Hard Ride to Wichita

by Ralph Compton

  Carlo rubbed his horse’s ear. “You want another drink before we go? Take your time and have a drink. We’re in no hurry.”

  Chapter 19

  As the crisp autumn winds blew across the plains, they brought with them scents of burning leaves, cooking fires, and the chilly promise of the approaching winter. Luke, Red, and Carlo had been riding for two days without stopping unless it was absolutely necessary. The first day had been used to put Wendt Cross behind them and settle in as a group.

  The second day was quiet.

  On the third day, the riders had grown accustomed to one another and became more focused on the task at hand. Wichita wasn’t much farther down the trail. As they drew closer, Luke and Red became anxious while Carlo fell into a calmness that wrapped around him like a shroud. Once his breakfast of bacon and oatmeal had settled into the pit of his stomach, Red looked over to him and asked, “So, what’s that money for anyway?”

  Carlo and the others were riding at a smooth pace that allowed them to make progress without unduly taxing the horses. Glancing over to Red, Carlo asked, “What money?”

  “What money do you think?” Red said. “The three thousand you took from us.”

  “You mean the three thousand I took from what was taken from someone else?”

  “Well . . . yeah. What’s it for?”

  “Captain Granger was supposed to provide a service for me,” Carlo said. “It’s a service I need done, so I needed to pay for it. If the wheels have already been set into motion for what I need done, I’ll need that money to keep ’em turning.”

  “This fella sure knows how to dance around something, doesn’t he, Luke? All them words and not one answer among ’em.”

  Luke laughed at that but didn’t have anything to say.

  “Captain Granger is the man to see to get things done,” Carlo explained. “Folks from Kansas and as far out as the Dakota Territories come to him for guns, ammunition, hired killers, or anything else they can think of. The Captain before Granger’s name isn’t just decoration, which means he’s got the army behind him.”

  “So the army is in the business of selling guns?” Red asked.

  “The army knows what Granger tells ’em. As long as he protects enough settlers against Indians or throws enough grief at any Rebs that come through, he gets to do whatever he wants. With the war on, there’s plenty of profit to be made by supplying either side.”

  “So he’s a traitor,” Luke said.

  “Depends on how you come at it,” Carlo told him. “He probably sees himself as a businessman. Folks with that kind of stain on their soul tend to find a simple way of looking at things. Granger is what you’d call a profiteer. He looks for other people’s misery and finds a way to use it to line his pockets. Gotten real rich doing it too. After all, there’s plenty of misery to be had nowadays.”

  “Still more dancin’,” Red chuckled.

  Luke looked over to Carlo and said, “He’s right. You’ve said plenty without saying a thing about what he asked. I’m guessing you weren’t trying to buy guns or such from Granger. So what kind of misery was he banking on in your case?”

  “I wanted to disappear,” Carlo said. “Still do.”

  “We found you half-buried in a horse stall,” Red said. “Seems to me like you were doing a pretty good job of disappearing on your own.”

  Carlo smiled as he swayed to the plodding rhythm of his horse’s steps.

  “You’re running from the law,” Luke said. “That it?”

  Red snapped his fingers. “He killed a man! I bet that’s it. Maybe he killed a whole bunch of men. He’s a gunfighter! We seen that much by how he handles a pistol.”

  “You’re real smart,” Carlo said.

  Red sat proudly in his saddle. “You hear that, Luke?” he said. “Book learnin’ ain’t the only kind of smarts there is.”

  “He was stringing you along,” Luke told him. “There’s no reason to pay someone like Granger that much money if he just killed someone. He could’ve used that cash to go to Canada or something.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Carlo said. “Why don’t we take that cash so we can all go to Canada? I hear it’s real pretty this time of year.”

  “He’s still stringing us along, right?” Red grunted.

  “And dancing better than ever,” Luke added. “He still hasn’t given a straight answer.”

  “That’s right! What are you h—”

  “Quiet!” Carlo snapped. When he sat upright in his saddle, the caution he displayed spread quickly through the other two riding with him. Red went so far as to draw his pistol and hold it at the ready.

  “What is it?” Luke asked.

  “Someone’s up ahead,” Carlo told him.

  Leaning forward in his saddle, Red squinted at the horizon to find two men on horseback cresting a rise less than a mile away. “What are you so worked up about?” he asked. “They could be anyone.”

  “They’re circling around to get behind us,” Carlo warned.

  “They could be goin’ anywhere!”

  “They were ahead of us before and then they turned to go up them hills like their tails were on fire.” Carlo reached into a saddlebag to retrieve a set of field glasses encased in a dented metal housing that looked as if it had seen more action than both of the younger men combined. He put the glasses to his eyes and studied the distant figures in front of him for a few seconds before twisting around in his saddle to look behind.

  “You gonna tell us there’s someone already behind us too?” Red asked.

  “Yep,” Carlo replied. “That’s exactly what I was gonna say.”

  Both Red and Luke turned to survey the trail at their backs. “There’s nobody there!” Red said. “You’re just ribbing us again.”

  “No, he’s not,” Luke said. “There’s another two back there.”

  “Where? I don’t . . . Ohhhh yeah,” Red said. “I see ’em now. Doesn’t mean they’re following us.”

  “There’s one good way to find out,” Carlo said. He dropped his field glasses back into the saddlebag from which they’d come and then snapped his reins. “Let’s give them a race.”

  “Now, there’s something I like to hear!” Red said with a wide grin. With all the enthusiasm he’d show to a friendly challenge from his best friend, he flicked his reins and tapped his heels against his horse’s sides to get the brown gelding off and running.

  Allowing Red to take the lead, Luke urged his horse to catch up to Carlo. Since Missy was a whole lot younger than Carlo’s Old Man, he pulled alongside him and kept even. Without taking his eyes from the trail ahead of them, Luke shouted to be heard over the thunder of hooves, “Where are we going?”

  “Doesn’t matter just yet,” Carlo replied. “If those men aren’t who I think they are, they’ll let us pass ’em by.”

  “Who do you think they are?”

  “Men who won’t let us pass them by.” With that, Carlo snapped his reins to get his horse moving even faster. Old Man might have been lackadaisical most of the time, but he’d saved up enough steam to answer the call to speed right now. His hooves pounded against the dirt, building momentum until he was at a full gallop.

  Luke could have overtaken him, but he kept just a pace or two behind so he could follow Carlo’s lead.

  “Red!” Carlo shouted.

  For the moment, it seemed Red was too engrossed in stretching his horse’s legs to worry about anything else. Carlo urged his horse to go a little faster, and somehow Old Man found the strength to meet the challenge. When he got closer, Carlo shouted to the younger man again. This time, Red turned around to look back at him and shout, “What?”

  “If anyone shoots at us, you break right and I’ll break left.”

  “Who’s shooting at us?” Red asked.

  “Nobody yet,” Carlo replied. “Just do what
I say if anyone does take a shot at us.”

  Before Red could ask yet another question, a rifle shot cracked through the air to send a round hissing over their heads.

  “Go!” Carlo shouted.

  Red pulled his reins to the right and peeled away from the other two.

  “You,” Carlo said to Luke, who was still keeping pace with him. “Follow Red and I’ll meet these men head-on.”

  “But there’s four of them!” Luke protested.

  “Do as I say, damn it!”

  “Fine!”

  As soon as Luke steered away from the trail to thunder across the stretch of flat, open land to the right, Carlo reached for the boot in his saddle to draw a Sharps rifle and lever in a round. Allowing the lower half of his body to move along with the motion of his horse, he steadied his upper half and brought the rifle to his shoulder. He fired twice, not worrying about hitting anything. His only intention was to let the other riders know they had a fight on their hands if they wanted to keep after him. The message was delivered well enough for the closer pair to split apart and close in on the trail from separate directions.

  The firing stopped for a moment, but Carlo knew better than to take any comfort from that. Both of the riders that had split off were going to try to close him in, and he’d completely lost sight of the other two. Rather than try to push his horse any harder, he pulled back on the reins to slow him down.

  “Easy, boy,” Carlo said as he fished in his pocket for some spare rifle rounds. When he found them, his hands went through the well-practiced motions of replacing the ones he’d fired. Still riding at a good pace, Carlo wasn’t able to take exact aim, but he could get a lot closer than he’d been able to before. More shots cracked in the distance, coming from the right side of the trail. Apparently the other two riders had gone after Red and Luke instead of surrounding the easiest target. It had been a gamble that he could draw all of the riders to him, and Carlo was satisfied that he’d at least convinced half of them to come his way. The even larger gamble was that there weren’t any more riders he hadn’t yet seen.

  Carlo’s instinct and training were to take aim with his rifle and bring down as many targets as he could. However, he fought that back and lowered the Sharps on the off chance that the riders might just be responding to some mistaken threat. If they saw someone ready to take another shot at them, there was no reason why they wouldn’t fire on him. If this was just some case of mistaken identity, they might retreat before anyone got hurt.

  Hope truly did spring eternal. Unfortunately Carlo had found that drinking from that spring too deeply could get a man killed. The next shot that was fired burned through the air much too close for Carlo’s liking. “Should’ve known better,” he grumbled as he gave his reins a snap and steered Old Man in another direction entirely.

  A few more rounds blazed through the space where Carlo would have been if he’d kept his old course. He charged toward the trail, turned sharply, and came around so the two riders firing at him were once again in his line of sight. Without hesitation, he brought his rifle up, fired a round, and then fired again. He knew those shots would be wide and high, but they were mainly a way for him to adjust to his awkward position and the movement of both him and his targets. Old Man had been with him long enough that he didn’t get rattled by gunfire and responded to the touches of Carlo’s knees against his sides since his hands were too busy to use the reins to steer.

  Ignoring an incoming bullet, Carlo fired at one of the riders to convince him to break off from the offensive until he could steer back to come in at a better angle. Harder to ignore were the shots still coming from Red and Luke’s side of the trail.

  Carlo forced his ears to shut out everything he heard so he could concentrate on what he could see. His mind filled with angles, estimations, and calculations required to make a shot that most would consider to be too difficult to attempt. It had been a while since he’d flexed those particular muscles, but Carlo found they came back to him nicely when needed. When he was at the height of the arc of Old Man’s stride, he let out the breath he’d taken and squeezed his trigger. The Sharps bucked against his shoulder to send a bullet into the center of his target.

  One of the riders grunted and flopped back in his saddle. He somehow managed to keep from falling long enough to slow his horse and fire a few wild shots that thumped harmlessly into the ground between him and Carlo. As soon as he saw the rider lose his balance and drop from his horse, Carlo shifted his aim toward the next one.

  That man was taking some extra time to line up a shot as well, which gave Carlo a chance to do the same. Two shots burned through the air. The first exploded from Carlo’s Sharps, and the second was taken by the rider who was hastily trying to avoid being dropped. Recognizing panic when he saw it, Carlo levered in another round and fired in the rider’s general direction. As expected, the rider’s sense of self-preservation took over and he steered sharply away from the fight to gallop out of harm’s way.

  “Whoa,” Carlo said as he shifted the rifle to one hand so he could better control his reins. After bringing his horse to a stop, Carlo sighted along the top of the Sharps while searching for Red and Luke. The remaining horses weren’t difficult to find on such flat terrain, but he was having some difficulty distinguishing friend from foe.

  “Come on, boys,” Carlo said under his breath. “Bring them in closer.”

  There was no way for him to expect Red and Luke to follow a plan that had never been formally made, but he repeated the order again and again while waiting for at least one rider to strike a familiar chord. Finally the sunlight hit one of them at just the right angle for Carlo to spot the fiery red hair sprouting from his head. When another rider fired a shot at that one, Carlo shifted his aim away from Red and started thinking through the angles required to make the long-distance shot.

  Carlo pulled in a breath to steady his aim. As he let it out, he slowly tightened his finger around the trigger. Before the Sharps could send its round through the air, a puff of smoke spewed from Red’s hand and the rider that had fired at him reeled before falling from his saddle. Without wasting another moment, Carlo shifted his aim at the other two riders on that side of the trail.

  From what he could see, there were no surprises over there and no additional men had come along to lend a hand with the ambush. Both of the remaining riders looked identical from a distance, so Carlo focused instead on their horses. He was just about to give up and ride in closer when he reminded himself that Luke’s horse had brown patches along its side and rump. He picked out that one without much trouble, but kept his aim slightly high just to be on the safe side. Squeezing his trigger, he fired and immediately lowered his rifle so he could reload.

  That wasn’t the only round that was fired since both Luke and Red were now pulling their triggers to unleash a firestorm at the last attacker. Rather than try his luck with two gunmen and a third that was shooting at him from afar, the last ambusher peeled away while firing his remaining pistol rounds behind him to cover his retreat.

  Carlo hadn’t replaced all of his spent rounds but snapped his reins anyway and rode across the trail. As soon as he thought he was close enough to be heard by the other two, he yelled, “Let him go!”

  The younger men didn’t stop shooting, so Carlo continued to ride up to them while shouting for them to back off. Red was all too happy to charge after the retreating rider with his pistol blazing away, but Luke turned to acknowledge Carlo with a wave. He then rode after Red to pass Carlo’s request along.

  Once it was clear that both remaining attackers had no intention of doubling back, Carlo turned around to find the man he’d knocked from his saddle. That one’s horse was standing dutifully over its fallen rider, which made Carlo’s task that much easier.

  Coming to a stop several yards away from the wounded man, Carlo dismounted and drew his pistol. He kept his steps slow and quiet as he approached the
spot where the stranger’s horse was grazing. The rider lay nearby. He wasn’t moving.

  “Danny?” the rider called out. “Is that you?”

  Carlo stepped closer without responding. He wanted to make sure the rider wasn’t holding a gun, but the man’s hand was obscured by grass and weeds. After a few more steps, he could see the glint of iron buried amid the swaying green blades.

  The rider tried to crane his neck enough to get a look at who was coming. When he moved too far in one direction, he let out a strained grunt and slumped into a heap once again. “Danny?”

  Approaching from the rider’s blind side, Carlo strode close enough to drop one boot upon the fallen man’s wrist to pin it to the ground. Now that the rider couldn’t lift his pistol, Carlo stared down at him and asked, “Who’s Danny?”

  “You probably killed him, didn’t you?”

  “There wouldn’t have been any trouble at all if you men hadn’t started it.”

  “Yeah,” the rider said in a tired voice. “You must’ve killed him.”

  “Who are you?”

  “You’re dead anyway,” the rider said. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Hunkering down to take the rider’s pistol away, Carlo asked, “Why did you shoot at us?”

  When the rider looked up at him, he hacked up a cough that turned his teeth red with foamy blood. “We . . . know who you are. Captain Granger . . . put the word out. The army . . . is paying for you and your company . . . dead.”

  “You picked us out from a distance. You fired on us before you got a good enough look to see who you might hit.”

  The rider clutched his chest where his shirt and jacket were slick with a growing crimson stain. His face was already pale and his eyes were losing their focus. “We were . . . told you’d left . . . Wendt. . . .”

  “Someone told you we left town?” Carlo asked. When it was clear that the rider didn’t have much time or breath left, he reached down to turn his face toward him so he could see when he asked, “Who told you where I was or what I was doing?”