Showdown in Badlands

by Shorty Gunn

  ‘We’ll give ’em a break when I say so!’ he yelled back over his shoulder, already irritated that Emmett had asked him the same question every half hour. Emmett bit his lip, torn between keeping up or stopping to help his brother. The four of them had always done everything together and stood up for each other no matter how bad things got. Now Ike and Virgil didn’t care if Elwood died on the trail or got captured by anyone following them. He couldn’t understand why everything had changed so suddenly.

  ‘If you was wounded I’d stop to help you out!’ he shouted back in frustration.

  ‘Well I ain’t wounded and I still ain’t stoppin’, so don’t ask me again. You wanna turn back, go ahead. But if a posse or Dickson catches up to you don’t go cryin’ you got left behind. You did it to your own self, not me or Virgil. One more day and we’ll be in Fool’s Gold. You can wait for him there, not out here!’

  The tall man rode steadily throughout that day until late afternoon, when the sun began sliding down toward arrow-topped pines. He reined his horse off the trail into a thick stand of white-barked quaking aspen. The cool afternoon wind fluttered their golden leaves, blinking bright with colour. After unsaddling his horse he unloaded the canvas manti on the packer, hobbling both animals to feed on nearby greenery at the edge of the trees. He knew the Goss brothers had nearly a full day’s head start on him. But he also knew that Elwood was wounded. He wasn’t at the Goss ranch, so he had to be riding with his brothers. How long he could do that before it got so unbearable he’d have to stop had to be a plus on Dickson’s side. That could slow or maybe even erase any lead the brothers had on him.

  Dickson spread out his warm eiderdown bedroll before retrieving hard tack and venison jerky from one of his saddle-bags for dinner. There would be no fire tonight or on any other night, as long as he trailed the brothers. He learned long ago even a small fire could be seen from miles away. He’d take no chance that might happen. It was an iron clad rule he never violated while hunting down anyone.

  Nighttime spread its icy cloak over Elwood too, but a far crueler one. What little strength he had left was fading fast. Every step his horse took and every breath he drew was a dagger pain stabbing deep in his stomach. His brothers had abandoned him and he was too weak to turn around and try to ride back home. He pulled his horse to a stop, slowly sliding out of the saddle and sinking to the ground, crawling up against a tree for support. Frantic and delirious, he told himself to try and meet death like a man. Feebly pulling his pistol he brought the gun up into his lap, covering it with both hands. If someone did show up, at least he’d have the chance to take him out with him. His paw would be proud to hear he’d done that. As temperatures sank further he began shivering uncontrollably. He needed a fire badly and even though he had matches, he was too weak to gather any wood. All Elwood Goss could do was curl up in a ball and whimper like a child.

  Dickson was up very early, as was his usual habit when trailing men. He’d perfected his craft over many years facing down those that didn’t want to be found. Some of those men killed from ambush and bragged about it later, drinking too much tongue oil. Others did it stone-cold sober to intimidate those around them, lesser men who liked rubbing shoulders with danger, without ever facing it themselves with a pistol in their hands. Dickson could size up what kind of men he faced in the first three seconds of a showdown. The quiet ones without bravado or bluster, who instantly squared off against him, were the most dangerous. They meant to match their speed and killing-gun handling to come out on top. The talkers who threatened and made wild gestures were just plain scared and easily taken. A pistol smash over the head was all that was needed to subdue them. He’d only had half a minute of wild gunfire facing the Goss brothers that night in front of the Palace, and their inept attempt to ambush him. They might be far different men face to face and with the gun odds on their side. He thought about all this saddling up his horse while roping supplies back on the packer. Climbing into a squeaky saddle, he reined the horses back out on the trail. Hattie had said she thought Fool’s Gold was about two days’ ride away. If she was right, he might reach it with only one night on the trail. That could be a big ‘if’, with the brothers someplace between him and town.

  The narrow trail that morning levelled out from all the climbing the previous day. Several little springs Dickson crossed were all frozen icy white. Even scattered trees bent at odd angles began to show the limit of timber and heavy snows of winter that had shaped them. The riding was easier now but not so easy that Dickson let himself relax into a false sense of security. The morning passed uneventfully under a weak sun reaching its zenith behind a thin layer of high herringbone clouds, before Dickson pulled to a sudden stop, getting down. Peering closer, he found a blotch of dried blood. Leading his horse a few yards ahead, he found another, then another. It had to be Elwood, and if he was bleeding out that bad he couldn’t be that far ahead. Mounting again, he slid the shotgun from its scabbard. He didn’t want any sudden surprises without a fast double barrel reply.

  Dickson decided the smartest thing to do now was not to ride into an ambush staying on the trail. Instead, he reined his horse off, parallelling it, picking his way through scattered timber, but where he could still see the path off to his right. If Goss was still alive he’d be waiting for anyone following him trying to get in the first shot. Each copse of trees ahead and every turn where Elwood could be hiding, Dickson avoided by getting down, leaving his horse while he moved ahead on foot, studying every shadow and clump of cover. As he cleared each one, he whistled his horse to join him.

  He followed this careful procedure into mid-afternoon when he came to another cluster of trees on a bend in the trail. Dismounting, Dickson eased forward quietly, eyes searching for any shape or form out of place, stepping inside the piney tangle. He stopped, listening for any sound that shouldn’t be there. Nothing stirred. Moving ahead one slow step, he suddenly saw Elwood’s horse beyond the trees, standing unattended, head down nibbling short grass. Elwood had to be right here, someplace very close. A tingle of anticipation made the hair on the back of his neck stand out as it always did when gunplay was only seconds away. Very quietly he cocked the hammers back on both barrels of the shotgun, taking another few steps before seeing a pair of boots sticking out behind a large pine tree just ahead. If Elwood was right handed as most men were, Dickson knew it would take him a half second longer to roll up from a sitting position to lift a pistol and shoot to his right. Dickson eased up to the big tree, lowering the scattergun, stepping halfway around to see Elwood propped up against the trunk, eyes closed, half conscious. Suddenly he opened them in terror, being caught by surprise. The shotgun roared before Elwood lifted the pistol off his lap, rolling him on the ground, screaming in pain, doubling up. Dickson stepped closer, kicking the wheel gun away.

  ‘Where are your brothers?’ he demanded, leaning down, rolling Elwood over. ‘Are they in Fool’s Gold? Answer me while you can. You’re done for. You may as well do one decent thing before you’re gone!’

  Elwood’s mouth moved but no words came out, only the desperate gasps of a man at the door of eternity. He had just enough strength left to reach up, pulling Dickson down nearly face to face. ‘Tell . . . momma . . . I’ll meet her at the . . . golden gates of glory . . . while you’re . . . in hell.’

  Elwood’s hand dropped to his side and his eyes faded to a cold, lifeless stare. Dickson straightened up to his feet, looking down on the bloody mess of a man. Maybe, he thought, Elwood’s dying words might be true. Maybe he would end up in hell for all the men he’d killed and the misery he’d inflicted on their families. One thing Dickson was certain of, when he drew his last breath he wouldn’t be calling out for a mother he hardly knew. She was someone who had a reputation for being more a ‘woman of town’ than she ever was his mother. He knew even less about his father. He could have been a gunfighter, lawman, or farmer who broke his back all his life over dirt clods and crops. At this point in his life it mattered little. He knew what
he was and what he did for a living.

  Dickson went through Elwood’s jacket and pants pockets, retrieving an old beat-up pocket watch, a few dollars in coins and a blood-splattered picture of Vernal and Hattie. He studied the few items in his hands. Was this all a man’s life came down to in the end? He could put it in one pocket. He’d done a lot of killing and never thought much about the men he’d killed or why. He was paid and paid well to do it. Motive didn’t really matter. The men who went down in front of his guns would have done the same thing to him if they’d been just a hair faster. Why, he wondered, was he even asking these questions after all these years, and over a poor wretch of a man who didn’t stand a chance against him or much of anyone else either? Elwood Goss was no gunfighter. He was propped up by his father’s rage and his brothers’ presence. Alone he was a pathetic figure. Any two-bit saloon braggart could have taken him down. As far as Ike, Virgil and Emmett went, that was a different concern. Dickson’s sixth sense warned him they would pull a trigger as quick as look at him. He’d have to deal with them in a much different way.

  He took the time to cut pine boughs, placing them over Elwood’s body. If someone wanted to find him and take him home, his small effort might keep the wolves and bears off him for a little while. The next stop was Fool’s Gold. Maybe he’d find the remaining brothers there. He knew that would be a showdown far different from this one.

  Ike, Virgil and Emmett rode out of timber, pulling to a halt looking down on the small but lively town of Fool’s Gold. Emmett couldn’t stop worrying about Elwood. How far back was he by now, and how long would it take for him to catch up? If he did, maybe he could find a horse doctor to help him out. He took the chance to question Ike again.

  ‘What are we going to do now, Ike? Can we rest the horses here a while and maybe see if Elwood can catch up?’

  The pained expression on Ike’s face as he turned back to him was answer enough.

  ‘Paw says we keep on going past here and down the mountains on the other side to wherever the badlands are. That’s what I mean to do. If you want to spend your time sittin’ here waiting for him, you’re on your own. Just remember there might be a whole lot more than Elwood coming. Maybe Dickson or a posse could be dogging our trail. You wanna wait for that, go ’head. We’re gonna need all the guns we can get if either one catches up to us. That includes you, too. We have to stick together to save our own hides. The sooner you understand that the longer you’ll live – and me and your brother too!’

  The sun was disappearing behind tall pines when the brothers rode down the single street of Fool’s Gold. Even though the small, busy town was filled with rough and dirty looking men from all the mining activity, the Goss boys stood out because of their sullen faces, trail-worn horses and array of weapons they carried. Pistols stuck out of pants tops, all three had rifles cross slung on their backs and Ike had his shotgun slung in a scabbard on the side of his horse. It only took one glance to know these men were not prospectors or miners.

  ‘We gonna try and stay overnight?’ Emmett turned to Ike.

  ‘I hate to slow down. We’ve done good so far, but these horses need a rest. Maybe we can take a little time to throw a blanket in timber at the far end of town out of sight. I ain’t gonna pay for no hotel or cot house even if they have one here. We have ta be where we can see the main street and move fast if trouble shows up. Let’s get on up there.’

  Reaching a thick stand of pines, the three men got down. Ike insisted they leave the horses saddled in case of a fast exit. He had another order. ‘One of us has to stay up and keep watch on town. Emmett, you’re always worryin’ about Elwood, so you take first watch, and don’t go to sleep. You can wake Virgil up at midnight and he can take it until dawn.’

  ‘What about you, Ike?’ Virgil responded. ‘Why ain’t you takin’ a watch?’

  ‘Because I have ta think for you two and need some rest to keep our necks out of a noose. Spread them blankets out and let’s get to it, and don’t neither one of you go makin’ no fire neither.’

  Emmett pulled a blanket up over his shoulders, wrapping it around him, leaning back on a tree trunk. He glanced at his brothers laying with their rifles and pistols next to them in quick reach as they pulled thin blankets over themselves and hats down over their faces. He let out a long breath before turning his focus on the street a hundred yards away. Night was coming fast. As shadows ate up daylight, the windows of four saloons on the street lit with the glow of lamplight. Dark figures of evening drinkers and gamblers crossed the street hoping to change their luck. Emmett could hear occasional bursts of boisterous laughter from whiskey houses. His thoughts naturally turned to home, wondering what his mother and father were doing. He wished he could be there instead of out on the trail running for his life from something none of them was sure of. Ike’s loud snoring broke his concentration. He looked over at his brothers. Virgil lay curled up in a ball, face hidden under a tattered hat. Ike’s whiskered face was barely visible. Emmett thought his older brother must have ice water in his veins the way he let Elwood live or die, leaving him behind. Ike was a lot more like their father; cold, calculating, unforgiving. He pulled the blanket up higher around his neck as cold began creeping in. Maybe the shivering would help him stay awake until midnight.

  Ben Dickson rode steadily into that night without stopping to rest. He’d done this so many times before it was pure habit, closing in on men while they foolishly slept. Fool’s Gold couldn’t be more than another half day ahead. Maybe he’d find the Goss brothers there and finish off the chase in a quick showdown. The sooner he did, the faster he could get back to town, collect his fee, and pack up for home. These three were just a trio of back-alley back shooters looking for easy pickings. Facing his short-barrelled shotgun, they just might throw up their hands and give up without firing a shot. Or maybe not.

  Hours later, Emmett pulled his pocket watch up close against his face trying to read the time. It looked like straight up twelve o’clock, but he couldn’t be sure. Turning away from his sleeping brothers he struck a match, shielding its sudden flame. He was relieved to see it was time for his brother to take over and stand his watch.

  ‘Virgil, wake up.’ He shook him firmly. ‘It’s your turn.’

  Virgil groaned sleepily, refusing to move.

  ‘Come on. You’ve got to take your turn. I’ve done mine like Ike said.’

  Virgil still refused to move. Emmett yanked the cover completely off him, repeating the demand. Virgil suddenly rolled up on his knees, wildly swinging fists pummeling Emmett, driving him on to his back while he was on top, continuing to throw punches. Ike sat up to the sudden commotion, trying to clear his head. Getting to his feet he grabbed both men by their long hair, slamming their heads together before yanking them apart.

  ‘What in hell are you two idiots doing! You want everyone in town to know we’re out here? Virgil, you take your turn and I better not catch you fallin’ back asleep, or I’ll bust your head open. Emmett, you shut up and lay down. If I hear either one of you again before dawn, someone is gonna be bleedin’. Now shut up and be quiet!’

  Emmett rolled up in his blanket wiping a bloody nose, while Virgil tried rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before sitting up against the tree for support. He focused on the street. The longer he stared, the more blurred his vision became. Half an hour later heavy eyelids closed and his head began to drop. He caught himself struggling to fight off the overpowering urge to sleep, rubbing his face with both hands. The easy tempo of Ike’s renewed snoring only made the fight to stay awake even worse. Ten minutes later Virgil’s head slowly dropped again. This time he did not wake up.

  Dickson rode steadily until the first meagre slash of dawn painted the eastern sky, silhouetting tall pines above Fool’s Gold. Reining to a halt he looked down on the sleepy little town. Only the fading glow of lamplight through windows could be seen. Store fronts were shuttered black. No figures moved on dirt sidewalks. No sound of voices drifted up from below. Dickson
urged horse and packer down the narrow trail leading into town. His senses were suddenly heightened; he might find the brothers right here and finish off the whole chase without going further or wasting more valuable time. The Goss brothers had already given him enough trouble. He was anxious to end it.

  Chapter Six

  Emerging from timber at the edge of town, the tall man pulled to a stop carefully studying the row of buildings and empty street. A single horse stood head down, tied in front of one all-night bar. If the brothers were here someplace it wasn’t on this street. He urged horse and packer ahead until pulling to a stop in front of the bar. Before getting down he pulled the shotgun out of its scabbard, just to be sure there weren’t any surprises waiting inside. The weight and heft of the big double barrel was always the best kind of life insurance. Edging to the door he looked inside. The only customer leaning at the bar was an old man talking to the counter man. Dickson stepped inside, quickly surveying the room and empty tables. The pair turned to his sudden footsteps.

  ‘Mister, you don’t need any shotgun to come in here,’ the bartender exclaimed.

  Dickson gave the room another long look before walking up to the bar. ‘Either of you see three men come riding into town yesterday?’

  ‘I don’t pay much attention to who comes and goes. How about you, Harley?’

  Harley Graves weaved slightly trying to maintain his balance, eyeing the tall man and his dark-barrelled shotgun up and down. For the moment, he did not answer.

  ‘You have a hotel here in town?’ Dickson asked.