The Riflemen

by Tony Masero

  Chapter Eleven

  “Riders coming in!”

  Wooley Cotton, the swing station supervisor, scratched his black beard and looked up at cousin Leroy atop the watch-tower. The tower was a thick conical structure with an internal stairway and rose like a squat pot from amidst the living quarters, outhouses and storage facilities in the square.

  “How many?” Wooley called.

  “Three men.”

  “What you think?”

  “Hard to say as yet, too far off.”

  “They coming here for sure?”

  “Reckon so.”

  In his forty-odd years, Wooley’d seen it all before and had little fear of the dangers that were out there, as he’d handled most of them at one time or another. With a measure of indifference, then, he walked over to the gate and watched the approaching dust cloud.

  He ran the station with his younger brother Ben and two cousins, Leroy and Asa. An unenviable task, stuck in the middle of a desert with little entertainment other than the occasional stage and its few passengers to highlight the tedium of the day. There were the intermittent Indian attacks, the attraction for the tribes being the supply of horse kept available for the stages but the strong building had so far remained unbreached by such forays.

  He patted the adobe walls confidently; he knew that although the staging post had been first raised in the last century it was a solid affair built to last. It had been his idea to keep the rail fenced corrals and sluice fed watering troughs for the stage teams outside the walls, as there was little room for them within. The original architect clearly had a defensive position in mind, so the Santa Anna Station was constructed more as a fortress and stood alone on a small rise in the middle of a flat and empty plain. The real deciding factor for the site had been the water supply that sprang up naturally from the water table. This eventually led to the property being taken over as a watering stopover and team change station for the overland stage route up from the Mexican border.

  Wooley and his brother Bob had rarely walked the straight and narrow and were not averse to a little borderline criminality if the occasion arose. In the main, they engaged in these petty misdeeds merely to alleviate the boredom, as there was little of value that came up the road from Mexico or passed on the way south. A shipment of liquor might meet with an accident involving a couple of boxes in transit. A consignment of Mexican tooled leather boots would lose a few pairs. An agreement with the driver and a stagecoach empty of passengers made such arrangements easy. But mostly Wooley and his hands had a simple if dull life with not much to do but maintain the place, look after the stock and feed the stage passengers. Other than that, they waited impatiently for the end of their three-month stint when two of them might take some rest and recreation at the Fort Benson Suttlers Store where a few whores were kept on tap along with some strong liquor and home-brewed beer.

  Bob came up beside him, a tall thin man with an overlong neck and a protruding Adam’s apple that often earned him the nickname “turkey gobbler”, a derogatory term he had no use for. “Trouble?” he asked.

  “Damned if I know. Soon find out.”

  Within half an hour, they were closer to knowing the answer as Black Band Doolin and his two companions rode in.

  “Howdy, name’s Wooley,” he called, looking squint-eyed at Black Band’s ravaged features. “What can we do for you?”

  Doolin nodded a greeting. “Howdy, Wooley. Water and feed for horses and us men, if you can. We’ll pay for the vittles.”

  Wooley slowly looked them over, each in turn, and then eyed their rigs carefully as if he was assessing their potential danger or otherwise. The wary sort, Wooley reckoned. His eyes ran over the Morgan James and Billy Ray’s revolving rifle. “Take them down by the corral, there’s a hitching rail there and a water trough. Look tuckered out, those critters. Not got much left in them, I’m thinking. When you’re done, come along up to the eating hall, we can feed you there and serve a mite of liquor if you’ve a mind.”

  “Obliged,” said Doolin. He dismounted and stretched, easing the kinks out of his back. “Yep, we’ve been riding a long spell. Maybe you might consider doing a bit of horse-trading, cut us out three from your corral and you take these here. They’ll be fine once they’re rested.”

  “Well, can’t oblige you there, I’m afraid, fella. Company regulations. Got to have a fit team ready for when the stage comes in. Sorry about that.”

  “As you say, sir. As you say. Right, we’ll get these steeds seen to and be along directly. Eating hall, you say?”

  “Yep, that’s right.”

  When the three clunked their way onto the board floor of the eating hall, Wooley was standing by the serving table with a steaming pan in front of him. The place had an air of schoolroom about it, as it was filled with rows of empty wooden benches and tables in regular lines.

  Three men stood at various points around the hall, rifles in hand.

  Black Band stopped at sight of the guns. “What’s this, fellas? You expecting trouble?”

  “Not if we can avoid it,” answered Wooley. “Now, if you boys will kindly hang your side-arms on the hooks by the door there and leave your long guns in the corner, I’ll be glad to dish you up a mess of bean stew with a little goat thrown in for good measure.”

  “Sure.” Black Band said. “No need for concern, we’re only too glad of the hospitality.” He unfastened his belt and holster and hung it up, placing the Morgan James in the corner. “Do as the man says, boys,” he said a little sternly to the other two.

  Billy Ray mumbled, “I don’t like handing my pistols over to no man.”

  “You’ll do it and like it,” warned Black Band quietly.

  “That’s it, boys.” Wooley smiled when all three had obliged. “Now come along and dig in. Asa, that’s my cousin there, he’s pretty good at baking up that sweet maize flour bread. So cut yourselves a piece and set to. That’s my brother Bob over there and the other one’s cousin Leroy.”

  “Family concern then?” Doolin observed. He filled his dish with stew, grabbed a hunk of bread and straddled a bench at one of the tables.

  “That’s how it is. I like to keep things close to hand, as it were. You boys heading for the border?”

  Swede suddenly poked his head up from his loaded plate. “You mentioned liquor.”

  “Sure did. Leroy, get the man a bottle, will you?”

  “No regular direction,” lied Black Band easily. “We’re following behind a couple of no-account outlaws headed down this way. There’s a bounty on their heads and we plan on getting it.”

  “Oh, yeah, is that right?” Wooley looked thoughtful. “Well, we haven’t had anybody pass by here for a few day now. You got some paper on these men?”

  “No paper but you can’t miss them. White man and a colored, both carrying long rifles. Sharps. They were sharpshooters back in the war and they’ve got the look of it.”

  “That a fact? Might say you’re a long shot rifleman yourself going by that weapon in the corner.”

  “I am now and was then,” said Doolin proudly. “That’s how I got this mug of mine all messed up. Doing my piece on the hill at Gettysburg.”

  “My God!” whooped Bob Cotton suddenly. “Of course. Gettysburg. I was there too, friend. You’re the one they called Black Band Doolin. I knew those black garter armbands of yours meant something, but for the life of me I couldn’t recall.”

  “And who’s side were you serving?” asked Doolin cautiously.

  “Stars and Bars forever.”

  “Put it there, partner.” Doolin held out his hand and Bob shook it vigorously.

  “Brother Wooley,” Bob said, and grinned. “You got to believe me, this here man is a legend. Why he’s a hero for our side and I’m not whistling Dixie. Leroy, go on out to the store and get us another bottle. I see our buckskin brother here has already finished t’other. Mind you, the good stuff this time, you hear. Man, oh man, Black Band Doolin, well I never. Why, we just have to raise
a glass together.”

  “Be an honor.” Doolin grinned and ladled the last of the stew into his mouth.

  Billy Ray looked a bit put out at the lack of attention he was receiving, so he reached his hand across the table. “Name’s Billy Ray Laforge. Might be you’ve heard of me?”

  Bob looked bewildered. “Sorry, friend. Can’t say that I have.”

  Billy Ray drew a deep breath. “After your day, perhaps. Not to worry, there’ll come a time yet awhile.”

  Leroy ran back into the room clutching a bottle in one hand and wearing an anxious look on his face. “More riders coming. Looks like herders.”

  Wooley pushed himself away from the table. “That so? Guess I’ll go take a look.”

  He left but was back inside in a minute. “Kind of strange, looks like some of those black cavalry boys from the fort. They’s driving a parcel of cattle and horse this way.”

  “Horse, you say?” Doolin asked.

  “S’right.” Wooley drew a long breath. “Could be you’ll get yourselves some remounts there.”

  But all thought of horseflesh exited Doolin’s mind as he saw Thaddeus Johnson ride in with a blanket-clad child sitting before him on the saddle. At sight of him, the rifle was ready in Doolin’s hand before Johnson could clearly see who the waiting figures were amidst the dust raised by the cattle.

  “Stay real still, Johnson. Or I’ll take you off at the waist, child or no child in front.”

  “Doolin!” gasped Thaddeus Johnson.

  “That’s right. Now, Billy Ray, you cover him will you? Johnson, put down the child and keep your hands where we can see them.”

  Thaddeus only clutched Emily more tightly to his chest.

  “What’s going on here?” asked Sergeant Bull riding up.

  “Nothing to you, soldier boy,” shouted Doolin. “This here is a back-shooting outlaw and horse thief we aim to bring to justice.”

  Sergeant Bull paused and studied Thaddeus a long moment before looking across at Doolin. “Where’s your arrest warrant? Let’s see the paper on this man.”

  “Don’t have any paper. Don’t need none, there’s wanted sheets posted on him from here to Albuquerque.”

  Sergeant Bull turned in his saddle. “This true, Thaddeus?”

  Thaddeus didn’t take his eyes from Doolin. “Other way around, Sarge. This one here and his boys are set to kill me and Mister Nick just as we told the Colonel back at the fort. They’ve been tracking us all the way down. Nigh on got Mister Nick one time too.”

  Bull leveled his gaze on Doolin. “Best you men come with us to the fort. We can settle this matter there. We’ll take it up before the commanding officer, Colonel Winter.”

  Doolin swung his rifle in Bull’s direction. “I’m not one of your blue belly soldier boys, Sergeant. You’re not giving me any orders.”

  The two troopers who had secured the cattle and horses in the corrals rode up behind the sergeant.

  “What’s up, Sarge?” one asked.

  “We’ve got us a small problem here. Best you spread out and have your pistols to hand.” Bull unlatched his side-slung Colt and placed a hand over the grip. “Now you men going to set aside those weapons and do as I say?”

  An inebriated Swede staggered out of the eating hall doorway and tossed an empty bottle aside, an idiotic grin spreading across his face. “Somebody want to fist fight?” He laughed wildly with a crazy gleam in his eye. “I’m ready. Come on! I’m a hell-bound grizzly with an alligator for a momma and wild dog for a daddy. I’ll take on all comers.” He lunged sideways, staggering and weaving over to the trooper on Sergeant Bull’s left. “You want to fight, huh?” Swede slurred the request up at the trooper who sat astride his pony and studiously ignored the swaying redhead.

  It was a mistake. With surprising speed and agility, in one lithe motion, Swede was up behind the soldier. There was nothing drunken about his movements now and too late the trooper realized it was all an act. With a roar, Swede pulled out his pistol and fired. The soldier uttered a single cry before he bucked away and fell to the ground, his body drilled through.

  Clearly, that was the signal for the others. Doolin fired his rifle and the bullet took Sergeant Bull in the midriff, throwing him backwards out of his saddle. With a high-pitched giggle, Billy Ray drew his six-gun and with ostentatious gunfighter speed, he fanned the hammer, blasting the remaining trooper, bringing him down from his mount. Hampered by Emily in front of him, Thaddeus struggled to draw his weapon in self-defense, but it was all over too quickly and Swede’s pistol was pushing into his waist before he could clear leather.

  “You want me to take you out,” warned Swede, “you just go for that pistol.” With one hand, the vile smelling mountain man dragged the screaming Emily from Thaddeus’s grasp and threw her down. “Shed the weapon, Johnson,” Swede ordered.

  With an unsettling perverse display of enjoyment, Billy Ray walked among the fallen, sniggering as he toed each body.

  “Cut that out!” ordered Doolin. “They’re wearing the uniform, whatever we think of them. Show a little decorum, Billy Ray. You’ve got no style, boy. No style whatsoever.”

  Gingerly, Thaddeus unfastened his gun-belt and dropped it.

  “Get down here, mister. I’m not looking up at the likes of you,” Swede said and grasped Thaddeus’s arm and roughly pulled him from his horse and threw him to the ground.

  Wooley Cotton stood open mouthed at the sudden slaughter. “Now what the hell you all do that for?” he complained. “There’ll be a mite of grief over this. I’m going to get all kinds of sorry dooh-dah falling on my head from the fort now. You can’t go killing soldier boys like that.”

  “Lookit,” Doolin said in a calming voice. “All you’ve got to do is put those fellows safe in the ground. You have a corral full of horse and cattle that no one’s missing and you can sell for profit down over the border, if you’ve a mind. They’ll all fetch you a right nice pile of cash with no questions asked, I reckon.”

  “He’s right, Wooley,” Bob agreed enthusiastically. “We could clean up here.”

  “What about the child and this Negro?” asked Wooley, pointing at Thaddeus lying in the dust.

  “The Negro goes with us. The child – well, you do what you want with her. I’m not fussed too much, are you?”

  Wooley frowned. “You mean, keep her here with us? No sir, wouldn’t be right.”

  “What’re you worried about, Wooley?” asked Bob. “She can wash and clean up around here. She’s only a kid, brother. Too young to know or say anything against us.”

  “Leave her be,” Thaddeus said. “Poor child’s had enough pain for one lifetime.”

  Swede cuffed him a stinging blow across the brow “Shutup, you! Nobody asked your opinion.”

  “Listen,” said Doolin, exasperated. “I don’t care what you do. We’re taking three of those ponies and this sorry Negro and heading out. You make of it what you will.”

  “You’re so right, Black Band,” Bob agreed quickly. “No problem here. We’ll tend to everything, won’t we Wooley?” He glanced over at his brother with a desperate look of encouragement. Wooley nodded with some reluctance. “Don’t you concern yourselves, fellows. Everything’s gonna be hunkadory.”

  Bob nodded vigorously, “There y’are, boys. It’s all taken care of.”

  “Make sure it is,” snarled Billy Ray petulantly. “Or I’ll come back and wring that turkey neck of yours. You know me now, don't you, peckerwood? Billy Ray Laforge. Remember that name. I’m gonna be famous one day soon. Any boys in blue come after us and we’ll know who let on. That happens and you’ll all be dead meat, understand?”

  “We got it,” obliged Wooley grimly, perhaps recognizing the insanity behind the baby face and believing that whatever Billy Ray threatened, he would do and enjoy doing it.

  “Come on,” snapped Doolin. “I want Thaddeus tied to his saddle and a lariat round his neck. He tries to run, I’ll stretch his neck from here to Christmas. Now let’s go.”

/>   Thaddeus looked over his shoulder as he was laced to the saddle and the lariat was placed around his neck. He saw the lonely figure of little Emily, rubbing the tears from her eyes with tiny bunched fists. “Take care of the child,” he called out to Wooley, and then Swede punched him hard again and cut off any more words.

  “Come along now.” Doolin grinned and jerked the lariat, half-choking Thaddeus. “We’re going to take a little ride after that partner of yours. Reckon you’ll be our bait to bring the backshooter down from that high spot he fancies so much.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Thaddeus said, his voice husky. “Me and him’s had a falling out. He’s not going to be very interested in what happens to me now.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Doolin snorted. “You damned people. You’re always lying. You think I believe any of that? Why, you and Guardeen have been together since childhood. He’d soon as leave you as he would his favorite bird-dog. No sir, he’ll come a-running when he sees you staked out.”

  Thaddeus shrugged, and then quickly dug his spurs in as Doolin set off at a canter, tautening the length of lariat between them.

  Chapter Twelve

  “There’s plenty here to live on if you know where to look.” The old man had skin seamed like a walnut shell and the ochre color of dark pine. His clothes were as rugged as his features. A greasy fringed buckskin shirt, hide leggings and beaded moccasin boots covered his body with a tattered hat that had seen far better days set on his long gray head of hair. He rummaged with stubby fingers through the waist-length gray beard he wore, as if seeking his chin to scratch. “Deer, rabbit, javelina, all meat for the table. I grows me some sugar cane, squash and melon. We got Mesquite bean pods, cholla buds and saguaro fruit. I live like a prince. Yes, indeed I do.”

  Guardeen had come across the hermit in a neglected valley where an oasis of water enabled greenery and shade to prosper. They sat together on sun-warmed boulders under a palo verde tree outside the old man’s Indian style hogan and Guardeen could see ironwoods and catclaw growing amongst the ever-present saguaro that stretched away into the purple shadowed recesses of the valley behind them.