by Ford Fargo
After the war’s end, with the Rangers effectively disbanded and replaced by the despised State Police, Bill took the town marshal’s job in Blanco. He liked law work, and the citizens of Blanco, for the most part, liked Bill. He envisioned remaining as Blanco’s marshal indefinitely, until the day Harold Perdue came home to find his wife, Georgia, in bed with Pete Channing. Harold was the mayor of Blanco, while Pete just happened to be Bill’s closest friend. Instead of doing the sensible thing, leaving town fast, Pete shot Perdue dead in his own bedroom. Later, when Bill attempted to arrest him, Pete pulled his gun. Bill hesitated, not wanting to shoot his best friend. That moment of indecision nearly cost him his life when Pete put a bullet in his chest. Bill’s two return shots tore through Pete’s belly. The gut-shot cowboy lingered for three agonizing days before he died. After Pete’s funeral, Bill turned in his badge, took off his guns, and left Blanco without looking back.
“So here we are again Cholla, chasin’ outlaws,” Bill murmured to his horse. “Reckon I don’t need to ask how you feel about that.”
Cholla merely twitched his ears and increased his pace. True to his mustang ancestry, the big paint loved to run, and enjoyed nothing more than the thrill of the chase.
****
Little more than three miles outside of town, Satterlee ordered the posse to a halt. Lying on a creek bank were the bullet-riddled bodies of two young boys, each no more than nine years old. One still clutched a fishing pole.
“Those bastards!” Satterlee exclaimed. “That’s Jody and Jesse Haskins. Just a coupla kids. No reason for Danby to do that.”
“You reckon we’d better check the Haskins’ place?” Spence Pennycuff asked. “Tracks’re headin’ that way.”
“Yeah. Can’t take the time to care for these boys properly. One of you toss a blanket over ‘em, then let’s keep movin’,’ Satterlee ordered.
“Sheriff, I don’t reckon we’ll find much left at Haskins’ house,” Derrick said. He indicated a thin wisp of smoke, barely visible against the hazy sky.
“Even more reason to swing by there,” Satterlee answered. “Won’t take but a minute or two. Let’s go.”
“Hold on, Sheriff. Someone’s comin’. Appears to be Mack Haskins,” Charley said, when a rider on a hard driven horse topped a small rise. He held a rifle, which he waved over his head. He pulled his horse to a halt once he reached the posse. A deep bullet crease, still oozing blood, marred his forehead.
“Sheriff,” he called. “I was just headed into town. Bunch of riders hit my place, shot me and left me for dead, then burned the house down and ran off my stock, except Rowdy here. Mary’s missing. Those men must’ve taken her. Got to locate my boys, make sure they’re safe, then go after my wife.”
“Slow down, Mack,” Satterlee advised. “Same bunch invaded town, looted the place and robbed the bank. We’re on their trail. Far as your boys, I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean, Sheriff?”
“There’s no easy way to break this. Your boys are dead, Mack. Shot by those men. They’re right behind us, on the creek bank.”
“Lord, no!”
Haskins buried his head in his hands, sobbing.
“Jimmy, you stay here with Mack,” Satterlee ordered. “Help him get his boys home, then catch up with us if you can.”
“We’ll catch up with you all right,” Haskins said. “Rowdy is fresh.” He glanced at the young Cherokee cowboy. “Let’s go,” he barked, “I’m gonna lay my boys out in the house and kiss ‘em, and then I’m ridin’ with you to get my Mary back!”
****
Danby’s gang had ridden west out of Wolf Creek for two miles, then turned due south, heading for Indian Territory. After pursuing them for three hours, Satterlee called for a twenty-minute rest break.
“What’re we stoppin’ for, Sheriff?” Red Myers demanded. “You can be sure Danby ain’t.”
“Won’t do us any good to ride these horses into the ground,” Satterlee explained. “Danby’s mounts can’t be in much better shape. Mack says they didn’t get more’n two fresh horses from him, so they’ll have to rest their horses, too.”
“Unless they stole more further down the line,” Spike Sweeney pointed out.
“In which case, it won’t matter anyway,” Bill said. “If they get fresh horses, they’ll make the Nations long before we catch up with ‘em.”
“Torrance, if you’re so worried about that spotted cayuse of yours, why don’t you just turn back?” Joe Montgomery asked.
“I ain’t worried about Cholla. He’s got plenty of miles left in him,” Bill replied. “However, most of the others don’t. Like G.W. says, we rest ‘em, or we lose ‘em—and if we lose these horses, we lose Danby’s bunch.”
“Much as I hate to agree with Torrance, he’s right,” Derrick added. “Twenty minutes won’t make much difference one way or the other.”
Bill allowed Cholla a short drink from his canteen. While his horse then grazed, Bill studied the other posse members. If pressed, he would have had to agree with Montgomery’s objections to some of the men chosen, starting with himself. Of course, no one in Wolf Creek knew of his background. Likewise, Rob Gallagher, and, to a lesser degree, Jimmy Spotted Owl, seemed unsuited to tangling with a gang of hardened outlaws. The same could be said for Doctor Munro. Bill knew the doctor had seen the results of combat as a surgeon, but was unsure as to his actual battlefield experience. At least there were no questions about Satterlee himself, nor either of his deputies. All were tough, experienced lawmen.
Red Myers, the tannery worker, and Spike Sweeney, the blacksmith, were riding side by side—two men who could be counted on in a fight. The four cowboys, Jimmy, Joe Montgomery, Phil Salem, and little Billy Below were grouped alongside their horses. Derrick and Charley were off by themselves, whatever thoughts they had locked in their heads.
All too soon, the twenty minutes passed, and the possemen were back in their saddles, galloping south once again.
****
Charley Blackfeather pulled his bay gelding alongside Bill and Cholla. The posse’s pace had settled to a steady lope, a gait that would cover plenty of ground, but still conserve the horses as much as possible.
“Bill,” he said, just loudly enough so only the hostler could catch his words, “I’ve been studyin’ on you since we left town. Seems to me you know a bit more about this whole business than you’re lettin’ on. Want to share somethin’?”
“Just a gut feelin’,” Bill answered. “Appears to me these tracks are a bit too plain, even for a bunch as big as Danby’s.”
“You think we’re bein’ led into a drygulchin’?”
“I wouldn’t bet against it, would you? Besides, you’re the one who said Danby likes to circle men back.”
“That’s right, I did,” Charley agreed. “I still get the feelin’ you know more about Danby than you’re willin’ to admit.”
“Only know what I’ve heard,” Bill said. “For now, let’s just keep our eyes and ears open—and hope G. W. isn’t so hell-bent on catchin’ up to Danby he leads us straight into a trap.”
“Right.” Charley slowed his horse, to drop slightly behind Bill.
By mid-afternoon, the posse had reached a stretch of rougher terrain, land crossed by shallow ravines and dry creek bottoms. A creek bed, deeper than the rest and marked by stunted cottonwoods and scrub brush, came into view. Bill studied it for a moment, then urged Cholla into a faster gait, pushing him into a dead run until he reached Satterlee. The sheriff and his deputies were still at the front of the posse.
“Sheriff,” Bill called.
“What is it, Bill?”
“Don’t like the looks of that creek bed ahead. Perfect spot for an ambush.”
“Danby ain’t gonna waste the time to pull a bushwhackin’,” Satterlee objected. “He’s in too much of a hurry to reach safety in the Nations.”
“I’m not so sure about that, Sheriff,” Bill protested.
“Torrance, you let me worry about how to
handle this posse,” Satterlee snapped. “If you don’t like my way of doin’ things, then you can head back to town.”
“You’re in charge, Sheriff,” Bill answered, with a shrug. He slowed Cholla back to a lope, falling once again to the rear of the posse. Just as he did, a flock of startled crows, cawing in alarm, burst from the trees alongside the creek.
“Ambush!” Bill shouted. He peeled off from the posse as a barrage of gunfire burst from the brush.
CHAPTER FOUR
Both deputies were shot out of their saddles at the first volley. Spence Pennycuff was shot right through his badge, shards of metal from it driven deep into his chest, along with the lead slug. He toppled from his horse, rolled several times, then lay face-down and unmoving. Bill Zachary took a bullet in his side, and another in his leg. He landed in a shallow depression, just deep enough to shield him from more gunfire. The badly wounded deputy pulled himself along on his belly for several yards, then collapsed on his face.
Phil Salem, the stout young cowboy, only twenty-two, had his horse shot from under him. His leg broken when the horse crashed, Phil attempted to crawl to safety, leg dragging uselessly, but was shot to ribbons by a hail of lead, which slammed into his side and rolled him onto his back. Phil’s eyes, wide-open in death, stared unblinking into the blazing sun.
Sheriff Satterlee, Billy Below, Spike Sweeney, Red Myers, Joe Montgomery, and Doctor Munro, as well as Mack Haskins, swerved their horses hard to the right, racing for the shelter of a low ridge. Reaching it, they quickly dismounted, removed rifles and spare ammunition from their horses, and, with slaps on the rumps, sent the mounts trotting away, hopefully out of rifle range. After what had transpired back in Wolf Creek, they had no illusions about Danby and his men not killing the animals. The horses would be their first targets, leaving their riders stranded and easy prey.
Doctor Munro attempted to climb the slope and reach the downed men, only to be pulled back by Sheriff Satterlee.
“Sheriff, I need to try and save those men,” Munro protested.
“I can’t let you do that, Doc,” Satterlee answered. “You’d be cut down before you made ten yards. Like it or not, you’re trapped here with the rest of us.”
Bill, flattened low over his galloping horse, reached the safety of a deep, eroded gully. Close behind him were Charley Blackfeather, Jimmy Spotted Owl, Derrick McCain, and Robert Gallagher, the bespectacled clerk. They dismounted, grabbed rifles from saddleboots, and took up positions along the gully’s wall, where they were relatively safe, yet had a clear view of their surroundings.
“Looks like the sheriff and a few others made that ridge over yonder,” Rob Gallagher observed.
“Yeah, but they’re pinned down,” Charley answered. “Can’t move beyond either side of that rise, or stick their heads up without gettin’ ‘em blown off.”
As if in answer to Charley’s statement, Red Myers rose from behind the ridge, and started to point his rifle in the direction of the outlaws. Immediately, his head exploded in a spray of blood and brain matter, when a rifle slug punched through his forehead and ripped away the back of his skull.
“Well, hell,” Charley said.
“Sharpshooter in that cottonwood over there,” Bill noted. “Got to get him before he picks off all those boys.”
He lifted his Winchester to his shoulder, aimed, and fired. A yelp of pain issued from the trees, followed by the rustling of leaves and cracking of branches as the sniper plunged to the ground, Bill’s bullet through his heart.
“Took care of one, anyway,” Bill muttered. The others looked at him in disbelief.
“Thought you’d never handled a gun, Torrance,” Derrick said. “For a man who supposedly wouldn’t touch a weapon, that was some shot.”
“Had a little practice in the past,” Bill answered. “Now, all we’ve gotta do is figure out how to get out of this gully, and get the rest of those renegades without gettin’ ourselves shot to pieces.”
“Seems to me we’re in a bad way, with Danby and his men havin’ all the advantage,” Jimmy said. “They can move out of that brush and ride off anytime they like, but if we try and leave this oversized ditch they’ll drill us all, easy. Well, if we’re gonna die anyway, I’m gonna die shootin’. With any luck at all, I’ll take a few of those bastards with me.”
“Don’t be givin’ up quite yet, Jimmy,” Bill advised. “Give me a minute or two to look around. There might be a way out of this fix.”
“Don’t see how,” Robert Gallagher retorted. He was braced against the sandy bank, holding his .44 Smith and Wesson American revolver. He thumbed back its hammer and pulled the trigger. One of Danby’s men stumbled out of the scrub, doubled over, his hands pressed to his gut. He staggered for several feet, then spun to the dirt. He lay moaning in pain.
“Gallagher?” Charley exclaimed.
“Saw that hombre slippin’ through the brush, tryin’ to sneak up on us, so I plugged him,” Gallagher answered, matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, but you nailed dead center him from this distance—with a six-gun.”
Robert shrugged.
“Like Bill, I’ve practiced some, too.”
“I reckon,” Charley said. “Bill, you really think we can shoot our way out of here?”
“I think there’s a chance, yeah,” Bill answered. “This gully runs down to the creek where those men are holed up. I figure I can use it to reach the creek, then cross it and get behind ‘em. That should catch them by surprise. When I start shootin’ at their backs, it’ll give you fellers a chance to get outta this spot, mebbe gun down a few of those hombres. With luck, Satterlee will figure out what I’m up to, and he’ll make a break for it too. I’ll just need you to draw their fire until I make it across the creek.”
“Torrance, that’s plain suicide,” Derrick objected. “You’ll be cut down before you get halfway across.”
“Mebbe, mebbe not,” Bill answered. “I only need a few minutes.”
“There’s gotta be another way,” Jimmy said. “Why don’t you—”
He was interrupted by a shout coming from the ridge sheltering Satterlee and the others.
“You men out there,” Mack Haskins screamed. “You the ones who shot my boys, and took my wife?”
There was a moment of silence, then a shouted response.
“Yeah, I reckon we did. Surprised you lived long enough to follow us.”
“You got my Mary there, send her back!”
“Sorry, can’t do that. We’ve got plans for her. Don’t worry about her bein’ killed, though. Once we’re done with her, she’ll make a fine squaw for some Indian buck.”
“You stinkin’, murderin’ sons of bitches!”
Satterlee lunged for Haskins, too late, as the infuriated, crazed rancher ran up the ridge and into the open.
“I’ll kill every one of—”
At least fifteen bullets tore into Haskins, slamming him backward. His body lay quivering, his blood soaking into the parched earth.
“They got another one of us,” Gallagher said.
“And they’ll get all of us if we just sit here waitin’,” Bill answered. “Unless one of you can come up with a better plan, I’m headed across that creek. Appreciate your coverin’ me.”
“Torrance, listen to me for just one minute,” Derrick urged. “See that side branch over there?”
“Yeah. What of it? It don’t lead anywhere.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Derrick conceded. “But I can ride along inside it while you head for the crick, and lay down better coverin’ fire than just standin’ here. Maybe with their attention on me and the rest of us, you’ll get clean across without bein’ spotted.”
“That makes sense, Bill,” Charley agreed. “I say let Derrick give it a try. Rest of us’ll cover you both from here.”
“All right,” Bill answered. “Sure wish there was a way we could take a prisoner or two, though. That’d give us the chance to question ‘em, mebbe find out exactly where Danby holes up in the
Territories. I’d be willin’ to bet my hat that’s not his entire bunch we’re facin’. I’m certain he left part of his men here to drygulch us, while he and the rest kept on ridin’ south.”
“I don’t think any of us would take that bet, Bill,” Jimmy said.
“No, we sure wouldn’t,” Charley confirmed. “Far as takin’ prisoners, you leave that to me. Jimmy, Robert, you two think you can cover Bill and Derrick without my help?”
“We’ll manage,” Jimmy assured him.
“Then, Bill, it seems we’re all set,” Charley said. “I’m gonna slide on outta here.”
"Just one thing first", Bill answered. He pulled Jed's Navy Colt from his waistband. "I need some spare ammunition for this gun. It's only got two rounds left."
“Gimme that gun,” Charley said. “I’ll load it while you get your horse.”