Gunned Down

by Dale Chase

  Evan, lying on his back beside me, considers this. “What if I see him take aim?”

  “Shoot him. Defend yourself.”

  The kid blows out a sigh.

  “I don’t think it’ll happen, but be on the lookout, okay? I don’t want to be losing you.”

  He takes my hand in his. “I’ll be careful. I’m sorry I’ve come between you.”

  “Don’t be sorry. You’re the best thing to ever come my way.”

  * * * *

  Next morning, we all meet at the restaurant next door to enjoy a big breakfast, since food will not be important when noon rolls around. Once fed, we settle on a bench fronting a hardware store, looking like any bunch of men taking it easy. What we’re really doing is quietly firming up details of the job.

  At five of twelve, we fetch the horses, ride them easy to the bank, then dismount out front. We need not tie them as, being outlaws’ horses, they are trained to stand waiting. Wade, who has let his beard come in to appear rough, totes his parcel hiding the rifle into the bank. He’ll take up a spot at a writing table, make like he has something to do.

  We come in a few minutes later, me alone, then Virgil and Harry together. I’m in line behind two customers when I glance at Wade, who nods.

  In the next couple seconds, he pulls down his mask from under his hat, and calls out, “Throw up your hands.”

  We all drop our masks, having kept faces low until then. Once we’re covered, we leap to action and I’m surprised when Wade doesn’t shoot the guard like he’d said. Instead, he disarms the man, has him stand in a corner, rifle on him. Harry herds the customers over with the guard, while Virgil and me go behind the counter and start bagging money, which is greenbacks and gold. I’m shoving loot into my bag when I hear a shot, and only then realize I’ve taken my eyes of the cashier, who I now see has a gun. I also see Virgil fall.

  Without thought, I draw my pistol and shoot the cashier, then finish filling my bag. I also take up Virgil’s bag since he’s not moving and likely dead. We’re now in trouble because those shots will draw attention.

  Rushing outside, we find Evan and Leland on their horses, and I throw each a bag of money, then climb into the saddle, as Wade and Harry do likewise. It’s as we start out that gunfire comes calling.

  We pull our guns and return fire as we attempt to take flight, but a bullet downs Evan’s horse, throwing him and his sack of money to the ground.

  As the others take off, I circle back, shooting with one hand, offering the other to Evan, who takes it. I pull him up behind me. We ride off, but as we depart town, there come more shots, and I see men with rifles upstairs at a hotel.

  A bullet catches Leland, and down he goes with the other sack of money. Nobody stops to see his fate.

  We ride like hell and the horses of the fallen men ride with us, being used to such escapes. Once we’re well out of town, we stop and Evan changes to Leland’s horse, and we set off again, headed for Boyer’s place.

  The one horse absent a rider gallops like he’s got a man aboard, which strikes me as an awful sight. Two men lost, no money gained. That weighs as well, but hard riding soon chases off all thought save outrunning the posse that will surely, in such an organized town, be forming right now.

  We’re a sweaty mess when we reach Boyer’s. Changing mounts requires shifting saddles and gear, Boyer and his son looking on.

  It’s Wade who says, “Virgil and Leland are shot and we lost all the money.”

  Nobody offers comment as there’s no time. Aboard fresh horses, who are eager to run, we set out again, more hard riding. The first set of horses has no trouble keeping up. Free of riders, they’ve got new energy.

  Night is coming on when we stop among some rocky hills. Wade climbs to the top with binoculars to see if we’re being followed. “Don’t see anybody,” he says when he comes back to us, “but that don’t mean they’re not coming. We’ll rest a spell, then move on.”

  When darkness falls, gloom settles over us and I find the lack of a glowing fire appropriate. Nobody says a thing. We’re all feeling the same, struck by the loss of our friends as well as loss of the money. One would be bad enough, but both has never happened.

  * * * *

  Before sunup, we start out again, riding until we reach a hardscrabble town, where we take a quick meal and water the horses.

  “We going home?” I ask Wade.

  “Seems safe to do that. I think the posse fell back.”

  Food doesn’t taste good, but I swallow it anyway, needing energy for the rest of the ride. The horses are tiring, as are we, and the last leg of the ride is outlawry at its worst. Usually this part is tolerable because we’ve money. Now all we have is loss.

  * * * *

  Noble’s place looks powerful good when we ride in. The sun is high, everything warm and inviting. I think on a bath at the river and some of Hannah’s good cooking.

  As we near the house, I note no kiddies about. There’s usually a couple in the garden or chasing around, but I figure maybe it’s schooling time, Hannah giving them their lessons. Noble is absent, too, but he could be anywhere.

  We head for the barn, Wade in the lead, me and Evan back with the horses, Harry and Dewey in the rear. As Wade dismounts at the barn, a shot comes from nowhere and he grabs his neck before falling to the ground.

  For a second, I sit stunned because this makes no sense. But then more shots come, bullets whizzing past, and when one sends my hat flying, I call out, “Behind the barn,” and turn my horse there.

  As we rush for cover, Harry falls.

  “They’re up in the rocks,” I tell Evan and Dewey.

  “Who?” asks Dewey.

  “The law, no doubt.”

  “How’d they get here before us?” he asks.

  “I don’t think it’s the posse,” I venture. “This is pure ambush. They were in place, waiting on us. Word of us here must have gotten out.”

  We pull rifles from our saddles, then I tell Evan to put our saddles on fresh horses. “We have to get out of here.”

  As he does this, Dewey and me do battle, shooting to where we see rifles firing. We don’t gain anything in this until one of the men tries to move among the rocks and I shoot him. Seconds later, Dewey takes out another.

  “How many do you figure?” he asks.

  “No idea. Could be five or six, could be a dozen.”

  “I don’t see their horses.”

  “Good point. They must be on the far side of the hill, which is good as it’ll take them time to climb down once we ride out. We’ll head west, which they won’t expect, being desert out there.”

  Western Utah is not hospitable, but when on the run, can prove ideal. There are rocky spots, canyons, and draws where a man can hide if cornered, and water occasionally finds its way into such places. We’ll take all the horses with us to again change mounts along the way. We can’t go east as that’s Greenlee, and north or direct south are too rocky to make good time.

  Evan comes over to say all’s ready. Dewey and me fire more shots, then run to mount up.

  “Keep low as you can,” I call as we take off, riding away so the barn covers us at first. Once the lawmen find no return fire, they’ll figure us gone and fetch their horses to give chase. I figure a five minute lead at best.

  I’ve done hard riding many a time, but never like this, because nobody’s ever cornered us in such a way. Even as we flee, I find myself not believing what’s happened. Four men gone, Wade among them.

  * * * *

  After riding for hours, we stop at some hills, and I ride up to see if we’re being followed. I wish I had Wade’s binoculars, but they’re back at Noble’s because his horse chose not to run with his brethren. Evan comes riding up beside me.

  “Can’t count ‘em out,” I tell him.

  Dewey then rides up. “I’m thinking west ain’t a good idea. North is better.”

  “You want to go north, then you go,” I say. “Up to you. We’ll keep on west, then maybe t
urn south later, head for New Mexico.”

  I turn to look back from where we’ve come and still see nobody.

  “Maybe it’s best we split up,” Dewey says. “I’m going to head north. Good luck, Roy, Evan. Wish things had gone better.”

  “Luck to you, too, Dewey.”

  He leaves with one extra horse, which is only fair. Then it’s just Evan and me.

  “Best get going,” I say.

  “Piss first.” We both see to that, then ride out.

  “Long ride ahead,” I say and he nods.

  * * * *

  As night falls, we find a draw leading in among some rocks, and we herd the horses in there, as it’s good cover. Cold is coming on but we dare not make a fire. While the horses munch the sparse grass, Evan, who’s walked further up the draw, calls out that there’s water. I go up to find a trickle among some of the rocks. Evan leans down to drink, such as he can. I think he near has to lick the rocks to get much.

  When he stands, he says, “Good. It’s there. Not a lot, but enough.”

  He’s right. I get my mouth between two rocks and turn my head a bit, which allows the trickle to fall my way. Water has never tasted so good.

  We then lead the horses up that way and leave them to work at getting a drink while we go back a ways and spread bedrolls. I sit leaned against a big rock, the quiet bringing on another kind of ambush.

  Wade is gone. It doesn’t seem real, even as I saw him take a bullet to the neck. Saw him fall. Left him there. Darkness is upon us now, which is just as well because I don’t want Evan to see my tears.

  At first, I wipe them away because Wade and me was just friends, but I finally have to admit maybe I did care, just as maybe he did, too. Couple outlaws won’t speak on matters of the heart and we got along fine that way, only now it’s changed and I don’t get why. How can a man dying open things up like this, make them spill out? I’m sorry Wade. Truly I am.

  Evan seems to know to leave me be. He lies quiet, and right now I don’t want any part of him. Maybe tomorrow I’ll care for him again, but now I want to give Wade his due.

  When tears run dry, I stretch out, but sleep is slow-coming. Loss of Wade and the others plays heavy, but there’s also vigilance required so we don’t get ambushed again. At last, these concerns wear me out and I sleep, my last thought a hope I don’t wake to a gun barrel in my face.

  * * * *

  Evan nudges me awake around sunup. “We’d best get moving,” he says. He looks fresh, while I feel like I haven’t slept at all.

  I rise and spit, walk down the draw for a good piss, and only then look around. With just my head peeping over the draw’s edge, I see nobody about.

  While saddling the horses, Evan remarks on how we got away clean.

  “Can’t be sure,” I tell him. “We’d best ride like they’re still on our tail.”

  Once in the saddle, I find myself renewed. The horses are eager and so we go full gallop, us and our little herd. We ride all morning, changing horses once, and when we come upon a little settlement, hardly more than a few tents beside a creek, we stop to inquire on food.

  The horses rush to the water, drink, then feed on plentiful grass nearby. We’re offered biscuits and salt pork, for which we are happy to pay. When we’re asked on where we’re going, I say New Mexico. “Tired of Utah,” I add.

  They tell me they’re a group broken away from the church, looking to start a town. We listen to grand plans and offer well-wishes. We also buy food from them, which we wrap in a parcel and tie on one of the horses.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” I tell them as we make ready to leave.

  “Thank you for your trade,” they return.

  Though we came away from that Lovell bank empty-handed, we do have what’s left of the Kettner job, and as the dead men’s horses run with us, saddles and gear included, we have their stakes as well. I’m sure Evan considers this as much as do I.

  * * * *

  Not long after this settlement, we reach a road going south, so we set upon it, only slower now. How good it feels to not be in flight.

  “New Mexico okay with you?” I ask Evan as we walk our horses.

  “Fine.”

  “I figure try things there, stay if to our liking, move on if not. There’s always California, which seems big enough to truly get lost in.”

  “You thinking to rob some banks?”

  “Nope. I think what happened at Noble’s is a sign of the times. The law is getting too organized now, planning and such. I think outlawry may be on the way out.”

  “What then?”

  “Look at what’s on the way in,” I say. “Maybe take up a lawful life, do honest work. We’re both able-bodied. We should be able to find employment.”

  Evan guides his horse up close to mine, then reaches over to squeeze my thigh. “Let’s find us a spot.”

  “For what?” I ask, playing along.

  He chuckles. “Well, I’ve a mind to strip away these clothes and run naked.”

  My privates stir for what seems the first time in days. “Might have to chase you down.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  THE END

  ABOUT DALE CHASE

  Dale Chase has been writing gay men’s erotica for seventeen years with nearly two hundred stories published in magazines and anthologies. In addition, Dale has three published story collections and two novels: Wyatt: Doc Holliday’s Account of an Intimate Friendship from Bold Strokes Books, and Takedown: Taming John Wesley Hardin from Lethe Press.

  While Dale occasionally ventures into contemporary fiction, her primary interest remains the old west. She is presently at work on a novel about two cowboy detectives working out of a San Francisco agency in 1876. A California native, Dale lives near San Francisco.

  For more information, visit dalechasestrokes.com.

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