Coyote Falls

by Colin Bainbridge

  The matter settled to everyone’s satisfaction, Marshal Grayson wandered over to his sister’s café. She looked up expectantly at his arrival.

  ‘Any sign of Mr Calhoun?’ she said.

  ‘That sounds a bit formal. Nope, but he’ll be back soon enough.’

  His words couldn’t stop Mary from worrying. While she was out back preparing something for the marshal to eat, he looked out of the window. Things were pretty much back to normal in Coyote Falls. The burned and shattered buildings were already well on the way to repair and where the saloon had stood a new building was in process of erection. The marshal didn’t know it yet, but Hiram Bingley had already earmarked it for his law offices. As he looked up the main street the marshal’s eyes narrowed. Just coming into view were two riders. One was Pat Calhoun but he couldn’t make out the other. As they came closer he could see that it was a woman.

  ‘Well I’ll be goldurned,’ he muttered.

  He thought twice about calling to Mary, but then he remembered what Calhoun had told him about the strange lady of the ghost town and his mouth curled in a smile. That was who the other rider must be.

  ‘Mary!’ he called.

  She appeared in the entrance to the kitchen.

  ‘Calhoun’s back,’ he said.

  He didn’t get up from his table to welcome him. Mary was already out of the door and he figured it might be better to leave the field to her.

  Later, when they were all back at the house that the marshal shared with his sister, and Norah had retired for the night, Grayson told Calhoun about his meeting with Jake Adams and his men earlier that day.

  ‘You mean to ride the day after tomorrow,’ Calhoun said. ‘Seems to me that should tie in real well. I aim to be at Coyote Falls at noon on the twenty-ninth. They won’t be expectin’ anythin’ to happen before then. We should catch ’em by surprise.’

  ‘You won’t be headin’ up there alone,’ the marshal said. ‘Whatever happens, this time you’ll have back-up.’

  When the day came the posse set out, picking up men from the Crutch Bar and following the trail round the mountain spur that Calhoun and Bingley had ridden. Bingley seemed to be very chirpy. He had been accepted by the hands at the ranch and he was about ready to set up in town. They rode on and topping a rise had their first glimpse of the way station. It was still some way off and there was smoke coming from the chimney.

  ‘There it is,’ Calhoun said.

  The marshal turned to his men. ‘Everybody ready? We’ll ride as far as that clump of trees and leave the horses there. After that, spread out and surround the place.’ He gave orders as to where each member of the group should position himself.

  ‘I’m gonna give those owlhoots one chance to give themselves up, but I don’t expect they’ll take it.’

  They rode into the trees and tethered the horses, then moved stealthily forward on foot. They were on the lookout for signs of movement, but so far they had not detected any. There were sounds of horses from the stables. The smoke from the chimney rose in a thin plume and disappeared on the breeze.

  They slipped quietly and stealthily through the thin cover and when they had reached an appropriate point they separated to take up their allotted stations.

  Grayson moved forward till he had a good view of the front of what must have been the old eating-house, then eased into position and waved the others on. He had an occasional glimpse of one of them, but they were good and kept themselves concealed. He calculated the time it would take for each of them to take his place, then added seconds and minutes. He checked his weapons and placed them ready for use.

  Now that he was back in action he felt good. He took his rifle in his hand, raised himself slightly from the ground on which he was lying, and called loudly to the building.

  ‘Listen up! We have the place surrounded. Come out with your arms raised.’

  His words reverberated in the air. A few birds flew up from behind the barn. The ensuing silence seemed almost tangible. The marshal waited. There was no sound from the building.

  ‘Come out now! Throw down your weapons.’

  Again there was silence. Then an answering voice barked:

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Remember Coyote Falls? Well, it’s payback time.’

  ‘You must be crazy,’ the voice yelled.

  Quiet resumed. Calhoun was watching closely for indications of activity from any of the way station buildings, but there was none. He looked about. There was no sign either of the posse.

  ‘I’ll give you one more chance to give yourselves up,’ Grayson shouted. ‘The place is surrounded. You’ve got no choice.’

  Again silence enveloped the scene like a blanket. A spider crawled over Grayson’s arm and he flicked it aside. He was tempted to call again and deliver an ultimatum but he desisted. After all was said and done, he would prefer the matter to be decided peacefully. He wanted to give them every chance.

  Then suddenly all further reflection was ended as the eating-house suddenly erupted in a crescendo of firing and bullets screamed above his head. From the direction of the barn another burst of shooting rang out.

  ‘Right men!’ he called. ‘Let them have it!’

  His voice was lost in the tumult of noise, but there was no need for him to give orders. From all around the perimeter of the relay station rifles cracked and bullets thudded into the walls of the eating-house and the barn. Flame stabbed through the empty windows as the inmates returned fire. Over Calhoun’s head bullets sliced through the branches of trees and scattered a shower of debris all round him. His rifle was empty. He jacked more shells into the chamber and resumed firing.

  From somewhere a scream rose above the clatter of gunfire. Somebody had been hit. Turning his attention to the barn, he saw a figure briefly outlined in the doorway and rapidly squeezed off a shot. The man reeled back. Smoke was rolling over the buildings and the air was pungent with the smell of gunpowder. From the direction of the stables came the sounds of horses tramping and neighing. There didn’t seem to be any firing from that quarter, which indicated that none of the owlhoots was inside.

  Calhoun had an idea. If he could work his way round to the stables, not only would he have a much better angle on the eating-house, but he might be able to loose the horses. The outlaws would then be stranded. He resolved to act quickly in case the outlaws had a similar idea and decided to make a rush for the stables. Blasting off another round, he began to crawl on his hands and knees through the undergrowth.

  Bullets were tearing up the ground around him, but in general the outlaws were aiming too high. He didn’t know how much ammunition they had available, but they were wasting a good deal of it. He reached the edge of a patch of high grass and paused to weigh up the situation. It was not far to the corner of the stables, but there was a stretch of open ground he must cross, when he would be exposed to fire. On the other hand, the stables were at an angle to the outhouse and the open space might be something of a blind spot.

  There was no option but to chance it. Taking advantage of a lull in the firing, he doubled up and began to sprint towards the building. He had covered about half the distance when shots began to ring out. Bullets thudded into the ground and plumes of dust rose into the air. A bullet whistled past his ear and slammed into the stable door. Splinters rained down and one caught him just below the eye, drawing blood, but he was across now and in the shadow of the stables.

  Panting for breath, he reached the doorway. The door was hanging open and, remaining in the shelter of the wall, he peered inside. It was too gloomy within for him to be able to make anything out except some of the agitated horses in their stalls. Just then a bullet shattered the far doorframe and without taking further thought Calhoun flung himself inside.

  He rolled to the shelter of one of the stalls and waited while his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. The far end of the stables was open to the day and his eyes soon adjusted. As he had surmised, there appeared to be no one in the stables.


  Outside, a horse appeared in the frame of the runway. Very slowly Calhoun raised himself to his feet. Bullets were thumping into the walls. The outlaws had spotted his run and there seemed to be a sudden concentration of fire on the stables. He ran to the door and returned fire before coming back to begin freeing the horses. There were eight of them and outside he guessed there were more.

  His experienced hands worked quickly, but it took time and the horses were spooked. One of them, a big chestnut, was kicking against the wall. As Calhoun approached it reared and began thrashing out at him with its sharp hoofs. He stepped back and slipped in the mire. The horse reared over him and as its forefeet came down he rolled to one side. The hoofs came down within inches of his face.

  Quickly he was back on his feet as the chestnut broke loose and began to buck. He made a grab for the horse’s halter rope and pulled it hard. The struggle was intense, but he succeeded in pulling till the horse’s head was down and he was able to blindfold it with his bandanna. Then he held the horse by its ears, talking to it, until it had quieted to the extent that he was able to remove the blindfold and let it go. Tossing its head, it made for the runway and charged through the open end of the stables into the fields beyond.

  Working feverishly, Calhoun had the horses out of the building, then he ran to the open rear of the stables. From there he had a sideways prospect of the back of the eating-house. Firing was less intense at this point. Calhoun knew that Bingley and another one of the Crutch Bar men had it covered. He wondered whether they had spotted his run for the stables.

  He snapped more cartridges into his rifle, took aim at the window frame and fired. From the sloping ground beyond the fields Bingley and the Crutch Bar hand began a new hail of fire. There was a crashing sound from within the eating-house and suddenly Calhoun saw flames begin to lick around the edges of the window frame. Smoke commenced to billow from within the building. There was shouting and then a fresh burst of shooting. The flames were spreading and smoke was pouring from the roof. Suddenly a pillar of fire burst through the roof which had been thatched and then sodded with a layer of earth from which weeds and grass had grown. The conflagration was out of control now.

  ‘Get out!’ Grayson shouted. At the top of his voice he called to his men to hold their fire.

  ‘Give yourselves up!’ he called, but there was no response from the blazing building.

  Suddenly there was a cacophony of gunfire and from both the front and back doors of the eating-house men came bursting, firing as they ran. They were heading for the stables; then they halted in confusion when they realized that the horses had been loosed.

  ‘Throw down your guns!’ Grayson shouted in a last desperate bid to make them give up the struggle, but the only response was a fresh burst of firing from the outlaws. Bullets went crumping into the walls of the stable and the air sang with their passage. One of the outlaws saw Calhoun in the open frame of the stables and raised his weapon to fire. Calhoun’s rifle cracked an instant before the outlaw’s, and he went backwards as the slug tore into his chest.

  The gunslicks began running again, still firing. Then from the surrounding posse there came a responding haze of fire that sent them sprawling dead and injured in the dust of the yard. Calhoun was blazing away now when from the corner of his eye he spotted a man running towards one of the horses. Turning, he fired and the man went down, clutching his leg.

  ‘All right!’ the man shouted as he lay prone on the grass. ‘No more! We give ourselves up.’

  There was some sporadic shooting, then the roar of the guns ceased. The outlaws began to throw aside their weapons and put their hands in the air. Behind them the flames had almost destroyed the eating-house. The roar of the furnace was now loud in their ears and a burning wall of heat made the atmosphere dance. Calhoun emerged from the cover of the stables, his rifle at the ready.

  ‘Quickly!’ he called to the remaining outlaws. ‘Get away from there. Make for the open meadow.’

  The outlaws began to walk disconsolately away, dragging their wounded comrades with them. Grayson called to his men and they came out from their places of concealment, advancing cautiously. Calhoun moved carefully forward. It seemed the fight was over, when suddenly from the direction of the barn a shot rang out and then another. Calhoun felt a searing pain in his shoulder and fell to the ground.

  Even as he did so he was cursing himself for having forgotten the man in the barn. He pulled himself up on one leg just as a figure emerged from the barn at a run. He was moving quickly. It was not far to the shelter of the trees and he might have made it had he not turned to fire back at the men in the yard. Calhoun raised his rifle, conscious of pain as he did so. The man was almost into the trees but before Calhoun had a chance to squeeze the trigger there came a muffled report and, throwing up his arms, he went pitching forward, impelled by his own momentum, and crashed face first to the ground.

  The observers looked at each other in consternation. For a moment Calhoun thought the man had simply tripped and fallen. He expected him to get to his feet at any moment. He continued to lie prone, however, then the figure of Bingley emerged from cover. He bent over the inert figure on the ground, then he reached up and waved. There was a pistol in his hand. Calhoun lowered his rifle and clutched at his shoulder. Blood was still trickling from the wound to his face. Looking away from Bingley he saw Grayson running towards him.

  ‘Where are you hit?’ Grayson shouted.

  ‘I think it’s OK!’ Calhoun called back. ‘It’s just a graze.’

  One of the Crutch Bar men grabbed him under the arms and started to drag him backwards. Calhoun could not help wincing with pain.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the man shouted above the crackling flames, ‘but that building is about to collapse.’

  Calhoun made an effort and managed to stumble away with the man’s support. Even as he did so a figure appeared in the doorframe of the building, fire-blackened and grim. It came slowly forward, a gun still held in its burned and clawlike hand, walking with a slight limp. One of the outlaws gasped.

  ‘It’s Carver,’ he said.

  The others were looking at their barely recognizable leader with expressions of fear and revulsion on their faces as with infinitesimally slow movements he raised the revolver. Nobody moved. They were rooted to the spot in horror. Time seemed to have slowed to a stopping point. Slowly, slowly the gun was being levelled when the building suddenly emitted a creaking, groaning sound almost as if it were a living thing and then fell in upon itself with a mighty showering of sparks and ash, burying the outlaw leader within it.

  Smoke rose into the air in dense clouds. Spluttering and coughing, covered in grime and ash, the men pulled their neckerchiefs about their mouths and noses and staggered away from the burning building while Grayson supervised the rounding up of the gunslicks. Only one of the Crutch Bar riders had been injured and two of the townsmen, but none of their wounds was serious. Calhoun had lost blood and was in some pain, but after Bingley had looked at his shoulder more closely he was able to confirm that it was nothing much more than a burn.

  ‘You’ve been lucky,’ he said. ‘Nothing’s broken.’

  Bingley was giving a tolerable impression of being in his element and Ray Cole was almost tempted to remind him about the snipe hunt. He refrained but tipped a wink in Calhoun’s direction. The surviving outlaws were led to the empty barn prior to being taken back to the town of Coyote Falls. Grayson was figuring just where he would keep them all till the circuit judge came by.

  The horses were rounded up and saddled. When Grayson was satisfied that all the outlaws had been accounted for, allowing for the fact that some of them had probably been elsewhere to begin with, the posse was ready to return to town. As they rode out the main building was still smouldering and a powerful stench of burning filled the air. The fire had spread but most of the other buildings had survived.

  The men were in jubilant spirits. The town was avenged and they had come out of the affray remarka
bly well. The only thing that worried Calhoun was what had become of Watts but if he was right in his assessment of what had happened at the mine, then Watts had managed to absent himself from the way station. It didn’t seem likely that he would have come back.

  He turned to say something to Bingley but he was riding behind with some of the Crutch Bar hands. It didn’t matter. Soon Calhoun forgot about Watts and found himself thinking of Mary instead. After all, she was what really mattered now.

  The appointed day arrived. Calhoun rode slowly and easily towards the hills. He was alone. Bingley and Grayson had both been keen to accompany him but Calhoun had turned them down. He had a feeling that whatever destiny had in store for him at Coyote Falls, he must face it alone.

  The weather had changed. Instead of the heavy overcast of recent days the sun was shining and sparkled on the wet early morning grass. As he climbed higher the wind freshened and scattered little white clouds about the sky.

  He passed the spot where he had found Bingley the first time he had ridden this way. The path grew steeper and even before he entered the trees he could hear the distant roar of the falls. It was louder than previously and as he came in sight of it once again he could see why. The rain and snow in the high peaks had swollen the water courses and now the cascade broke over the rimrock in a solid torrent that leaped far over the ledge and broke on the ears in a deluge of noise.

  There was no point in trying to ride the palomino any further and Calhoun slid from the saddle. He hobbled the horse, drew his Winchester and proceeded on foot. He glanced at the sky. The sun was high and he reckoned it was almost noon. His senses were alert because he didn’t know what to expect.

  He moved up the trail to the edge of the chasm and looked up at the great curtain of water. Heavy spray flew through the air and one huge rainbow spread across the gorge like an ethereal bridge. He peered over the edge but could see only part of the way down.