by Shorty Gunn
‘Drop that gun belt. I won’t tell you again.’
Virgil swallowed hard, biting his lip. He took in a deep breath trying to unlock his frozen body, finally getting out a few words.
‘I . . . ain’t going back . . . nowhere.’ He amazed himself at his own refusal.
‘You’re going back either in handcuffs, or roped over your horse like a sack of wheat. The choice is yours. Make up your mind and do it right now.’
Virgil’s hand just touched the cold leather of the holster on his side. All he had to do was take that one chance he could pull it fast enough to fire. He stood at the edge of eternity. Which way to go? He stabbed at the six gun, never clearing the holster before the roar of Dickson’s shotgun made the choice for him. It would be eternity.
Chapter Seven
Ike jumped straight up out of his blanket, wild-eyed at the sudden report of a distant shotgun. Emmett shucked his blankets seconds later, getting to his feet too.
‘Virgil didn’t take no shotgun with him.’ Ike eyed his brother. ‘Let’s start packin’ up this gear right now. If he don’t show back here in ten minutes, we’re leavin’ without him!’
‘Wait, Ike. We can’t just ride off without knowing if Virgil’s alive or not. We’ve got to go back and find him. Maybe he needs help?’
‘You wanna ride back, go ahead. But don’t look for me. I’m makin’ tracks out of here now.’
‘Hold on a minute. Maybe he got a shot at some game? We need something to eat, that’s for sure. It don’t have to be any trouble.’
‘Emmett, use your head. That was no rifle shot. It was a shotgun. Virgil wasn’t packin’ any shotgun. Now stop yer jawin’ and help me pick up our gear. We gotta get out of here. I don’t know if it was Dickson or someone else, but I ain’t stayin’ to find out!’
Dickson didn’t get the answer he wanted about where Virgil’s brothers were, but he knew they couldn’t be very far. He had to move fast because it was just as likely they’d heard his shot. He quickly roped up Virgil’s body with his own lariat, grunting to lift the dead weight on to his horse, tying it over the saddle. Mounting up he pulled the horse behind, following tracks in the direction from which Virgil had come. It wasn’t the first time Ben Dickson had hauled his victims roped over their saddles behind him. He took some kind of morbid pride as a man-killer bringing in bodies for all to see, wonder and gawk at. It cemented his reputation with powerful men of money who heard of his unbelievable exploits and were willing to pay and pay big for his brand of six-gun justice, having their ‘problems’ removed too, while keeping their hands and reputation clean of bloody murder charges.
The moment Dickson reached the stony amphitheatre, he instantly reined to a halt. One quick look was all he needed to realize this was a perfect place for an ambush. Reining his horse back into the cover of canyon walls, he dismounted, pulling his shotgun out of its scabbard, before starting carefully around the semi-circle behind tall boulders. At the far end of the semi-circle he eased through a narrow gap, shotgun held belt-buckle high with both hammers pulled back. Fresh boot tracks led to the abandoned cave campsite. Virgil’s blanket lay in one spot, a few extra cartridges atop it. Ashes in the shallow fire pit were still smoking. The brothers had fled even before the chance to warm up around a morning fire. Yards behind the shallow cave he found where the horses had been tethered. Their tracks led away due east farther into the land of crumbling cliffs and eroded buttes. Dickson straightened up, lowering the shotgun. He’d only missed the pair by minutes, but he consoled himself that at least he’d already killed two of the Goss brothers. That only left two more to finish the job. Back at the horses, he tied Virgil’s blanket over his body before saddling up, picking up Ike and Emmett’s tracks at the far end of the stone circle. They would be even more dangerous now knowing he was so close behind. They were more likely to make mistakes trying to either outrun him or lure him into another ambush. If those failed they might even stop running and wait to face him for a showdown with the odds still on their side. He’d been lucky to catch Virgil like he did. He couldn’t expect that kind of luck to happen twice. Especially not with two men instead of one.
Far ahead in the puzzle of endless canyons, Ike was in the lead whipping his horse down one twisting trail after another, not knowing where any of them led. Emmett clung to his saddle spurring his horse right behind him, yelling at him to slow down, to no avail. Their frantic running left a trail easy to follow even on hard ground. Dickson followed it all that day until late afternoon when a milky sun began its downward arc toward evening.
Ike, on another wild ride, suddenly found himself riding full out around a corner into a dead-end box canyon. Rearing back on the reins he hauled his horse to a skidding stop, but not before Emmett rode in right behind him at full gallop, trying to stop. His horse slipped on the pebbly trail, its hind leg falling into a narrow crevice. The pistol crack of breaking bones reverberated off canyon walls as the horse went down, Emmett thrown completely over its head smashing face-first on to the ground. The injured horse screamed in pain, struggling to right itself only to fall back again. Emmett staggered to unsteady feet, cut and bleeding from the sudden impact, trying to clear his head. Ike was off his horse wildly waving his hands, already confronting him.
‘Now you went and done it. You’re afoot, you damn fool!’
‘You stopped so fast I couldn’t help it. If you hadn’t been riding like a wild man—’
‘I’m ridin’ to keep us from ending up like Virgil likely did. Are you so stupid you can’t figure that out?’
‘Well . . . we’ll have to ride double now. I can figure that out.’
‘Ridin’ double only means Dickson can catch up to us faster. I ought to let you walk out of here and see how far you git!’
Emmett stood staring back at his brother, wondering if he was crazy enough to really leave him. ‘You said we have to stick together, didn’t you? We better do that now and get out of here and stop yelling about it.’
Ike’s face turned red with rage. He started to cuss Emmett out again, suddenly pulling his gun. Emmett threw up both hands over his face until the pistol shot into his horse’s head ended the animal’s pitiful squealing.
‘Git your stuff off that horse and climb on in back. Then shut up. I don’t want to hear any more of your advice!’
Dickson pulled his horse to a stop, listening intently. He thought he’d heard the distant ‘thud’ of a pistol shot. He sat stock still, but only silence met his ears. It had to come from the brothers someplace ahead – but why? They knew he was trailing them. It didn’t make any sense unless something unforeseen had happened. Surely there was no one else in this miserable land. He urged his horse forward, following easy tracks etched in gravelly ground.
Ike kept his horse moving steadily throughout that day but the worry furrowing his whiskered face only grew worse. He knew what riding double meant. Everything seemed to be turning against him. Virgil was dead and likely Elwood too. Now Emmett’s horse was done in. His own horse wasn’t going to last long carrying double either. His mind spun with the odds against them. Sooner or later Dickson would catch up to them – probably sooner. He had to do something drastic, something unexpected, and do it quick. For the first time in his chaotic life, Ike Goss felt real fear of another man who wasn’t his maniacal father. He began wondering if Virgil wasn’t right after all when he’d said Ben Dickson was a devil in man’s clothing. Maybe he was.
That evening after they’d stopped for the day in a small side canyon, Ike sat up late wrapped in a blanket to protect him against dropping temperatures in their fireless campsite. Emmett lay rolled up in his blanket, mumbling and twitching through troubled sleep full of reccurring nightmares. Ike stared down at him, wondering just how much he could depend on his brother when it came down to a face to face gunfight with Dickson. He wasn’t sure anymore, adding to his other worries. Slowly, desperately, he began to form a wild plan that might save them both. The more he thought it over, the
more convinced he became it was their best chance to rid themselves of the relentless lawman. He rocked back and forth, eyes closed, visualizing exactly how it could work.
Instead of continuing to run he’d let Dickson catch up to them on purpose. This time he’d ride into an ambush he couldn’t slip out of. Emmett would be the bait, whether he liked it or not. Dickson would find Emmett’s horse and know they had to ride double. He’d catch up to them twice as fast because of it. When he did Ike would put his brother afoot, out in the open, when they found the perfect spot for the ambush. When Dickson came on fast to take Emmett down, he’d rise from cover close by and finish him off with his rifle. It was the perfect plan. It had to work. It was their last chance to escape.
Emmett shivered awake at dawn, peering out from under his blanket to find Ike sitting up, eyes closed but not asleep.
‘Ike . . . you awake?’
Ike slowly opened bloodshot eyes. ‘Yeah, I’m awake. Have been most of the night.’
‘We better saddle up and get going? Dickson sure will and we need to make tracks.’
‘No, that’s what I’ve been thinkin’ about all night. We ain’t gonna run no more.’
Emmett quickly sat up, blinking in confusion. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I mean we’re done tryin’ to outrun him ridin’ double. We’re gonna let him think he’s got us. We’re gonna let him catch up to us. Then when he closes in, I’ll kill him.’
Emmett threw off the blanket. ‘We already tried that back in Fool’s Gold. It didn’t work, remember? Why even think about trying it again? That makes no sense, Ike.’
‘This time it’s gonna be different. You’re the bait that brings him in real close. When you do, I’ll drop the hammer on ’em.’
‘What do you mean, I’m the bait?’
‘Shut up and listen to me. I’ll explain it to you real slow so you can’t mess up.’
Ike went over his risky plan while Emmett’s eyes grew wider with each sentence. When he finished Emmett was already on his feet, vigorously shaking his head.
‘I’m not going to go and get myself killed like that. It’s a crazy idea and you’re crazy for even thinking it up.’
‘You’re gonna do it all right or I’ll saddle up right now and leave you afoot. Dickson will run you down even faster. Take your pick, Emmett!’
‘That isn’t any kind of choice, for God’s sake.’
‘Yeah it is. You and me are ridin’ out of here just far enough to find a place on open ground where I can finish him off. When we do, we’ll wait for him to show up.’
Emmett’s heart pounded in his chest with fear of what could happen to him. Ike’s insane plan made no sense, but he wouldn’t listen. He started to protest again but Ike had already turned away, heading for his horse to mount up.
Later that same day Dickson followed horse tracks into the narrow side canyon, its steep walls closing in on him the further he went. He pulled the shotgun from its scabbard resting the stock on his leg, barrels up, one hand gripping the fore stock. At short range the scattergun cut a wider swath of death than his pistol. Near the end he rounded a tight right turn to see black-winged vultures suddenly scramble into the air with a flurry of wings, and the reason why; Emmett’s dead horse. Reining to a stop he eased out of the saddle. Closely hugging one wall, eyes scanning stony heights above for any sign of ambush, he stepped closer to the dead animal. The birds had just begun opening it up with their razor-sharp beaks. The scattering of discarded clothes plus a cloth-wrapped package of hard tack made it clear the brothers left in a hurry and had to be riding double. He leaned closer, studying the animal. It was still fresh. That meant it could not be more than a day old or possibly even killed earlier that morning. A small smile lit his unshaven face. He was certain now he’d catch up to Ike and Emmett possibly later today or early tomorrow. The long ride over one hundred miles and weeks of trailing would finally be over. He mounted up pulling Virgil’s horse behind him with his roped body blanket-wrapped, stiff as a board, the odour of death growing stronger each day. It didn’t bother Ben Dickson. He was used to the smell of death. He’d made a good living off of it. He was just as certain when he caught up to Ike and Emmett, he’d be pulling three horses behind with their load of dead men too.
To the west far over the mountains, the afternoon sun was fading over Peralta country. Vernal Goss sat in his chair on the porch staring out at timber-clad mountains surrounding his broken down ranch house. His tired face lined with deep creases only made him look even older than he was. He lifted a bony hand to his face, stroking a scraggly beard as his thoughts turned to his boys once again. If only he could stand and saddle a horse, he’d be with them right now, and Ben Dickson would be a dead man. He’d seen he needed killing the first time he’d ridden out to his ranch demanding answers, acting high and mighty. He might wear a tin star, but that meant nothing to Goss. He hated to admit it to himself but wondered if his boys had the grit to do it as easily as he would. He told them when they left it would take time for things to cool down. Even though it had only been just over a month, he was anxious to hear something from at least one of them.
Hattie pushed through a squeaky screen door stepping out on to the porch, coming up behind her husband. She hesitated a moment before resting her hands on Vernal’s stooped shoulders, in a rare show of emotion. Even the misery and daily demands he made on her could not hide that deep down she knew he was as worried about the boys as she was. Vernal felt her tiny hands but did not react until she leaned closer, whispering in his ear.
‘I’ve been thinking about the boys. I know they haven’t been gone all that long, but I still can’t help it. Do you think they’re all right, Vernal?’
Goss tried to straighten up, taking in a gravelly breath. ‘If they did what I told ’em to and stayed together, they’ll be all right. If they get scatterbrained, then I don’t know. Dickson’s no ghost. He’s a man like any other man. He bleeds when someone gets a bullet in him. He dies just like anyone else. All they gotta do is get that bullet in him. I shoulda done it myself when he rode out here that first time. If I ever get another chance, I won’t make that mistake twice. I’ll give him both barrels right quick!’
In the mine office in Peralta, Rolo Mackenzie pushed back his chair from the desk, closing his eyes as he massaged the back of his neck, letting out a long sigh of relief. The endless paperwork, columns of numbers on the mine operation and map study, had worn him out. His partner, Edward Chambers, turned in his swivel chair, studying Rolo a moment.
‘Let’s take a break. We both could use one.’ He got to his feet heading for a small wood stove in the middle of the room, stuffing in fresh wood. ‘Winter must be just around the corner. It’s getting cold even in the afternoon now.’
Rolo got to his feet, walking to the window facing the street. People passed by up and down the boardwalk as a large wagon pulled by a team of horses loaded with supplies for the dry goods store rattled by. A pair of horsemen passed in the opposite direction. It all seemed so normal, just another day in the growing town of Peralta. But Rolo knew it was not. Ben Dickson had left well over a month ago after the Goss brothers, and no one had heard a single word about him since. That thought never left Rolo’s mind. He’d mentioned it to Edward more than once. This time his partner stood watching him, reading his mind.
‘Still thinking about Dickson?’
He turned from the window, looking back at Chambers. ‘Yeah, I guess I am. I try not to but I can’t help it. One man against four? What kind of odds is that for any man to go up against and come out on top?’
‘Dickson is not just any man. We both knew his reputation when we hired him. This is his specialty.’
‘I’ve been thinking what if the brothers kill him instead? They might come back here and take it out on us. Did you ever think of that? They’re just as crazy as their father, you know.’
Chambers didn’t answer immediately, thinking the question over. When he did he startled R
olo. ‘Well, if you’re that worried about it happening, we might want to start carrying pistols ourselves.’
‘I’m no gunman, Edward. I’d just as likely shoot myself in the foot.’
‘Then let’s wait until Dickson gets back, if he gets back, and stop worrying about it. For now I say let’s close up the office early and take a break. We’ve got another load of ore heading down for Marysville, and I want to talk to the driver before he pulls out.’
Rolo looked at his partner, nodding in agreement, but he couldn’t get the fate of Ben Dickson off his mind.
Chapter Eight
The sun rose the following morning, quickly losing itself behind the grey clouds scuttling by, carrying the scent of autumn in the air. The Goss brothers spent most of that morning looking back over their shoulders when Ike wasn’t searching for a spot to set up his plan to ambush Dickson. Twisted canyons ran in every direction until near noon when they rode into the first piece of open ground they’d found. Ike immediately reined to a halt eyeing the area carefully. He pulled the horse in a slow circle studying every foot of it. It looked like a dry pan that held shallow water once winter rains came. Flat and open, it was bordered by large boulders where rocky buttes came down to meet it. The pan itself was shaped in an oval nearly one hundred yards at its longest point.
‘This is it,’ Ike exclaimed with a sinister smile. ‘I could shoot the buttons off Dickson’s shirt, this close. All you’ll have to do is climb up top and keep your eyes open. When you see him ride in git your tail back down here out right out in the middle of this flat. He’ll think he’s caught you cold on foot. That’s when I’ll kill ’em.’
‘Can’t I at least be in the saddle? He might try to shoot me on sight!’
‘No, he won’t. He’ll be lookin’ for me. While you make up a story, he’ll be dead before you finish. We’re gonna turn around and ride right out this country soon as I kill ’em. What’s left of Dickson, the buzzards can pick clean.’