Gun Country

by Ralph Cotton

  “Oh, shit!” Tuesday said, standing quickly, snapping the coat shut across her and even holding it closed at the top of the collar. “I just came to bring you some coffee, okay?” she whispered as if setting herself up an alibi, even though it was true as far as Shaw was concerned.

  “Yes, now go,” Shaw said.

  At the fire, Dexter Lowe stepped down and handed his horse’s reins to the rifleman who’d walked in with him. Upon looking over and seeing Tuesday standing over Shaw, he said to the cardplayers, “What the hell is this? What’s she doing over there?” His voice took on an accusing tone toward all of them.

  The men shot one another a look. Trying to change the subject and get down to business, Toledo asked, “What’d you find out? What’s our part in things?”

  “I already told Hatcher everything,” Lowe said in a testy voice, keeping his eyes on the young whore. “I’ll tell the rest of yas in a minute.”

  “Yeah, he told me all right,” said Able Hatcher, the rifleman holding the reins to Lowe’s horse. Toledo and the others noted a look of disappointment on Hatcher’s beard-stubbled face.

  “Oh, you’re unhappy with what we’re going to be doing?” Lowe growled at Hatcher, his hand gripped around his gun butt.

  Hatcher, finding himself on dangerous ground, raised his hands chest high in a show of peace. “Whoa, I’m happy just being alive.”

  “Good,” said Lowe. He faced the rest of the group and asked again, “Now, what the hell is Tuesday doing over there with that drifter?”

  “She just walked over there, Dex,” said Sonny Lloyd Sheer, hoping to keep down any trouble this close to pulling off a big job. “Hasn’t been more than two minutes, right, hombres?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” said Mason.

  “No time at all,” said Joe Toledo. There had been a time when he’d thought it might be fun watching Dexter Lowe and the drifter lock horns over the whore. But that time had passed. Now it was time to get down to business.

  Dan Sax and others nodded in agreement.

  But Lowe would have none of it. He stomped back and forth, seething as Tuesday walked over to him. When she drew closer he shouted at her, “Can’t I be gone a day without you throwing your heels in the air for any gun-slinging drifter in sight?”

  Tuesday stopped a few away and threw a hand onto her hip. She huffed and batted her eyes as if in disbelief, then shouted back to him, “Oh, I get it. You think I can’t be friends with a man without doing it with him?”

  “From all I’ve seen and heard, you can’t,” Lowe snapped at her, “not if he’s got as much as two bits in his pocket.” He gestured a hand in Shaw’s direction. “Or in this man’s case, not if he’s packing a big gun, something you think can do you some good!”

  “You bastard!” Tuesday screamed shrilly.

  Shaw sat listening from his blanket. He shook his head and sipped his coffee. Jesus, what an outfit. . . .

  As Tuesday came closer to the campfire, Mason tried to direct Lowe toward business by saying, “Think maybe we ought to talk some about—”

  “Stay out of this, Mason!” Lowe shouted. “I’ve had a bellyful of you as it is.” He turned back to Tuesday just in time to catch her hand before it slapped him in the face.

  “Hit me? You worthless little whore!” Lowe shouted. He backhanded her to the ground and kicked at her viciously as she scooted backward away from him, screaming. “I’ll carve your heart out!” A knife appeared in his left hand as he snatched at her with his right.

  Tuesday scooted backward faster, her heels digging into the ground; she screamed louder, shoving herself with the palms on her hands. “Help, he’s going to kill me!”

  Shaw had seen things start to get worse. He’d already stood up and started walking toward the campfire, putting on his battered stovepipe hat and carrying his gun belt looped over his shoulder. When he saw the knife come into play, he quickened his pace.

  Seeing Shaw coming, the men rose slowly and stood facing him, unsure of what might happen next, out of the drifter or Lowe, either one.

  “That’s enough, Lowe,” Shaw said in a strong voice, even though the pain filled his head at the sound of his own voice.

  But Lowe had lost all reasoning. He spun from Tuesday on the ground to Shaw standing before him. “You’re telling me that’s enough, Shaw?” he raged, his hand poised near the pistol on his hip. “You ragged has-been sonsabitch!”

  “Yeah, I’m telling you,” Shaw said, seeing that Lowe wasn’t going to be satisfied until there was blood on the ground. “Drop the knife and back away.”

  “Oh yeah?” said Lowe, his eyes wide, glistening with fury in the flicker of firelight. “I’ll drop it.” He spun back toward the downed woman. “I’ll drop it in her damned black heart—”

  Before Shaw even went for the Colt in the holster hanging from his shoulder, the loud pop of a derringer resounded in Tuesday’s upstretched hand. Lowe stopped abruptly; his head jerked back to one side; a ribbon of blood uncurled in a spray from the back of his head. He crumbled to the ground at her heels; the knife flew from his limp hand.

  The men stood stunned, their mouths agape, staring, at Lowe lying in an odd-looking position. He’d landed slightly on his knees, his right cheek pressed to the ground, his arms splayed out on either side, like a man who had tried unsuccessfully to fly.

  “Holy God! She’s killed Dex,” said Bell Mason, who seemed to be the first to grasp the situation.

  “She put it on him,” Joe Toledo said flatly.

  “Before he could kill her,” Shaw put in quietly. Not knowing what the men might do, he eased his Colt from the holster and kept it hanging loosely at his side, letting them know where he stood should they make a move toward the woman. “Everybody saw it. . . .”

  “Yeah, but damn it . . . ,” said Toledo. Hands spread, he stared back and forth as if lost for words and looking for help.

  Sonny Lloyd Sheer and Dan Sax stood staring coldly at Shaw. Shaw expected trouble from Sheer, knowing that Lowe had left him in charge. But so far so good, he thought.

  “She had no choice,” said Shaw, stepping sidelong over to Tuesday without taking his eyes off the men. He reached a hand down, took hers and lifted her to her feet. Tuesday appeared to be as stunned as the men.

  “I didn’t mean to kill him, Fast Larry,” she said in a voice filled with shock and disbelief. “I didn’t know what else—”

  “What’d she call you?” Sheer asked.

  “ ‘Fast Larry,’ she said,” Toledo cut in before Shaw could answer.

  “Fast Larry Shaw,” said Sheer, a thin puzzled smile coming to his lips.

  “Dex called him Shaw,” said Jimmy Bardell, standing quietly to the side.

  Hardine cut in and said in a voice lowered to a whisper, “I’ll be damned. What’s going on here? Last I heard, you were working for the law.”

  “Do I look like I’m working for the law now?” Shaw asked, taking a threatening step forward. “I was a hired gunman long before I ever carried a badge.” He needed to take control, get back to his job and find out about Madden Corio’s upcoming job. “Do you think Dexter Lowe would have partnered with me if he thought I still worked for the law?”

  “He’s got a point,” said Toledo, staring intently at Shaw.

  “Dex knew he’d been working for the law,” Tuesday put in quickly. “He didn’t care. He told me him and Shaw were going to run the gang as partners. He just wanted to keep it a secret for a while. Of course he had no idea Shaw had been head-shot, or that he’d have a run-in with Thornton, Stobble and Mason here.” She nodded toward Bell Mason.

  Shaw cut her a glance. He’d never heard a woman lie any better, or faster, in his life.

  “Fact is,” Tuesday continued, “if Shaw hadn’t been on Lowe’s side, he’d have killed all three. As it is, this idiot killed the other two.” Again she gestured toward Bell Mason.

  “Dex never told me nothing about you, Shaw,” Sheer said, sounding suspicious of the whole story.<
br />
  “But he told me about you, Sonny,” said Shaw. “I’m keeping you second in charge now that Lowe’s dead, unless you want out.”

  Sheer didn’t want out. He needed time to decide what he believed and didn’t believe. But meanwhile, he wanted to keep his hand in the game. He cut a glance to Dan Sax, then said to Shaw, “I’ll stick, for now. I’ve been waiting too long for this big job. I’m not cutting out now.”

  The rest of the men stood staring, adding uncertainty to their shock. Finally Hatcher scratched his head up under his hat brim. “Damn, lawman . . . outlaw. I don’t know what to make of all this.”

  “Make what you want of it,” Shaw said, making a bold attempt at taking over. “But right now, you best get to telling us what it was Lowe told you before he got the chance to tell me.”

  The men stood in silence a moment longer and Shaw saw he was in good position. Pain pounded in his head, but he had no time to think of it. Now was the time to put matters to test and see where he stood. He reached out with the toe of his scuffed boot and shoved Lowe’s body over onto its side. To Sheer he said, “Sonny, get somebody to drag Dexter out of here, get him underground. Rock him over so the ’yotes can’t get to him.”

  Sonny stared at Shaw for a moment; then he looked at Earl Hardine and Joe Toledo. “You two heard him. Get Dex drug out of here and get him buried. The quicker he’s underground, the quicker we can get down to business.”

  Chapter 12

  As soon as Hardine and Toledo had removed Lowe’s body from the campsite, Sheer, Sax, Shaw and the others huddled in a half circle around the flames. Tuesday joined them as Hatcher relayed the information Lowe had shared with him on the way into camp. Off to the side of camp, they heard the sound of shovels clinking in the rocky ground.

  “You might not like hearing this any more than I did, Shaw,” Hatcher said. He paused and looked warily from one man to the next. “Dex told me we were going to be wagon drivers.”

  It took a moment for the news to sink. Then Mason spat with contempt and said, “Wagon drivers? What the hell kind of job is that?”

  “I know how you feel,” Hatcher said. “I told him, if I wanted to be a teamster, I’d have gone to work for Wells Fargo or something.” He looked to Shaw for support. “Ain’t that how you feel, Fast Larry? Do you want to be a wagon driver?”

  “That depends on what the wagons are hauling,” said Shaw, considering the matter. “Did he tell you what the big job is?”

  “Yes, he did,” said Hatcher. He looked all around in the darkness as if to make sure no one could hear him outside of their own circle of thieves. “It’s guns and ammunition,” he added in a quieter tone of voice. “It’s a big army shipment. They’re hitting it at Hueco Pass, the other side of Yellow Moon Canyon. That’s where we’re to meet them with the wagons, at Yellow Moon.”

  “It’s about damn time,” said Sax. He gave a sly grin. “I said when they built that high trestle it was only a matter of time before somebody put it to good use.” He rubbed his hands back and forth together in eager anticipation. “Who’d have ever thought I would turn out being a part of it?”

  “Even as a wagon driver?” Hatcher said, still not happy with the role they would play in the job.

  “Hell, I’ve done lots worse than drive the haul-away wagon,” said Sax. “The gangs I’ve ridden with, everybody had to do their part, whatever it is.”

  “And he’s ridden with some of the best,” Hatcher threw in. “We all have. Just so you know.”

  Shaw only stared in silence.

  Sax gave a curt nod of appreciation and continued. “So long as I get my share, I don’t care what I have to do to get it.” He too turned his gaze to Shaw for support.

  “Sax is right,” Shaw said, having been considering the matter ever since Hatcher brought it up. “It doesn’t matter what job we’re going to be doing, so long as the money is right.” Pain pounded inside his head, but he disregarded it.

  “What are you getting at?” Tuesday couldn’t keep from asking.

  Some of the men gave her a dubious look, but Shaw answered her in the same way he would have answered any of them. “We might start out driving the haul-away wagons,” he said, “but who knows? Maybe we pull ourselves up a notch and get a pay raise to boot.” Again he looked from face to face as Hardine and Joe Toledo returned out of the darkness, rolling their shirtsleeves down.

  “I like working for a man who’s always out to better our position,” Sonny Lloyd Sheer said sidelong to Dan Sax, making sure Shaw heard him.

  “Then you’ll like working with me,” Shaw said modestly, but with confidence. His head still pounded relentlessly.

  Tuesday listened intently; so did the others. Shaw looked at Hatcher. “Where do we find the wagons?”

  “We’re supposed to meet tomorrow night in a draw not too far from here,” said Hatcher. “The wagons will be there waiting for us.”

  “When do we show up at Yellow Moon?” Shaw asked.

  “The next night,” said Hatcher. “Dex said around midnight.”

  “All right, we’ll go get the haul-away wagons,” Shaw said, still working it all over in his throbbing head. He paused long enough to make sure the men wondered whether or not he’d finished. Then he raised his lowered head and said, “We’re just drivers going in, but that’s all going to change once we get our hands on those wagons.”

  Shaw gave Sonny Lloyd a look that told him it was time for him to take over.

  Sonny picked right up on it and said with authority, “All right, hombres. That’s all the talk we’re going to do for tonight. Tomorrow starts early. Everybody get a good night’s sleep, dream about how rich you’re going to be. It might be a long while before the next time we stop to rest.” He ended his words with a gaze toward Shaw. “We’ve got ourselves a new leader. Let’s show him we’re all worth our salt on this job.”

  In the night, the pain in his head eased up, enough for him to do some clear thinking about where this strange turn of events had put things. Recounting, he knew that Dawson and Caldwell were somewhere on his back trail, but how far back? If he’d thought riding back and warning them about the big job might thwart it, that would have been his first move. But there was no time for that. This was the hand he had to play.

  Now that his luck had landed him not only into Lowe’s gang, but in charge of it, he had to take advantage of his situation. So far, so good . . . , he reminded himself, relaxing, his eyes closed, his stovepipe hat tilted down, covering his eyes. He had to keep a good solid grip around the situation and keep everything in check until the two lawmen caught up to him. Could he do that? Yes, he believed he could.

  “Fast Larry, are you asleep?” Tuesday asked in a whisper, interrupting his thoughts.

  Shaw sighed under the cover of his battered hat, hearing her walk quietly up to him from the direction of the campfire. “Are you going to keep waking me up all night?”

  She stooped down beside him. “There are men who would spend their whole roll to have me waking them up in the night,” she whispered in a suggestive voice. “I just wanted to tell you how good you did, getting everybody to follow you—and to thank you for saving my life.”

  “Saving your life?” Shaw tipped his stovepipe up above his eyes. “Tuesday, you’re the one who put a bullet through Dangerous Dexter’s eye.”

  “I didn’t mean you saved me from Dex,” said Tuesday. “I meant you saved me from the rest of the gang. I hate to think what Sonny Lloyd and Dan Sax would have done to me if you hadn’t been there. I’m most grateful to you.”

  “You’re welcome, Tuesday,” Shaw replied, pulling the hat brim back down. “We’ve all got a long day tomorrow. You best get yourself some sleep.”

  “You’re not sleeping,” Tuesday said.

  “That’s true,” said Shaw, “and there’s a reason for that.”

  She giggled under her breath. “I’m sorry I woke you again. I just wanted to know how you’re feeling, see if you’d like me to show you jus
t how grateful I am.”

  Shaw heard the rustle of her coat; he raised his hat brim again and batted his eyes. Looking at her in the pale moonlight, he saw her open the coat, revealing her nakedness beneath it. “Whoa . . . ,” he said under his breath.

  “Well? What’s your pleasure, Fast Larry?” Tuesday asked. “You’re not going to leave me out here exposed to this chilled night air, are you?” Even as she asked, she lifted the edge of Shaw’s blanket and stretched out alongside him.

  “No, Tuesday,” Shaw said, coming alive at the sight of her as he’d looked her up and down. “It would take more than a head wound to make me crazy enough to do a thing like that.” He held the blanket up for her until she had settled in against him, slipping out of the coat. Then he pulled the blanket down over them both and held her to him.

  “There,” she whispered, pressing herself against him with an urgency, “isn’t that better than sleeping over here alone?”

  Shaw didn’t answer, feeling the heat of her through his clothes as she unbuttoned his shirt, his belt, his trousers . . .

  From across the campfire Dan Sax and Sonny Lloyd Sheer sat huddled near the glowing flames, the rest of the men having taking to their bedrolls scattered about the campsite. “I have to say, I’m surprised you stood still for this man taking over the gang,” said Sax.

  “Don’t go getting the wrong idea. It wasn’t the right time for me to step in and fill Dexter Lowe’s boots,” said Sonny. He discreetly slipped a pint bottle of rye whiskey to Sax even through there was no one around to see him do it.

  “Fill them?” said Sax. “Hell, Dex wasn’t even out of his boots yet.”

  The two gave a slight grin. “He was going to die before long anyway,” said Sheer. “I was getting ready to see to that. All the whore did was speed things up a little.”