Showdown in Badlands

by Shorty Gunn

Chapter Eleven

  Vernal Goss spent all Saturday night sitting up in the living room, wrapped in his blanket trying to somehow devise a plan that might save Ike. As the first thin streaks of Sunday morning brightened the sky over the mountains behind the house, he’d made up his mind on one dangerous, daring idea. The more he went over it, the more he became convinced it could work, but he’d need help. Dell Berry had given him the schedule for Ike’s hanging. Timing, Vernal knew, had to be the key. Ben Dickson might think he was going to hang the last of his boys tomorrow, but if Vernal had his way it meant Dickson would never see Monday dawn alive.

  ‘Hattie,’ he called out to his wife, still in the back bedroom. ‘Get up and in here. I’ll need your help.’

  The little woman rolled over fighting to wake up, her husband’s insistent voice echoing throughout the empty house. Pulling herself up she tried rubbing sleep out of her eyes, wondering what he wanted at this early hour. ‘I’m coming, Vernal. Just give me a minute to get something on.’

  ‘Hurry up. We can’t waste no time. We’ve got lots to do!’

  Coming into the living room still fighting off heavy eyes, she ran hands through her thinning white hair. ‘What is it, what’s the matter, Vernal? Did you have another bad night with the shakes again?’

  ‘No. I want you to help me get my pants and boots on, then hook up the buckboard. Can you do that by yourself? Remember how I showed you?’

  The sudden blizzard of questions stunned Hattie. She tried to make some sense of it all. Coming up to the chair she put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him.

  ‘Why would you want me to do that, Vernal? You’re not going anyplace and neither am I. I’ll fix you something warm to drink. Maybe you’ll feel better.’

  ‘I don’t want somethin’ to drink! Listen to me. Help me get dressed and get the buckboard ready. I’m goin’ to town and you’re gonna stay right here when I do.’

  ‘Going to town? What on earth for? You haven’t been in Peralta in six months, and said you’d never go back last time.’

  ‘Stop tellin’ me what I said and just do what I want. I’m goin’ in to get Ike, before Dickson hangs him!’

  Hattie let out a small cry of fear, both hands suddenly raised to her mouth as tears began running down her ashen face. She tried to say no, but the sudden lump in her throat choked off the words.

  Ben Dickson woke that morning to a knock on his bedroom door at the boarding house. ‘It’s 6:45, Mr Dickson,’ the house boy’s muffled voice announced. ‘Miss Birdie will have breakfast on the table pretty quick, sir.’

  Dickson sat up, starting to stretch and catching himself from a sudden burst of pain burning across his chest. Once up he began to dress, satisfying himself today would end his stay in Peralta, and finish off the last of the Goss brothers too. He thought back over the long weeks he’d been forced to spend trailing and killing Elwood, Virgil and Emmett, to make this day a reality. Watching the fear in Ike’s eyes when he tightened the rope around his neck would make up for all of it. Finished dressing, he went to the enamelled basin atop the cabinet washing his hands and face, starting to comb long, black hair. The reflection in the mirror made him pause, studying himself close up. Deep lines born of age, long trailing and vicious gunfights, radiated out around his eyes and mouth. The first few silver strands showed at his temples and sideburns. He straightened up, stopping his self inspection. It was time to go downstairs and eat breakfast, not start questioning the steady advance of years and his own mortality. He had a hanging to take care of.

  Birdie was already seated with several new faces around the table. She stared at the lawman thoughtfully while passing a platter of bacon and eggs over. ‘I guess you know the whole town is talking about the hanging this morning. They say you’re also the one who is going to do it. Is that so, Mr Dickson, or only saloon talk?’

  ‘I am.’ He began eating, looking back at her, waiting for more questions he could see in her eyes.

  ‘I don’t want to pry, but do you find it difficult to enjoy a meal when you know you’re going to actually hang someone?’

  ‘I do not. I’m doing a civic duty. Yours and everyone else here in Peralta, who doesn’t have the backbone to carry it out themselves. Who better than a man of the badge like me? I took a bullet for it. Pass the toast and coffee if you don’t mind, and let’s have less conversation.’

  He calmly continued eating while all eyes around the table fell on him. A middle-aged woman at the far end grabbed her child by the hand, getting up. ‘I won’t let my daughter hear talk like this. What kind of a town is this that can feed a hangman? We’ll eat breakfast after this man is gone. I’m surprised you’d even seat him with decent people!’ She exited the room glaring at Birdie.

  ‘Before I leave I’ll pay you what I owe. This will be my last day in town,’ he informed Birdie, who only nodded saying nothing, continuing to watch him out of the corner of her eye.

  Chambers and Mackenzie shared a large cabin just outside town. Neither man was married. The arrangement worked perfectly well for both men. On orders from Dickson, they’d had three of their most trusted workers watch over Ike Goss day and night. They fed him twice a day, checked to see his handcuffs were still tight, and helped stand him up when he had to answer the call of nature. Rolo started warming up the fire in a big pot-bellied stove, putting on a fresh pot of coffee to boil.

  ‘You want breakfast?’ he asked.

  ‘Not me, not today.’ Edward shook his head, sitting up on the bed and pulling on socks and boots. ‘I just want Monday to come and all this be over.’

  ‘Me too. I guess when we hired Ben Dickson, I never thought it would all end like this and we’d have to be part of a hanging.’

  ‘No one could have. When all this is over and done with we have to lead the effort to get a full-time sheriff here in town. We can’t do this again.’

  Ike opened his eyes at the sound of the steel door creaking open in the powder house. Two men pushed in with a tray of food, while a third stood outside, shotgun in the crook of his arm.

  ‘Here’s your last breakfast. We’ll stay right here until you finish it.’

  Ike rolled over struggling to sit up, glaring at the pair. ‘I can’t eat nothin’ with these cuffs on. You’ll have to take at least one off.’

  ‘We can’t do that. Orders are you’re to stay cuffed up both hands.’

  ‘Orders, what orders? Did that two-bit law dog Ben Dickson tell you that? If he told you to go out and shoot your horses, would you two fools do that too?’

  ‘Listen Goss, John Standard was a good friend of mine and a lot of other people here around town. You murdered him in cold blood, when you and your brothers could have just robbed the freight wagon and let him be. Instead you shot him down like a sick dog. You can either eat this breakfast or starve. I don’t care which it is. I’ve got no sympathy for you either way.’

  Ike grabbed the tray, and tossing it across the room, cussing out the pair as they stepped back outside, slamming the door shut behind them leaving him in the dark to his muffled shouts of defiance.

  Vernal checked the clock on the fireplace mantel, as Hattie finished pulling on his boots, talking in low whispers of desperation to herself.

  ‘It’s already 8:30. You gotta help me out to the buckboard. You got it ready?’

  ‘I think I got it hooked up right, but won’t you please stop and listen to me, Vernal? You can’t do this. This crazy idea of yours will only get you killed, too. Our boys are already gone. I can’t make it without you by myself. Can’t you see that?’

  He reached down, pulling her up until their faces were only inches apart. ‘No, Hattie, you listen to me. I’ve got no life left in me. I haven’t had one since my legs got crushed under that wagon years ago. All I can do is sit here every day, all day, wonderin’ why it happened. At least now I’ve got one reason left to do somethin’ any man would do to save his own flesh’n’ blood. Git me up and out into the buckboard. Bring out my bag of shotgun
shells too.’

  Hattie nearly buckled under his weight and lack of balance as both hung on to each other until he stopped shaking, putting the shotgun under his arm for a crutch, steadying himself enough to take one small step after another out the front door. He had to rest before trying the stairs, step by excruciating step until reaching the bottom, where he nearly crumpled as she fought to keep him up. He rested again before reaching the buckboard, grabbing the seat rails, pulling himself up inch by inch into the seat while she shoved from behind. Once seated Vernal grabbed the reins, breathing heavily, looking down on her.

  ‘Git me that bag of shotgun shells. I’ve got to go. If I don’t came back, you hav’ta know you’re the only thing that kept me going all these years. Understand?’

  She looked up and for that brief moment, the love they once shared as a young couple returned. She gripped his arm tight as he asked again to retrieve the canvas pouch. Handing it up to him, tears streaked her pleading eyes.

  ‘Please, Vernal, don’t do this. It can’t work. Stay here and help me bury our boys like we should. I don’t want to have to do that to you, too.’

  ‘The only one going to git buried is Ben Dickson. And I’m gonna do it before he can kill Ike. Step back, Hattie!’

  The buckboard rattled away as Vernal cracked the whip, while she stood watching it disappear down through tall pines. Her head dropped. She began to sob again walking back to the stairs, collapsing with her head in both hands, fearing an end she could not stop.

  One block back of Main Street and the newly finished gallows, pastor Nils Sonderman slipped into his clothes, preparing to lead his thin flock of parishioners in the First Lutheran Church’s Sunday service. But this would be unlike any other Sunday Service he’d ever given. The good pastor was up against a real problem, uncertain exactly how to frame his godly sermon at the same time a brutal public hanging was going to take place.

  He went to a mirror, beginning to carefully trim his bright red beard. The face he saw staring back was blank with an answer to his dilemma. His problems were further compounded by the fact he was unsure how many of his meagre flock would actually attend, choosing instead to watch the hanging. Finishing the scissor work he turned away, going to a small desk in one corner of the room, sitting retrieving paper and pen trying to find inspiration for his sermon. A glance at the clock on a shelf next to him showed he had little time left to come up with something relevant. It was already 9:15.

  Dickson packed up his personal belongings, paying off Birdie Lee, before leaving without so much as a goodbye. Pulling the door shut behind him, she went to the front room window to watch the tall man walk away with saddle-bags over his shoulders, and a shotgun in one hand. What a cold emotionless man, she thought, hoping never to meet anyone like him again. She was just as certain she would not attend the hanging that was on everyone’s lips. Let the gawkers and morbidly curious do that. No decent woman in Peralta would. Birdie Lee was certainly that.

  At the livery stable Dickson settled his account, saddling his horse, tying saddle-bags on before shoving the scattergun into its scabbard. Once in the saddle he rode slowly up the street to the newly built gallows, where a crowd was already beginning to gather. Dismounting, he climbed the steps while everyone watched in quiet fascination. ‘You ready to swing, Goss?’ one bold voice shouted out.

  ‘Yeah, bring him on and let’s get to it,’ another demanded.

  Up the street, walking toward the knot of people, Edward glanced at his partner. ‘You ready for this?’

  ‘I guess I am. I know I never want to attend another hanging once this is over.’

  Reaching the circle of onlookers, both men edged through people until they were up front next to the wooden scaffolding looking up at Dickson. A man standing next to Rolo nudged him in the ribs with a question.

  ‘You going to spring that trap? You may as well. You two paid to run Goss down.’

  A small ripple of laughter came from those close enough to hear, as Rolo vigorously shook his head no. Dickson heard it too, looking down on the mine men.

  ‘You want to come up here with me?’ he asked.

  Both said they did not. Dickson turned away, stepping on the trap door to test it with his weight. It didn’t budge. Backing off, he grabbed a thick wooden handle protruding up from the floor. With one firm yank he pulled it back and the trap door snapped open with a sharp clang, exposing the free fall to eternity twelve feet below. A shout of approval rang out from the crowd. Dickson pulled his pocket watch to check the time: 9:18.

  ‘It’s time for you two to get Ike.’ He looked down again on Rolo and Edward. ‘If you want a bible thumper to say his last words, you better do that too. I don’t want Ike to be late for his appointment in hell.’

  Rolo turned to his partner. The look of defeat already on his face made it clear he wanted no part of bringing Ike back.

  ‘Edward, I’ll go see Pastor Sonderman, if you’ll have our men bring Ike in. I don’t want to see him up close if I don’t have to.’

  Chambers understood, putting a hand on Rolo’s shoulder. ‘All right. I’ll get him. You see Sonderman.’

  The pastor was still hunched over his desk trying to produce a sermon that could balance out the brutality of a public hanging with the word of God. He’d only written three disjointed lines when a knock on the door of his small house in back of the church broke what little concentration he had. Getting to his feet, he crossed the room and opened the door.

  ‘Hello, Pastor.’ Mackenzie forced a thin smile, hoping he could convince Sonderman to agree with his unusual request at short notice. ‘My name is Rolo Mackenzie. My partner and I own the mining company here in town. Our office is on Main Street, not far from your church here.’

  ‘Sunday service is at ten o’clock, Mr Mackenzie. I’m very busy right now. If you’d care to attend then, we’d appreciate you joining us.’

  ‘Yes, I know that. I’m not here for the service. There’s a request for you to attend the hanging of Ike Goss this morning to give him his last words of comfort. You being the only church in town, they’ve asked me to see if you’d officiate, sir. They’re bringing him over to the gallows right now. If you could come with me I’m sure everyone would be most grateful for your presence and words of comfort.’

  Sonderman stared back, overwhelmed as he considered this strange and sudden turn of events. It instantly dawned on him that this was his one way out of the dilemma that haunted him since he sat down at the desk trying to come up with a meaningful sermon. The Lord had come to his rescue. It would be the perfect way to salvage his Sunday service! Sonderman’s eyes lit up. He seemed to suddenly grow a little taller at the redemption of it all.

  ‘Why yes, I’ll attend and give this poor soul some final words of comfort. First, I’ll have to take a moment to write a note for the front door of my church, so everyone knows where I’ll be. The faithful will want to come too, brutal as all this may seem. It will be a wonderful abject for those who might consider straying from the word of God.’

  ‘Please hurry. We don’t have much time. It’s nearly ten now.’

  Chambers rode up to the powder house and saw the guards standing by the front door, watching him. ‘It’s time to get Ike out,’ he ordered, getting down. ‘Unlock it and let’s get to it.’

  ‘I don’t think he can walk that far,’ the man with the shotgun volunteered. ‘His legs are about gone. We might have to prop him up or carry him.’

  ‘Do what you have to, even if we have to put him on my horse.’

  The heavy steel door squeaked open to reveal Ike sitting up on the floor, hands still cuffed, filthy dirty, hair wildly sticking out. His body was down to skin and bones. The sudden burst of light caused him to turn away squinting, as the guards stepped in pulling him to his feet where he quickly collapsed. Chambers’ face grew grim at the sight of him. He barely looked like a man that had murdered John Standard.

  ‘Put him on my horse. I’ll lead it on foot,’ Edward motioned.


  Ike stared back through sunken eyes filled with hate. ‘You people . . . think you’re better than me or my kin. You call us trash . . . you’re the real animals, and now you know it. Go ahead and prove it!’

  Chambers didn’t answer. He couldn’t. There was too much truth in what Ike said. He silently wished Dickson had killed Ike somewhere out in the wilderness instead of bringing him back here to town, forcing Rolo and him to witness his hanging. He never imagined things would end like this.

  The guards kept Ike in the saddle, riding close alongside him keeping him from falling off, while Chambers led the horse into town. The crowd began talking excitedly as they came into view, the same moment Pastor Sonderman mounted the gallows steps alongside Dickson.

  ‘Are you the man to take Mr Goss into the hereafter?’ he whispered under his breath.

  ‘I’m judge, jury and executioner,’ the tall man announced without looking at Sonderman, whose eyes were locked on Ike as the horseman rode up to the gallows. ‘Get him up here!’ Dickson ordered in a loud voice. The crowd suddenly quietened to witness Ike’s final moments. The guards lifted him off his horse, carrying him up the steps, forced to hold him upright to stop him from sinking to his knees.

  ‘Hold him steady while I put this rope around his neck.’ Dickson pulled the noose down over Ike’s head adjusting the knot at the back of his neck, their faces inches apart.

  ‘Now let’s see what you’re made of, Ike!’ Dickson hissed.

  Ike twisted his head around spitting a gob of stinking goo across Dickson’s face.

  ‘That’s how tough . . . you bastard!’

  Dickson stepped back, wiping his face with the back of his shirt sleeve, eyes still locked on Ike’s. ‘All right, Pastor, have your little say and make it fast.’

  Sonderman stepped forward putting a hand on Ike’s shoulder, secretly thrilled to be in front of the largest audience he’d ever had. ‘Dearly beloved, we ask our Lord God to forgive this man, Ike Goss, his earthly sins. . . .’