The Reckoning

by Mike Torreano

“You lazy good for nothin’. I made you sheriff so you could keep your nose to the ground for me, so I shouldn’t have to be tellin’ you somethin’ you should already know! My men either got kilt or captured in Jefferson last night, and you’re ridin’ with us right now to find out which!” Outside, he glanced at his hotel. It was finally being closed in.

  The major spun his palomino north and galloped down the dirt road that ran from Cottonwood to the little hamlet of Jefferson. Morning always brought with it a faint veneer of dew in this high plateau, and as Manning’s men sped along, wet spatters of water shot up from their horses’ flying hooves. Manning raced in front, the rest of his men riding five across behind him. They were a formidable-looking group as their horses pounded the scant turf on their way into the little settlement.

  Manning rode cautiously in between the few buildings that made up Jefferson. If there was anyone in the town, they were inside. He kept a tight rein on his horse and searched left and right as he walked the palomino down what passed for the main street. He pointed to Austin. “Go over there and check that tall building out.”

  Austin and another hand dismounted and with pistols raised, crept up to a hulking wooden structure and flattened themselves on either side of the front door. Austin whirled toward the door and kicked it in. Several townspeople cowered in a far corner of the large open space, devoid of anything except a few tables with rundown chairs and scattered papers. Small windows cast scant light on the townspeople who huddled against each other like statues.

  “Ya’ll come on out here.” Austin pointed his rifle at the group. “Who are you?”

  One of the men pushed the others back as he stepped forward. “We live here. We haven’t done anything to you or anyone else, so please don’t hurt us.”

  “You, come with me,” Austin said. The man raised his arms and marched out to the street. “Major, this man says he lives here, so he might know somethin’.”

  Manning dismounted and grabbed his rifle out of its scabbard. “What’s your name?”

  “Peterson, James Peterson.”

  “Tell me what happened here last night.”

  “Yessir. There was a terrible ruckus. Men came ridin’ in shootin’ and throwin’ burnin’ torches at the buildings. But when they got here, there was some other men waitin’ for ’em, and they shot ’em all down as they rode in.”

  Manning hit Peterson in the face with his rifle butt and knocked him to the ground. “The hell you say! Who was it that ambushed them?”

  The man got up slowly, holding his hand over a rapidly-swelling jaw. He spoke in a labored way. “Don’t know. Please don’t hit me no more.”

  “Where’s the men that got killed?”

  “We moved ’em off behind here.” Peterson pointed to the building he’d just come out of.

  Manning motioned with his rifle, and the man led him behind the structure. On the ground lay four men in a row, Kelly was the first. Indian paraphernalia lay gathered in a small pile nearby. Manning knelt beside his comrade and stared at Kelly’s pale face for a moment, then stood.

  Austin stood behind him and said, “There’s only four of ’em here, Major.”

  “Whaddya mean?”

  “Kelly left with four other men last night. There’s only three here now.”

  Manning paused, then turned to Peterson. “Where’s the fourth man?”

  Peterson said, “I don’t know, mister. I swear. I didn’t know there was another man. It was dark, and there were fires and shootin’, and none of us was countin’ heads. We got all the bodies we could find and put them here.”

  “These men you say shot ’em, where’d they go when they left?”

  Peterson pointed back toward Cottonwood. “Can’t be sure, but there mighta been a woman with ’em too.”

  Manning fired into nearby buildings as he walked back to the main street. When he got to his horse, he struck Peterson a vicious blow to the midsection with his rifle, dropping him to the ground like a ragdoll. He shouted, “All you people here in Jefferson, you clear on out, hear me? And don’t ever come back! After I kill those cowards who shot my men, I’ll come back here, and when I do”—he swept his arm in a large arc—“all of you better be gone, or you’ll join those men back behind that building.” He pointed his rifle at Peterson, who was still sprawled in the dirt at his feet with a hand to his stomach. “You make sure you give my boys a proper burial before you leave, you hear?” He turned on his heel, mounted up, and yanked his horse back toward Cottonwood.

  Manning was riding hard for town when a thundering boom reverberated off the surrounding hills. Ahead in the distance, a great cloud of dust and debris filled the sky. He pulled to a stop and stared silently at the extraordinary sight. His hands tightened around his saddle horn, his red face the only outward hint of his raging anger. Kicking his horse forward, he rode toward town at a slower pace. What was done was done. On the outskirts of Cottonwood, he checked to see that his rifle was loaded, grabbed his pistol, and gripped the handle hard as he rode in.

  The main street was strewn with rubble, and the air was still filled with light dust. Pieces of wood were stuck in the ground at crazy angles. As they neared the main pile of debris, Austin broke the silence. “Major, that was your hotel, wasn’t it?”

  Manning rode toward the site and stared at the destruction. Only dynamite could have done that.

  Austin whistled. “Who’d dare do that?”

  Tucker shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “I’ll find ’em for you, Major. Don’t you worry.” Manning gave him a withering glance and continued toward the hotel at a slow pace. “Forget stoppin’ at the jail, Tucker. You’re comin’ with me to the ranch.”

  Tucker started to object but just nodded when Manning aimed his pistol his way. The major spoke quietly with his construction boss, who’d finally arrived on the scene. He took a long look at his destroyed dream and rode out of town without speaking to any of the bystanders gathered around the still-smoking mess. He spurred his horse hard for Emerald Valley.

  When he pulled up at the ranch, Manning dismounted and told one of the hands to unsaddle his horse and rub him down. He headed toward the ranch house. At the front steps, he stopped. “Austin, come here.”

  “Yes, Major?”

  “How many men we got left?”

  Austin thought for a moment. “I reckon we still got eight or nine on hand, countin’ you and Tucker.”

  “Get them all right here in ten minutes.” He disappeared into the house and walked to his study. He stared at a map of South Park that lay on the table by his desk.

  Emerald wandered into the room, and her gaze flew to the large portrait of her over the fireplace. “Do you think I’ve aged any since that painting was done, Zeke?” She walked closer and stared at it, her head tilted up and her hand stroking her neck. “Zeke? Zeke, did you hear me?”

  “Not now, Emerald. But it’s just as well that you’re here. You need to find a place to stay in town tonight. You got any friends there you can stay with?”

  “Why, whatever for? I’ve never spent a night outside this house since we got here. What’s so different about tonight?”

  “Do what I say, Emerald.”

  “But why do I have to leave?”

  “Because I said so. Who can you stay with?”

  She pouted as she turned away from the painting. “Why, I suppose I could stay with that dreadful Lorraine Blanchard. She would be pleased to receive me, I’m sure.”

  “Not her. She may be in cahoots with the men I’m after. Who else?”

  She threw a hand up in the air and gazed at her picture. “Well, let me just see. The only other woman I ever speak with in town is Margaret Pinshaw, but she really is not our kind.”

  “Our kind be damned. You’ll take the buckboard into town and stay at her place tonight, got it?” He turned back to the map.

  “But how can I do that? What will I say? I’m not sure she even likes me. Sometimes I think she might, but then at other times
she seems to just barely put up with me, so it would be awkward of me to ask such a thing of her. But then, I do buy quite a few items in her shop, just like you tell me to, and she ought to be grateful for that. So, perhaps…” and Emerald nattered on out of the room.

  Manning put the map away and strode out of the ranch house to where his wranglers stood idly by. The men didn’t look like much, but most of them were seasoned riders who’d spent considerable time with him here and back in Kansas. Including Tucker. Manning didn’t have Kelly to lean on anymore, and he was a bit agitated as he talked to the men.

  “Listen up. There’s liable to be an attack on the ranch tonight, and you all are gonna stop it. Got it?” Some of the men looked around at each other. “There’s probably only about three of them, so it shouldn’t take us too long to dispatch them all to hell.” Out of the corner of his eye, Manning caught sight of Emerald riding by in the buckboard. “My guess is they’ll wait ’til after sunset to make their move, so I want you to spread out around the house and the barn. Find some cover, and stay there. Then when they come ridin’ in, shoot them sumbitches down like they shot Kelly and the others down last night.” Heads swiveled. “That’s right, these yella bellies killed your friends. Now we’re gonna shoot ’em so full of holes their mothers wouldn’t even recognize them. Go get some grub and find your cover. Austin and Tucker, follow me.”

  Manning disappeared back into the main house. In the study, he turned to Austin. “You’re my foreman now, so you need to put your stamp on the rest of the hands tonight. Spread the men around outside, mostly around the main house. Maybe some at the barn. Go.” He looked at Tucker. “You’ll be here inside with me tonight.”

  Tucker had been noticeably quiet. He started to say something, but Manning interrupted him. “I don’t want to hear anything out of you, Tucker. You’re in this up to your ears. You just do what I say, and you might survive the night. Now go get some dinner if you got the stomach to keep it down, then get back here.” As Tucker turned tail, Manning walked over to a window and stared out at the darkening, empty landscape beyond for a long time. He closed the shutters tight and turned away. His dream was slipping away.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ike’s riders pulled up as they neared the thick stand of tall cottonwoods surrounding the small creek. Buster said, “You all stay here while I check things out.” He drew out his old Sharps rifle and rested the butt on his leg with the barrel pointed to the sky. As he walked his horse forward, the sounds of the land he’d spent his adult life in surrounded him. The rushing of a creek over shallow rocks, the soft whistle of barren branches as the wind eased through them, the scurry of small animals over fallen leaves as Buster’s horse approached.

  It had been years since Buster lived in the mountains, and alcohol had dulled his awareness since then, but as he rode outdoors today, his senses were alive again. His eyesight and hearing were still passable, but it was his intuition that had always been, and still was, his strongest trait. He instinctively knew when danger was near. He knew when crossing a meadow in full daylight was safe. And when it wasn’t.

  He turned and waved the others in, then continued on into the shady glen he’d come to know well. The afternoon was wearing on, and the ashes from the demolished hotel that filled the Cottonwood sky were long gone out of sight behind them.

  In the little hideaway, Buster had everyone stay on their horses. He led them further away from the trail, back behind the granite boulders that rimmed the hideout. The professor edged up next to him. “Why are we going back there in the rocks instead of staying around the firepit?”

  “Manning ain’t dumb. He’s avoided the law a long time. Wouldn’t surprise me if Kelly mighta found out Ike and me were out here lookin’ around sometime back, so Manning might guess this is where we’re holed up. So, we’ll just hide up in those rocks there”—he pointed to a semi-circle of jumbled boulders—“and be ready for ’em if they come. Either way, we’re aces and they ain’t. Help me brush away some of these tracks around the firepit.” Buster hacked nearly-bare branches off a nearby evergreen, and the two swept the ground with them. Soon, all trace of their comings and goings had vanished.

  The small group led their horses back behind a limestone hogback and tied them off. They crept partway back toward the creek, climbing the backside of the uplifted formation, and settled in concealed high vantage points from which they overlooked the stream and firepit. They were spread out far enough along the rocky ridge so they had a field of fire that swept the entire setting below. Lorraine fished out the remaining food from the hidden cache and fixed cold meals as best she could. A fire was out of the question tonight.

  For several hours, the five watched the spot where the stream crossed the narrow trail. Ike finally said, “Looks like they ain’t comin’, so let’s gather around for a minute.” Lorraine passed out jerky and hard-boiled eggs that they downed with cold coffee. “If they’re not gonna come after us tonight, it means they’re probably holed up at the ranch. So, let’s go after them. Lorraine, you be our lookout there. You hide up along the game path just off the back trail that winds down to the main house. It’ll be dark when we get there, so nobody’s gonna see you unless you want to be seen. And you don’t want to be. Let us know if you see any of the ranchhands lyin’ in wait for us.”

  Lorraine started to protest, but Ike cut her off. “We’re not takin’ a vote here. This is one time you need to listen to me.”

  Lorraine nodded. “Okay, cowboy, whatever you say.”

  “Rob, you and the professor take the other side of the main house, and me and Buster will take the near side. We’ll stay at a distance from the ranch house until we spot where Manning has his men hidden. Rob, how many hands does he have left now?”

  “After those four we downed in Jefferson, he’s probably got around ten—eleven if Tucker’s throwed in with him.”

  Ike nodded. “My guess is he has, but maybe not voluntarily, based on what I’ve seen of him.” He turned to Rob. “Don’t start movin’ in from your hidin’ spot until you know where Manning’s men are in front of you. And stay together, we’ll be too easy to pick off one by one. Pick your targets out beforehand, and when you go, go like hell. As soon as you knock the first of ’em down, the others around you will likely pop up, so go to ground and find some cover quickly.”

  He hesitated and looked at Buster and the professor. “You sure you two want to do this? Ain’t nobody gonna fault you for leavin’.”

  Buster drew himself up to his full height of five and a half feet. “Leave? This is where it gets fun. I’m here, and I’m stayin’ here.”

  The professor looked wounded. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything, Ike. A chance to be in a real American shootout? Why, I could write one of those famous western dime novels—in fact, I just might. I say, let’s get to it.”

  Ike scanned his companions for a moment and swallowed hard. “Look your gear over, then. Probably too dark for rifles to be of much use.”

  Buster said, “I’ll just stick with my Sharps anyway. Me and that rifle been together a long time, and it’d probably sulk if I left it out of all the fun.”

  The other men drew their pistols, checked the cylinders, caps, and pouches for bullets and gunpowder. “Ammo good?” Nods all around. They mounted up and rode as quietly as five people could on the back trail to the ranch that everyone but the professor knew well. After almost a half hour, Ike pulled up and signaled for the others to do the same. They tied their horses off a good distance away from the ranch house.

  Ike turned to Lorraine and whispered, “You stay out of sight, hear? I don’t want to lose what I just found.”

  She reached up, put a hand on his chest, and kissed him on the cheek, then said with a look of concern, “Just remember that later, mister.”

  The gathering dusk hid Ike’s red face. He turned back to the others. “Okay, let’s go to ground.” Rob and the professor ran to the left and angled up the sage slope behind the spread be
fore creeping back down on the other side of the main house. Ike waited until they were out of sight, then he and Buster crept toward the dwelling as a full moon threw faint light over the ranch.

  ****

  Lorraine didn’t go up to a lookout perch behind the ranch, like Ike told her to. He didn’t fool her. She knew she wasn’t going to be of any help high on a hillside at night. He was just trying to keep her safe by getting her out of the way. She waited until the four men were hidden, then considered her options. If she could get into the ranch house, maybe she could somehow trick the major and get the drop on him. Ike should know better than to tell her what to do. She untied her horse, mounted up, and spurred the animal straight for the main house. Anything was better than being a lookout with no way to signal anybody.

  Lorraine reined her horse hard to a stop by the front porch, jumped off, and bounded up the wide wooden stairs. She pounded on the beautifully carved, thick wooden door. In the moonlight, the sound echoed throughout the chilly bowl the ranch sat in. “Let me in Major. It’s me, Lorraine. I got somethin’ important to tell you.” Her voice carried clearly on the soft night air. The door opened with a slow creak, and Lorraine disappeared inside. The thud of it closing again reverberated in the night.

  Tucker frowned at her in the large, dimly lit foyer. “Nice to see you, Miss Lorraine, but there’s some bad stuff goin’ on tonight, and you don’t need to be no part of it.” Lorraine looked around. She’d been inside the main house before, but never on a visit like she was on tonight.

  “I have to tell the major about the riders who took his men down in Jefferson the other night. Let me see him.”

  “I know he’ll for sure want to hear about that. Just a minute.” Tucker hefted the large wooden bar and placed it back on the iron holders on the inside of the door. “Ain’t nobody gettin’ in here, lessen I let ’em,” he said with a broad smile. He led her down a long hallway toward the study, where Manning sat with his back to them. He turned toward the sound of boots clicking on the wooden floor. “What the hell is she doing here?” He stood, red-faced, drew his LeMat revolver, and pointed it at Lorraine. He stared at Tucker, then Lorraine.