it be known that if she tried to get away from them, he would kill her.

  They stopped at the edge of town and Strayhorn pointed to the sign.

  “You see this?” he asked.

  YOU ARE ENTERING

  DORENA

  We’ve got our own Law.

  We don’t need none of yours.

  “I see it,” Layne replied.

  “This here is what as known as an open town,” Strayhorn said. “Some folks might call it an outlaw town. What that means is, there ain’t no sense in you tryin’ to tell anyone here that you are our prisoner, ’cause it won’t do you no good. Fact is, it’ll prob’ly be worse for you ’cause if someone else gets ahold of you, well, more’n likely they won’t be as nice to you as we been.”

  “Do you call the way you’ve treated me nice?” Layne asked.

  Strayhorn chuckled and nodded. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “You don’t have no idea what some of the folks in this town would do to you if they got you. Fact is, if it wasn’t for keepin’ you from bein’ all marked up so’s we can get the full amount of money for you, why, we would’a already had our own fun with you. If you know what I mean.”

  Layne shivered. “I know what you mean,” she said.

  “Good. Then you’ll believe me when I tell you it’s best for you if you don’t say nothin’ to nobody. Don’t let nobody even know you’re a woman. You understand?”

  Layne nodded. “I understand.”

  “I still think it wasn’t smart to bring her here,” No Nose said.

  “You’d rather stay out there at the cabin and wait on Jensen, would you?” Strayhorn asked.

  “We wouldn’t have to stay there. We could’a gone somewhere else.”

  “Where?” Strayhorn asked. “No matter where we might go, Jensen would track us. So, let him track us here. I figure here we’ll outnumber him about one hundred to one. Even if he finds the girl, there won’t be nothin’ he can do about it.”

  “I think Strayhorn is right, No Nose,” Pauley said.

  “Maybe,” No Nose said. “We’ll see.”

  The four rode on into town, and to those on the street, there was nothing remarkable about them. It was just four more riders coming into town, at least three of whom they recognized.

  When they stopped in front of the saloon, Strayhorn, No Nose, and Pauley dismounted easily, but Layne stayed in the saddle.

  “Get down off that horse,” Strayhorn ordered.

  “I can’t,” Layne said. “The only way I’ve ever ridden before this was sidesaddle. I don’t know how to get off.”

  Strayhorn pointed to the left stirrup. “Just stand in this stirrup, throw your right leg over, and get down,” he said. “And do it quick, ’cause I ain’t goin’ to help you.”

  Layne did as Strayhorn directed, only instead of throwing her leg over behind, she brought it around in front, then slid down, as if dismounting from a sidesaddle.

  “I hope to hell nobody seen you do that,” Strayhorn said irritably.

  Someone did see it. When the four riders arrived, Mabel Franklin saw everything. Unlike the whores who lived in rooms over the top of the saloon, Mabel had her own crib, and she was there now, standing at the window, watching the four riders come in. She recognized Strayhorn, No Nose, and Pauley, and because she recognized the clothes on the fourth rider, she thought it was Decker.

  As they passed close by her crib, though, she realized that it wasn’t Decker, and she wondered who it was. Her curiosity intensified when she saw the way the rider dismounted. Pulling the curtain to one side, she watched as the four stepped up onto the porch, then passed out of view.

  Her curiosity as yet unsatisfied, Mabel left her crib and walked up the alley to go into the saloon through the back door. Stepping into the back of the saloon, she stood the shadows so as not to be noticed.

  “Do you want some food?” Mabel heard Strayhorn say to the person in Decker’s clothes.

  Mabel couldn’t hear the reply, but from Strayhorn’s response, it was in the negative.

  “In the whole time you been with us, you ain’t hardly eat enough to keep a bird alive,” Strayhorn said. “You ain’t worth nothin’ to us if you starve yourself to death. How about some whiskey? You want some whiskey?”

  This time, Mabel could hear the answer.

  “Could I have some water?”

  “Water? All right, I’ll get you some water.”

  Mabel waited until Strayhorn left to get the water, then, putting on a practiced smile, she walked over to the table, as if soliciting business.

  “Hello, boys,” she said. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Did you miss us, Mabel?” Pauley asked.

  “Oh, honey, you know I did,” Mabel said. She walked over and pushed his hat back, then ran her hand through his hair, all the while trying to get a good look at the quiet one who had ordered only water.

  “And who is this handsome fella?” Mabel asked, looking at the one in Decker’s clothes. “How about it, honey? Would you like Mabel to show you a good time?”

  “What?” Layne gasped, looking up at Mabel.

  “Here, you, get away from that table!” Strayhorn shouted angrily, coming back from the bar.

  “I was just—” Mabel began, but Strayhorn interrupted her.

  “You was just nothin’,” Strayhorn said. “Now, get away from her before I knock out what few teeth you have left.”

  “Get away from her?”

  “Him,” Strayhorn corrected. “Get away from him. Get away from all of us, now.”

  “All right, honey, all right,” Mabel said. “You don’t have to get yourself into a piss soup over it. I was just tryin’ to be friendly is all.”

  “We don’t need you to be friendly,” Strayhorn said. “If we want any whores, we’ll find someone that’s a lot better-lookin’ than you.”

  “Mabel, you know better than to bother the customers,” the bartender called to her. “If they don’t want you botherin’ ’em, don’t bother ’em.”

  “All right, all right,” Mabel said. “I’m sorry.”

  With a great show of indignation over being so summarily rejected, Mabel left.

  Never, in her life had Layne been in a place like this. All around her she heard men laughing and talking loudly, using language that she knew was vulgar, even though she didn’t even know what some of the words meant.

  It was the women in the saloon who were the most shocking. She couldn’t even look at them,
so scandalous were they. The woman who had come to the table to talk to her was wearing a dress that was cut so low in front that her breasts spilled over. And yet, she was one of the more modest ones. There were at least half-a-dozen other women in the saloon who made no effort at all to cover their breasts. Even though Layne was well read, she had no idea that such places even existed, and she could feel her cheeks flaming in embarrassment.

  Mabel left the saloon, then hurried down the alley to her crib. Her crib was a small, one-room house that served as both her home and a place to which she could bring her customers. She had a strong suspicion about something, and she wanted to check it out. Stepping inside, she located the newspaper she had brought back to her crib the day before, when someone had left in the saloon.

  The story she was looking for was on the very first page of the paper.

  No Leads on Missing Woman.

  Porter Foully Murdered.

  The fate of Miss Layne McKenzie, niece of Governor John Long Routt, is still unknown. The engineer, fireman, and conductor of the Flyer reported that the young lady was taken from the governor’s private car shortly after midnight on the 8th instant, when the train stopped at Mustang Creek to take on water.

  Mabel read the entire article until she came to the part she was looking for.

  “The railroad is offering a reward of one thousand dollars to anyone who can offer assistance in the safe recovery of Miss McKenzie.”

  Mabel had heard talk of some big job that No Nose Nelson and Marcus Strayhorn had planned. She knew about the botched railroad robbery, and assumed the big job she had heard people talk about would be another robbery attempt.

  But she knew now that it wasn’t a robbery at all. They had taken a girl from the train, and she would bet anything in the world that the person wearing Decker’s clothes was that girl.