Showdown in Badlands

by Shorty Gunn

  While Emmett laboriously climbed the gravelly butte high enough to see back down the narrow trail leading in, Ike got comfortable behind boulders, resting his rifle over a higher one. To make the set-up even better, he took off his heavy jacket, folding it, resting the rifle over it for padding. When he snuggled in behind the rifle looking through the buckhorn sights, it was steady as a rock. His plan to actually let Dickson catch up to them when he thought he was still trying to run them down was pure genius. He knew Vernal, back home, would be proud of his scheming exactly like he’d done all his life. He turned from his rocky seat, looking up for Emmett.

  ‘Hey, git yourself behind something taller. You’re out in the open too much!’

  Emmett moved a few feet until partly hidden. ‘That’s better. You stay right there and keep your eyes open. No tellin’ when he might show up.’

  Emmett crouched down at an uncomfortable angle, afraid to move as Ike might start yelling again. He could see the flat running away to the trail leading in, until it was lost farther back on a turn. He wondered how long he’d have to stay up here before scrambling back down out into the flat without being seen. Ike’s wild plan to use him as bait still scared him stiff. What if something went wrong? What if Dickson opened fire the moment he saw him? What if Dickson never showed up at all? He and his brother could abandon the whole ambush idea and leave the badlands, riding for home.

  Home. The very thought of even having to put up with Vernal seemed a dream a million miles away. How he wished he could see his mother again, smell the cooking pot boiling away on the wood stove, hug her frail body close to him again. He wished he’d never taken part in the robbery and killing of John Standard. He was no real gunman, no cold-blooded killer. It was Vernal who insisted on the robbery. And look what it had gotten all of them. Virgil and Elwood were dead while he and Ike were fighting for their lives trying to outsmart a real man killer. It was his father’s fault for all this, not his or Ike’s.

  He stopped daydreaming, rubbing the fear out of his eyes. Straightening up he looked down on Ike sitting patiently, staring at the entrance to the flat. If anyone could kill Dickson, Ike could. He had the same kind of vicious attitude their father did. First born and oldest, Vernal had pounded his bitter psychology of life into him, beginning before he could even walk or speak one word. Those lessons took and took hard with Ike. His aggressive, swarthy attitude developed early and only grew worse as he grew older. And yet Ike was his best chance to kill Dickson and get them out of here for home. Emmett leaned back closing his eyes a moment, thinking all this over. It was so confusing. He needed rest and time to try making some sense of it.

  ‘You keepin’ your eyes open up there?’ Ike’s harsh bark broke his concentration.

  ‘Yeah, I am. I just took a little break.’

  ‘Don’t be takin’ no break. You stay sharp. We’ve gotta see Dickson before he does us. Then git yourself down here and do what I told ya!’

  Emmett waved back. He tried studying the trail again, squinting until his eyes grew gritty. An hour passed and a second even slower. Nothing stirred. No bird winged across sullen skies. Monotony turned to boredom. Boredom turned to the overpowering urge to close his eyes and rest, even for only a few moments. He tried fighting it off, vigorously rubbing his whiskered face with both hands. It didn’t work. Heavy eyelids grew heavier. Emmett closed his eyes, resting his head on both arms. He promised himself he’d only rest a few seconds. It felt so good, so relieving. His breathing began to slow as mind and body gave in and tension drained away. Ten seconds later he surrendered to the sleep he’d fought so hard to resist.

  Ike fidgeted in his seat at the miserably slow passage of time and inaction. He constantly twisted, looking up for his brother, wondering why he couldn’t see him. He couldn’t trust Emmett to do anything right without watching him like a hawk. Before getting to his feet he surveyed the trail leading into the pan one more time, just to be sure. Taking several steps away he tried getting a different angle on the rocky slope above. He still could not see his brother. His frustration built until he dared take the chance to call up. Cupping both hands around his whiskered mouth he tried calling in a horse, deep-throated whisper. ‘Emmett – Emmett, you up there?’ After waiting a few moments with no response he tried again, louder this time. ‘Emmett, damnit, answer me!’

  Up in his stony bed, Emmett opened his eyes realizing he’d fallen asleep. Ike’s gravelly voice spurred him into action, pulling himself up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He heard Ike call again, even more demanding.

  ‘I’m here.’ He struggled to his knees, waving down. ‘I was just . . . resting for a few minutes.’

  ‘Don’t you go resting nothin’. You stay sharp, you hear? We still got a couple more hours of daylight left. Dickson could show up any time!’

  Ike went back to his rocky seat, mumbling to himself while Emmett tried to clear his head, focusing again on the trail. As he settled down the same questions came back to haunt him again. What would happen if Dickson only showed up after dark? Would Ike even be able to see him to make a killing shot? Would he still have to go out in the middle of the flat and show himself like they’d planned earlier? Suddenly everything became more perplexing and muddled. He tried pushing disturbing thoughts aside, concentrating on the entrance trail.

  That remaining afternoon passed excruciatingly slow until light began to fade. Both brothers struggled to stay alert, but when Dickson didn’t show it became harder to stay on edge. Even Ike grew weary enough to get up, walking in small circles trying to keep himself ready. Above, in his rocky hide, Emmett vigorously rubbed his neck and massaged aching shoulders. He was tempted to abandon his perch and start down the gravelly slope. In another few minutes he’d have no choice. For the final time he squinted at the trail entrance. At first he wasn’t sure tired eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. He leaned closer as sundown shades of grey dimmed the land toward evening. The tiny figure of horse and rider seemed to fill the trail shadows. His heart jumped with alarm. He pulled himself up on both knees, concentrating harder. Now he could actually make out the outline of a man in the saddle dressed in dark clothes. It had to be Dickson, at last! Emmett rose to his feet. He wanted to shout down a warning to Ike, but stopped himself. Instead he began scrambling down the steep slope, stumbling and skidding as cascading rocks bounced noisily ahead of him until he reached the bottom. Ike was already on his feet cussing him out for making a racket, but Emmett’s breathless warning stopped him.

  ‘He’s coming – Dickson’s coming down the trail right now. I saw him for sure. He’ll be here any minute!’

  ‘I don’t see nothin’. Are you sure?’

  ‘I tell you I saw him from up there.’ He flung an arm over his shoulder. ‘Do I still have to go out in the flat? He might not even be able to see me by now.’

  ‘We got no choice. You gotta do it. Run out there and remember, try to keep him talking long enough for me to git a bullet in him. That’s all it’s gonna take. Now move!’

  The tall man rode down the walled trail, pulling Virgil’s horse and body behind him as evening shadows cloaked the badlands further. Ahead he could see open ground for the first time that day. He quickly became cautious. He knew the brothers couldn’t be far ahead. He’d made good time since finding Emmett’s dead horse. The closer he got to the open pan, the more he realized what a large area it was and perfect for an ambush. Reaching the entrance he reined to a stop at its edge. Suddenly he saw Emmett halfway across out in the open, running wildly for the far end. Impulsively, he dropped the halter rope, spurring his horse after him on a ground-eating gallop, pulling his six- gun. Emmett looked back over his shoulder. Horse and rider were catching up fast. He stopped running, turning back, throwing up his hands and screaming for mercy.

  ‘Don’t shoot – I’m done in!’ His eyes bulged with fear.

  Dickson was off his horse levelling his pistol, stepping closer. ‘Where’s your brother? Answer me right now or you’re a dead ma
n!’

  ‘He – he left me and rode out on his own. Said we couldn’t ride double any more. Honest, that’s the truth. I’m alone. You have to believe me!’

  In the rocky hide fifty yards away, Ike slid the rifle out over his coat pulling it solid against his shoulder, centering the buckhorn sights on Dickson’s tall image shrouded in evening gloom. His finger tightened on the trigger until the rifle exploded in sudden thunder, spinning Dickson to the ground with the white-hot whiplash of a bullet hit. Emmett jumped back, grabbing for his pistol, trying to finish Dickson off as he rolled on to his back firing two fast shots straight up, killing Emmett instantly. Ike saw his brother go down in a heap. Leaping from his hide he ran at Dickson, firing his rifle from the hip as fast as he could work the lever action. His wild shots tore into Emmett’s dead body as Dickson pulled himself up against Emmett for a shield. Halfway across open ground, Dickson raised up firing two more shots, sending Ike crashing to the ground, bullet hits in both his legs, the rifle flying from his hands. Slowly, painfully, Dickson forced himself to his feet, advancing on Ike one staggering step at a time until standing over him, aiming his six-gun straight down in his face.

  ‘Do it,’ Ike growled. ‘I ain’t afraid to die, you bastard!’

  ‘No, I won’t kill you here. That’s too easy. I’m taking you back to Peralta, so they can hang you in front of a Sunday crowd, watching you snap and kick while your face turns blue and your tongue sticks out. I’ve waited a long time to catch up to you. I can wait a little longer to see if you’re afraid to die or not.’

  Dickson reached down, yanking Ike’s pistol from its holster. His face contorted in pain, defiantly glaring up at him. ‘You think you’re gonna get me back to Peralta? I can’t even walk with my legs shot to pieces. And you’re bleedin’ out too. We ain’t goin’ anywhere, law dog. We’ll both likely die right here in the badlands, and I’ll watch you go first!’

  Dickson stepped back opening his heavy coat, slipping Ike’s pistol under his gun-belt. For the first time he looked down at his shirt, soaked red with blood. Carefully unbuttoning it he pulled it open, seeing a red gash across his chest where Ike’s bullet had cut through clothes and skin but not penetrated into muscle and bone. He pulled the back of his hand across his mouth wiping away the sweat of pain and shock. Another inch deeper and he’d have been a dead man. Looking down at Ike, he made a vow he meant to keep.

  ‘You’re going back to Peralta all right even if I have to rope you in your saddle instead of over it. I don’t care if your legs rot off before we get there either.’

  Ike’s eyes were filled with pure hate as he struggled to pull himself up on one elbow. He took in a faltering breath, staring up at Dickson. ‘We ain’t in Peralta yet. I say you’ll never git me there . . . alive. Wanna bet on it?’

  A tiny evening fire flickered in a surround of rocks as the lawman stripped to the waist, beginning to doctor himself. From his saddle-bags he’d retrieved a small kit of bandages and several flat tins containing different coloured powders. He gingerly patted the white powder across his chest, grimacing with pain at its fiery touch. Ike lay watching him propped up against a boulder, his hands cuffed behind his back. When Dickson finished he ripped his undershirt into narrow strips for makeshift bandages, wrapping them around his chest tying them off. Very carefully he slipped his shirt back on while looking over at Goss.

  ‘You better pull them pants down and try doctoring yourself with this.’ He tossed the white powder can to him. ‘I don’t want you to die of gangrene before I get you to town.’

  ‘Are your ears stuffed? I told you already I ain’t going back, and I ain’t using that stuff either. I wanna know what’s that roped on Virgil’s horse?’

  ‘It’s your brother. Elwood’s dead too. He’s laying halfway back to Peralta. I’ll pick him up when we get there.’

  Ike’s mouth twisted in revulsion and rage. Suddenly he tried lunging at Dickson, unable to reach him because of useless legs. ‘You call me an animal, while you drag around bodies like they’re somethin’ to be proud of? Someone needs to kill you real quick before you can do it again. That badge don’t make you no man. All it does is give you license to slaughter people and hide behind it. I’m gonna live long enough to watch you die real slow one way or the other!’

  ‘If you try giving me any more trouble, I’ll hog tie you once we start back so every time you move you’ll choke yourself. You better get used to a rope around your neck. I’m going to see to it you’ll be wearing one real soon.’

  Two men wounded by each other sat opposite a small fire until it finally burned down to a pool of glowing red coals. Dickson propped himself up against his saddle, while Ike lay on his side glaring back. Neither spoke a single word for hours as a deathly game began playing itself out. It was a simple game both men knew had only one ending. Life or death? Who could outlast the other and not give in to sleep. If Dickson couldn’t stay awake, Ike would drag himself over wrapping his manacled hands under his throat, choking him to death. He didn’t need two good legs to do that. Ike already knew he had the edge. The lawman would have to stay awake watching him, while he could catch a few hours of much-needed sleep. Dickson could not.

  The tall man leaned back, trying to forget the searing pain burning across his chest, concentrating instead on what the Goss brothers had already cost him in time, money and now physical pain that could become bad enough to disable him if things got worse. No other man or group of men had ever given him more trouble and misery. He was more determined than ever to make the last of the brothers pay for all of it in every way possible. If Ike died on the trail, so be it. At least he wouldn’t always have to be on guard day and night to be sure he didn’t get jumped. What he wanted most of all was to parade Ike down the main street in Peralta, pulling his dead brothers behind him, waiting for the public hanging that would end it all. He could collect his money, get some decent rest healing up, before starting for back home, to Arizona.

  The strange procession that rode out of the badlands next morning was a macabre scene. Dickson put Ike in the lead, hands still cuffed behind his back, with Emmett and Virgil’s bodies roped over their horses, tied in tandem behind him. Dickson rode last where he could keep an eye on Ike and his deadly cargo of bodies. He knew Ike couldn’t make a run for it cuffed as he was, but he wasn’t taking any chances with the killer. Everyone knew Ike was half crazy. He’d be even worse now, heading for a hanging.

  Dickson pushed the horses double hard and fast. Time was not on his side and he knew it. After five days of brutal, non-stop riding, they exited the barren, twisted land of eroded buttes and treeless mesas, finally leaving the badlands behind. Ahead the first low hills began to rise. Beyond, blue in the distance, higher sawtoothed mountains swept the skyline. Up there someplace lay Fool’s Gold, but Dickson began to question if Ike would ever make it that far, let alone Peralta. Each evening when they stopped for the day he had to physically haul Ike down out of the saddle. His legs were so weak he could barely walk. The smell of infection made it clear they were getting worse fast. At night the deadly game of staying awake started all over again with Dickson tying Ike’s handcuffs under his legs, making it impossible for him to get to his feet even if he could. The long nights watching Ike while he slept made the next day’s riding almost impossible. Dickson caught himself falling asleep several times in the saddle, only to wake with a start. Up front Ike twisted in the saddle, seeing the lawman struggling. He knew his chance to try and take him was coming soon. It had to be when they stopped for the night before they reached Fool’s Gold. After that Peralta would be too close. So was the hangman Dickson promised would be waiting for him. Another five days of pushing horses higher through growing stands of dark pines left both men at the edge of endurance, bone-tired, desperate for rest. Even though Dickson had trained himself for years to need little sleep on long rides trailing other men, this was far different. He was wounded, in pain, unable to get any real sleep staying up all night watching Goss.
Fighting off the maddening urge to give in to sleep became almost overwhelming. Ike was fighting deadly time too. He felt the soaring heat of a high temperature wracking his body in sweat as fever from infection grew worse. That evening when they stopped for the day to rest, he decided it was time to make his move while he still had enough strength left to do so.

  Dickson hefted Ike off his horse, half dragging him to a clear spot under pines, still cuffed. He untied the pack horses, leading them to a stand of white-barked aspen a short distance away, leaving Emmett’s and Virgil’s bodies roped atop them. He wasn’t sure he could heft them back up in the morning, he was so tired. Back with Ike, Dickson sat heavily taking in a deep breath, eyeing the brother. Another sleepless night of misery faced him while Ike got more rest and he had to watch. It was pure torture. Sleep, sweet sleep. If only he could get just one night of sleep he knew he’d make it to Fool’s Gold. The little mining town had to be close by now.

  ‘These irons are cuttin’ into my wrists.’ Ike’s gravelly voice broke into his thoughts. ‘At least put ‘um up front so I can get me some sleep. My legs are gone. I can’t run off no place crippled up like this. And make a fire, too. I don’t want to freeze to death either. That’s the least you can do if you want me to make it to Peralta.’

  Chapter Nine

  Ike sat back watching Dickson struggle gathering wood for a fire. It was obvious the star man was so tired he couldn’t drag in more than a small pile. Once lit it crackled to life, Ike demanding relief again.

  ‘You gonna change these cuffs up front or not? I’m bleedin’ to death I tell ya!’

  Dickson studied Ike for several seconds, debating with himself whether to take the chance or not. Leaning closer without answering, Dickson rolled Ike over on his back unlocking the steel bracelets. Pulling him back around they were face to face only inches apart. Ike’s beady eyes bore into Dickson with daggers of pure hate. He saw how badly the lawman needed rest and sleep. Snapping the cuffs back on, Dickson had a warning.