by Jake Henry
‘Looks like I missed all the fun,’ he murmured.
Three men and a woman, mottled skin, laying, sitting in their bodily fluids. The heavy buzz of flies filled the room. Like him, the winged creatures reveled in death.
‘Was it you, my friend?’ Allen asked aloud, thinking of Savage. ‘I bet it was. Did you enjoy the kill? What about the woman? Did you enjoy that too?’
He breathed deeply, savoring the smell. Movement in the doorway behind him interrupted his moment of ecstasy.
Without turning, he asked, ‘What happened here?’
‘I – ah – well,’ the voice stammered. ‘Some son of a bitch lawman shot everyone, to get at a feller he was chasin’.’
Allen turned to stare at the owner of the voice. He was a thin man with sunken cheeks.
‘What was his name?’
‘I think they called him Savage,’ the man said.
‘Where did he go?’
‘He took the feller he had been looking for and lit out. Him and Malavai Washington.’
‘Who is he?’ Allen asked, with curiosity.
‘He’s a Negro feller who drifts in and out from time to time,’ the man explained.
‘And you don’t know where they went?’
‘The girl might know,’ the man suggested.
‘What girl?’
‘His sister.’
I’m going to shoot him, Allen thought. ‘Where does she live?’
‘Here in Bad Tooth,’ the man said.
‘Where?’ Allen asked, testily.
‘Do you want me to show you?’
‘No, just tell me.’
‘Are you sure?’
Son of a bitch! ‘Yes, I’m sure.’
The man shrugged. ‘OK. She lives in a rundown shack on the edge of town. Thataway.’
The man pointed in the direction Allen needed to go.
‘Thank you,’ Allen said, and drew his six-gun and shot him.
Five minutes after killing the man who’d helped him, Allen stood outside the shack where Connie lived. He knocked loudly and waited as the woman came to open the door.
As quick as lightning, Allen bunched his fist and brutally punched her in the mouth. Connie staggered back, stunned. The killer forced his way inside and said in a cold voice, ‘We need to have a talk.’
Eleven
‘I oughta kill you here and now,’ Rawhide Allen hissed. A mix of anger and pain thickening his voice. ‘Mind you, that knife trick you pulled was damned impressive.’
Connie lifted her battered face defiantly to look her attacker in the eyes. Her lips were puffy and a thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. Tears tumbled from her puffy eyes and left streaks through the dirt and blood on her cheeks.
‘Go ahead, you gutless bastard.’
Allen shook his head. ‘As much as it would give me great pleasure, and believe me it would be a pleasure, I think you might come in handy. So, you’ll come with me. But before we go anywhere, you can patch up this knife wound.’
‘It’s a shame that I never got it into your throat,’ Connie hissed, a little braver now that there was a chance she might get out of this alive.
After Allen had hit her the first time, Connie had gathered herself and stood toe-to-toe with the killer, silently goading him into hitting her again. He obliged, of course, and Connie had gone down once more. When she came back up, her knife was in her hand and she drove it home with all the force she could muster.
Allen had looked down at the knife protruding from his middle and without a word, had pulled it free and thrown it on the floor. Then he hit Connie again.
‘Just clean the damned wound before I change my mind and kill you anyway,’ he growled.
The strange but familiar tingling feeling he got right before something bad happened warned Savage that things weren’t right. He leaned forward and took the Yellow Boy from the saddle scabbard, jacking a round into the breach.
It was the middle of the afternoon and all was quiet. Too quiet.
‘What’s up?’ Malavai asked in a hushed tone.
‘Somethin’s wrong,’ Savage told him, without taking his eyes from the trees about a hundred yards ahead.
‘How do you know?’ Malavai asked, following suit.
‘I used to get these feelin’s back in the war when somethin’ bad was about to happen,’ Savage explained.
‘Like now?’
‘Yeah, like now.’
Savage dived from the saddle as gunfire erupted from up ahead. Bullets made loud snapping sounds as they passed close. There was a hollow thunk as one of the deadly slugs hit Bobby Vandal full in the chest. A cry of pain came from the young killer as he slid sideways from his saddle.
Malavai followed Savage’s lead and he too dived from the saddle. His shoulder hit the ground hard and pain shot through him, registering in the deep recesses of his brain. He ground his teeth together and came up with his rifle, ready to fire. Before he had a chance to squeeze the trigger, a bullet slammed into his lower rib area and knocked him out of the fight.
The fingers of pain began to spread from Malavai’s wound throughout his body, and he doubled up in a futile attempt to try to ease it.
Once Savage had hit the rocky ground, he rolled off the trail to his left. He then lay on his belly and brought the Yellow Boy into position and let loose with four fast shots. Not really bothering to aim, the gunfire was more to get them thinking. Put them on the backfoot and give himself time.
‘Malavai, are you OK?’ Savage shouted, snapping off another shot.
‘I’m hit,’ a pained voice called weakly.
‘Damn it,’ Savage hissed, as bullets kicked up small eruptions of dirt around him. ‘Hang on.’
Savage looked about him. There was an outcrop of rock to his right. If they could get amongst it then at least they’d have better cover.
‘Can you hear me, Malavai?’
‘Yeah,’ came the muffled reply.
‘Get ready. This is goin’ to hurt.’
‘What?’
Savage waited for the next flurry of shots to pass before moving. When he did, however, there was no turning back. He leaped to his feet with the Yellow Boy in his left hand. He then rushed across to Malavai’s side and without pausing, grabbed him by the collar and began to haul him towards the rocky outcrop.
Disregarding the pained protests behind him, Savage reached the rocks amid a hail of lead slugs and dropped down beside Malavai.
‘I’m goin’ to kick your ass for that,’ Malavai warned him.
‘And I’ll be glad to let you,’ Savage told him. ‘Just let me have a look at this wound of yours first.’
A cursory examination revealed only one hole, the bullet still in there. He turned his gaze to Malavai. ‘You’ll be fine for the moment. I’ve got to deal with these bushwhackers.’
‘Get my six-gun for me, I’ll help out,’ the wounded man offered.
Savage shook his head. ‘You stay right there.’
More shots flew in their direction, a few smacking loudly into the solid surface of their cover before howling off into the surrounding wilderness.
Savage fired a return volley and ducked back. The rock was peppered with continuous rounds. Keeping low, he peered around the edge of their cover. He saw movement in the tree line as two men crept forward under the cover of constant fire.
He lined his foresight on the closest one and pulled the trigger. The man disappeared behind a puff of blue-gray smoke and when it cleared, he was gone.
Renewed, heavier gunfire rocked the surrounding high-country as the downed man’s friends cut loose, forcing Savage to dart back behind the outcrop.
‘You done went and upset them, din’ you,’ Malavai gasped, between waves of pain.
‘Some,’ Savage acknowledged.
Before he knew it, they began to take fire from the left, indicating that someone had flanked them. Savage dropped to the ground as angry lead hornets fizzed past his ears.
‘Dam
n it,’ Savage cursed. ‘Give me a break. Ever since I rode into this territory, some bastard has been tryin’ to kill me.’
‘Maybe you should leave then,’ Malavai said, pain etched in his voice.
‘Just what I aim to do,’ Savage called across to him. ‘Providin’ I don’t wind up dead first.’
‘Do me a favor?’ Malavai asked.
‘What?’ Savage asked as another slug passed close by, making him flinch.
‘Look after Connie for me? If I don’t make it.’
‘Shut up, you’ll be fine.’
Suddenly the shots changed. They didn’t stop but ceased coming at them. Savage heard the gunfire continue but …
He cautiously edged around the outcrop again and saw that the bushwhackers had emerged from the trees. They were still firing their guns in the opposite direction. Savage looked further out and saw why. From the trees had emerged a bunch of Apaches.
Savage recognized Taza leading them. Out front, his sturdy pony aimed straight at a fleeing white man. The Drifter could almost hear the sickening sound as Taza’s horse rode over the bushwhacker, the horse’s hoofs turning the man’s skull to a crushed and bloody mess.
The end came swiftly for the remaining bushwhackers. The handful of Chiricahua warriors dispatched them with efficiency and the last of them fell with an arrow through his throat. With wild cries of excitement, the warriors leaped from the backs of their horses and started their brutal work on the fallen.
All except Taza. He pointed his dappled pony towards Savage and Malavai’s hiding spot. He drew up short and said, almost disdainfully, ‘We meet again white-eye.’
Savage came out from behind the rocks, rifle in his hands. He was wary of the Apache, just in case his blood was too far up and he had designs on his scalp too.
‘It seems that it is my hide being saved this time,’ Savage observed.
Taza nodded. His eyes then drifted across to the wounded Malavai.
‘Will he die?’ he asked bluntly.
‘Not if I can get him to a doctor,’ Savage told him.
Again, Taza nodded. Then, without another word, he turned his horse away and rode back to join the rest of the Apaches. Savage heard some muffled words and the Indians mounted their horses and followed Taza back into the trees.
After they were gone, Savage checked on Malavai. He looked up at the Drifter with pain-filled eyes and said, ‘That was convenient.’
‘Wasn’t it though,’ Savage agreed. ‘Now, we need to get you to a sawbones.’
‘What about Bobby Vandal?’ Malavai asked.
Bobby Vandal!
‘Hell, I’d clean forgot about him,’ Savage acknowledged. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’
‘Funny man aren’t you?’ Malavai snorted, then winced as more pain shot through him.
Savage found Bobby facedown in the grass beside the trail. There was a gaping, red hole in his back where the bullet had burst through from the other side. The Drifter couldn’t tell if he was still alive or not, so he leaned down and rolled the young killer over.
Bobby Vandal’s face was sickly gray and a thin line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled weakly.
‘You … You’re … dead man,’ he choked out, his voice a wet gurgle.
‘Not anytime soon,’ Savage said grimly. ‘You, on the other hand, ain’t got much longer for this world. Seems quite fittin’ really.’
Bobby’s slowly dimming eyes flashed. He opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a wet cough. More blood followed and his head lolled to the side.
Savage nodded. ‘See you in Hell.’
‘Is he dead?’ Malavai asked when Savage returned.
‘He is now,’ Savage confirmed. Then he said, ‘I’m goin’ to hurt you again. I need to get you onto that horse of yours and back to Dead Man’s Gulch. There’ll be a doctor there who can check you over.’
‘What about Craig Vandal?’ Malavai asked.
‘Well, I guess that seein’ I’m still the only law in town, I’ll have to tackle that problem when it arises,’ Savage said. ‘And with his son bein’ dead, I think it’s about to get mighty interestin’. Don’t want a job, do you?’
Malavai gave him a pained smile. ‘Get me on that damned horse before I die laughin’.’
Savage got him onto his horse and moved off to lift and tie the body of Bobby Vandal across the saddle of the third horse. Before they started out, he looked the horses over and, not satisfied, he went back and secured Malavai to the saddle so he wouldn’t fall.
‘Why don’t you just tie me across the saddle and be done with it?’ Malavai moaned.
‘Are you ready?’ Savage asked, ignoring the inference.
Malavai nodded.
‘OK then, let’s go.’
Twelve
Savage kept them riding through the night and most of the next morning, afraid that lifting Malavai in and out of the saddle would do more bad than good. Not that all the riding would help his condition anyway.
They rode into Dead Man’s Gulch an hour before noon, people staring at the small party as it made its way along the street. Savage eased the horses up to the hitch rail in front of the jail and climbed down.
‘You,’ he called to a fair-haired man.
‘Me?’ the startled man asked, eyebrows raised.
‘Yeah, you. Is there a doctor handy in town?’ Savage asked.
‘Ah, yeah.’
‘Good, go get him.’ Savage watched the man hurry away then singled out another two. ‘You, go find someone who can bury this damned body.’
‘Is that …?’ the wide-eyed man with black hair asked.
‘Yeah, go.’
‘Holy smokes,’ he breathed and took off.
Savage then turned to the third man. He was solidly built and looked capable. ‘Give me a hand to get my friend here inside.
The man screwed up his face. ‘He’s one of them. Get him down yourself.’
Savage gave him a cold stare. ‘Seriously? I tell you what, if you don’t help me get him inside, he won’t be the only one needin’ to see a doctor. Now get your damned ass over here.’
‘Untie me, Savage,’ Malavai grated. ‘I’ll damn well walk.’
‘Shut up,’ Savage snapped. ‘You couldn’t stand, let alone walk.’
The man still hadn’t moved. ‘Get your ass over here. Last chance.’
Grudgingly, the man walked over to the horses and helped Savage get Malavai down. They got him inside and as they crossed the room to the cell, Malavai said, ‘Looks like you’ve had some trouble here already.’
‘Disagreement with the local bully,’ Savage told him.
‘Craig Vandal wields a lot of power around here,’ the man who was helping said.
‘Yeah, well all that’s about to come to an end,’ Savage stated angrily. ‘He’ll toe the line or he’ll be buried alongside his son.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ the man asked.
‘Are you scared of him?’ Savage asked.
‘Not a man in his right mind around here who ain’t,’ the man said.
‘And that is what you will have to deal with in this town,’ the doctor said, as he passed through the doorway. ‘Who’s the patient?’
Savage indicated to the bunk. ‘Malavai.’
The doctor walked past and began to check out the wounded man.
‘I see you got your man,’ another newcomer said, as he entered.
Judge Perry McArdle looked happy as he stopped in front of Savage. ‘Have much trouble?’
Apaches, outlaws, killers, hired guns. Savage shook his head. ‘Not a lot. Some.’
McArdle nodded. ‘You should know that Craig Vandal hired a killer to go after you. A man named Rawhide Allen. Ever heard of him?’
Pausing for a moment while he flicked through the deepest recesses of his mind, Savage tried to recall the name. ‘Can’t say as I have.’
‘He’s a brutal man,’ McArdle explained. ‘It is said he kills
for the pure enjoyment of it. When he’s not hired to kill a man or woman for that fact, he kills because he wants to.’
‘I guess it goes to show then, don’t it?’ Savage observed.
‘What does?’ McArdle asked.
‘That things get worse before they get better.’
Then, as if on cue, a howl of anguish sounded out front of the jail.
‘Sounds like we’re about to find out,’ McArdle said.
When the door to his office opened, Craig Vandal looked up from the reports in front of him and noticed the worried expression on the lined face of the man who’d entered. He closed the door behind himself and walked over to the desk.
‘What is the problem now, Ellis?’ Vandal’s voice was tired. He held up a hand. ‘No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Just go, I’ll deal with it tomorrow.’
Ellis didn’t move. Vandal looked up at him and anger flared in his eyes as he quickly lost patience. ‘Damn it. I said I’d deal with it tomorrow.’
‘I heard you,’ Ellis told him.
‘Well then, get out.’
‘There’s somethin’ you need to know,’ Ellis said, gravely. ‘Savage just rode back into town.’
A cloud of rage darkened Vandal’s face. ‘That bastard just won’t go away and die. Get some of the men together. I’ll deal with it myself.’
Again, Ellis didn’t move.
Vandal gave the man a withering stare but he remained still, having gotten used to his boss’ moods over the past couple of years.
‘He wasn’t alone. He had a wounded Negro with him and a body draped over another horse.’
Vandal froze as an icy chill ran through him. ‘Was it Allen?’
‘No. It’s Bobby.’
‘Is he …?’ not wanting to know the answer, Vandal let his voice trail away.
‘Dead? Yeah. I’m sorry Mr. Vandal. He is.’
Craig Vandal slumped back in his chair. His face paled and he felt as though he’d taken a hammer blow to his guts.