by Paul Colt
March 5th
A gentle breeze ruffled the horses’ manes and tails. A dozen posse men fanned out along the crest of the ridge overlooking the ranch. They left no doubt for anyone below, they’d come in force. Brewer studied the house, the barn and the corral for any sign of movement.
“Looks like nobody’s home again.”
Ty leaned forward in his saddle intent on the barn. “Don’t be too sure.”
Brewer looked left and right. “All right, boys, we’ll ease on in. Spread yourselves out. Any sign of trouble surround the place. Take your lead from me.” He gave his horse its head and started down the slope.
Roth stayed near Brewer. Had Ty seen something in the barn? The doors were open, but sunlight revealed nothing more than dark shadow inside. Brewer drew a halt, hailing distance from the house.
“Hello the ranch. Officers of the law, we got a warrant for Jesse Evans.”
Time passed. Brewer started forward.
“He’s no here.”
The muffled voice came from the barn. Roth smiled at the accent.
“That you Crys?”
“Sí, amigo. It is I, your worst fear. Have you brought enough friends to give you courage?”
“These boys came for Evans. I came for you, alone.”
Brewer eyed Roth. “What the hell is this about?”
“Man’s name is Crystobal. It’s an old score. Long story, you ain’t got time.” He raised his voice. “So, Crys, you gonna come out of your hole, so we can have this out in the light of day?”
“You send your friends away, amigo, and Crystobal will grant your death wish.”
Brewer scowled. Somehow he’d lost control of the situation. “You send Evans out first.”
“Crystobal told you, he’s no here.”
“Who is then?”
“Only Crystobal and the mice.”
He spat. “I don’t believe the son of a bitch.”
“Neither do I, I think he’s tryin’ to give cover to somebody. Send some men north and some south. They’ll be in position in case anyone tries to make a break for it. That should flush this one out. We can deal with the rest of the place after I take care of him.”
Ty tried to chase another uneasy feeling. “You sure about this, Johnny?”
He cocked an eye at his friend under his hat brim and nodded toward the barn. “I promised Chisum I’d take care of my unfinished business.”
“Ledger, take half the boys south. I’ll take the rest north. Good luck, Roth.”
“I don’t s’pect I’ll need it.”
The Regulators wheeled away. Time passed, waiting for the riders to clear the valley. The barn doorway remained dark. Wind swirled a thin sheet of dust across the yard. Roth stepped down and ground tied the black.
“The boys are gone, Crys. You comin’ out or you plannin’ to shoot from ambush again?”
A silver concho flashed in the shadows beyond the doorway. “Oh, no, amigo, I’m coming out. I do not wish to miss the look in your eye when my bullets find you.”
“I guess you must be much better now than you was the last time I shot you.”
“The last time, luck was with you. Crystobal was not ready. This time is different. Crystobal is ready.”
Ready,Roth reckoned.
The Mexican pistolero stepped out of the shadows into the sunlight, hands resting at his belt buckle. A crooked smile creased thin lips. He sidled away from the barn door and started toward Roth.
“I have waited for this moment, amigo. I waited those long days with my gut on fire from your bullet. I think I should return that favor. I think you should die slow. Slow enough to feel your gut burn.”
Roth forced himself to concentrate on the Mexican.
Horses and riders burst through the barn door.
He filled his hands with fire and smoke. A gun exploded. His second blast burst the blue cloud. He spun to his knee and leveled his guns at the riders galloping away to the north. Something moved. He spun back to the left. Crystobal knelt in the dust holding the blood-soaked remains of his belly. Roth got up and walked slowly toward the fallen gunman.
He lifted eyes, rigid slits, his voice a barely audible croak. “You never looked. You should have looked.” He coughed and spat a mouthful of blood. “This time Crystobal’s gut does not burn. This time, Crystobal is . . . killed.” He toppled forward, spilling a pool of bloody mud.
Horses pounded out of the south. Roth holstered his guns. Ty drew the steeldust to a sliding stop, the four riders behind him specters shrouded in dust.
“You all right?”
He nodded. “Two of ’em ran north. Brewer’s on their trail.”
“We best make sure they’re makin’ arrests and not nooses.” He spurred the steeldust north and west followed by McNab, Scurlock, O’Folliard and McCloskey. Roth ran to the black, collected his reins, swung a leg up and spurred off on the heels of the dust cloud.
Frank Baker and Buck Morton wheeled northwest out of the barn, leaving Crystobal to his private revenge. Shots exploded behind them. Neither man looked back. Less than a half mile north of the ranch, riders broke on their back trail closing fast. Morton wasted two covering shots to no good effect.
“Save your bullets, Buck. You got no chance of even scarin’ ’em at this range.” Baker bent over his horse’s neck, urging him on.
Morton managed to stay with him another half mile before his heavier mount began to slip behind Baker’s wiry mustang. He chanced a glance over his shoulder.
“They’re gainin’ on us.”
Baker took a look. “I’ll pull up and take a couple of quality shots. You go on a quarter mile or so. Pull up and give your horse a blow. When I come by, you set up your shots, follow me and do it again. We’ll spare our horses and slow ’em down some.”
Morton nodded.
Baker pulled up behind a stand of scrub.
The first shot whined past Brewer’s ear. He pulled up. Son of a bitch, they forted up.A second shot sent them scrambling. “Take cover, boys!”
By the time they found cover, the shooter broke up the trail and raced off to the north.
Brewer fumed at the trick. “After ’em!”
A quarter mile up the road they rounded a bend in the rocky terrain. A bullet sang off the rocks beside the trail, splashing stone chips on Billy’s sombrero. He ducked instinctively as a second shot rang out. “Shit!” They wheeled their horses off the trail and into the rocks. The boys leaped down and spread out. The trail went still.
Brewer glanced at Bonney. “Did you see where the shot came from?”
“Nah.”
“Anybody see it?”
No one answered. The silence broke to the retreating hooves of a galloping horse.
“Here we go again.” Brewer leaped back into the saddle and spurred out after the shooter. A quarter mile up the trail he slowed into a blind turn, expecting more shots. None came. “Looks like they aim to keep us guessin’.” He muttered more to himself than anyone within earshot.
“What?” Middleton drew his gun nervously.
“Nothin’. Keep goin’.” They pounded down a flat stretch a quarter mile further to the base of a low rise. Two fast shots cracked out of a stand of scrub oak near the top. The posse scattered into flatlands that offered little cover. Another shot kicked dirt and scree in Brown’s eyes. He returned fire, blazing three shots up the trail. The shooting fell silent.
Brewer lay flat on his belly behind a rock too small to conceal him. He peeked over the top. “Either we got him or he’s fixin’ to run again. Com’on boys get to your horses.” The boys started to their feet. A volley of rifle fire spattered hot lead in their tracks. They dove back to whatever safety they could find.
“Looks like they finally mean it for a fight. Give ’em hell, boys.” The Regulators opened fire on the tree clump. Powder smoke spread a blanket over both sides of the trail. Sudden re alization hit Brewer, no return fire.“Hold your fire!” He put his ear to the ground. Son of a bitch!T
he gentle beat of a galloping horse told the tale. “He’s runnin’ again. Let’s go.”
Brewer led them out, mixing caution and speed. The sun sank deep into the afternoon. A mile further on, his gut told him they were losing ground. He guessed they were trying to string things out to sunset, hoping to get away in the dark. The next time he heard from his gut, he stared down the trail at a dry wash through a narrow cut. It had ambush written all over it. He drew rein.
“That don’t look so good, does it?” Fred said.
Brewer glanced sidelong. Waite had a way with the obvious. “No, it don’t and I don’t plan on ridin’ in there makin’ out like an easy target, either. John, you take Fred and Henry around that thing to the west. Me and Billy will go around to the east. With luck, we’ll come up behind the bushwacker.”
Middleton nodded. He liked the idea.
They split up. Brewer and Billy circled east around the base of the ridge that made for the east wall of the wash. They picked their way slow and deliberate around to the backside of the ridge, expecting to come on trouble around every rock. Doubt gnawed at his gut. If they got this wrong, they’d lost a lot of ground and likely the game for today. They approached the back side of the wash with no sign of a shooter. He expected to hear shots from Middleton’s men anytime.
Then he heard it. The rattle of a rock dislodged somewhere up ahead and the dull clacking sound as it rolled down rough hillside. He threw up a hand, met Billy’s eye and stepped down. They drew their guns and eased forward. Sweat slicked his hatband though not from the heat. They reached the edge of the wash, nothing up above. Something scraped rock across the wash. Shit!It could be a shooter, or it could be Middleton and the boys. Now what?He had no good answer to the question.
“John, is that you?”
“Yeah.”
Middleton popped up not twenty feet across the wash from where he and Billy stood. Nobody here.
That’s when the shooting started up the trail. Lead gouged the rocks and whined along the back of the ridge along their exposed flanks. The Regulators had no choice but to dive into the wash for cover. The shots came from a rock stand further up the trail. They no more than got their heads down when the shooter turned his fire wide of the wash, scattering their horses. Brewer clenched his jaw. These sons a bitches has really pissed me off.All he got for his anger was dust sign and the sound of a galloping horse.
Well, he got a little something for his trouble. The pace of pursuit had slowed enough for Ledger, Roth and the rest of the boys to catch up.
Ty got the picture. Pretty good trick if they had a plan to make a good getaway.
“Dick, you keep up the chase. Make ’em think you’re still playin’ their game. Johnny, take Doc and Charlie. Swing east out of the line of fire. I’ll take Tom and Bill west. We should be able to head ’em off a mile or so up the road. When you hear shootin’ up ahead, Dick, give ’em hell.”
Brewer nodded. “Givin’ them bastards hell will be a pleasure if we get more for the effort than spent cartridges. Round up them horses, boys, and let’s get after ’em.” The Regulators fanned out in three directions.
An hour later, Ty spotted dust sign off to the east. He drew up and pointed. The sign stopped. Further to the south, gunshots popped in the distance. He winked at O’Folliard. “Looks like we got one.” He wheeled the steeldust northeast, circled back to the south and drew rein.
Down the trail, one of the fugitives forted up in a rock stand. Minutes later the second broke up the trail from the south. Ty let him draw even with the first.
“Now!” he spurred the steeldust. O’Folliard and McCluskey burst out of the rocks behind him. Gun drawn, he fired a warning shot. The rider slid to a stop. He swung his mount into the rocks with his partner.
Brewer and his men pounded up the trail from the south. Trapped, the mounted rider spurred his horse east. Roth and his men appeared out of nowhere, blocking his way. The Regulators closed in. Baker and Morton raised their hands and surrendered.
Brewer and his boys stepped down. “John, Henry, get their guns.” He waited for the hardware to get collected. “Now, you two step down easy. Don’t try anything funny. Nothin’ would give us more pleasure than to fill your worthless hides with lead.”
Baker and Morton stepped down. Morton looked sullen. Baker remained belligerent. “What the hell gives you call to come bustin’ into our ranch and chase us half all over the county?”
“This here is a duly sworn posse and we got warrants for your arrest.”
“On what charge?”
“The murder of John Tunstall.”
“Shit.” Baker spit. “We said all we got to say on that to Sheriff Brady. It’s a clear case of resisting arrest and self-defense.”
“Justice of the peace doesn’t think so.”
Ledger and Roth stepped down. Bonney stepped up beside Brewer, letting out his reata in a loop. “Enough jabberin’ after these skunks. There’s a stand of cottonwood up yonder just about their size.”
“The hell, Brewer, you said you was a duly sworn posse. Last time I checked they don’t go on and lynch men.”
“Shut up, you murderin’ son of a bitch, before I lose my good humor and gut shoot you for the slow death you deserve.”
Brewer raised a hand. “Easy, Billy. We all know how you feel about John.”
“You need to take these men to Lincoln and turn ’em over to the justice of the peace jurisdiction,” Ty said.
Brewer braced. “What makes you think Brady’ll sit still for that?”
“Those warrants say he’s got no choice.”
Baker chuckled.
“Shut up, Baker, before I let Bonney have you. I wish I was as all-fired sure as you, Ledger. This whole thing stinks from Santa Fe to Lincoln.”
“McSween and Chisum are callin’ the shots here and they want it done legal.”
“The Marshal’s right,” McCloskey said. “These men is entitled to a fair trial.”
Brown dropped his hand to his gun belt. “You need remindin’ which side you’re ridin’ on this time, McCloskey?”
“I’m just sayin’ these men and any of them others is entitled to a fair trial. I aim to see we get ’em back to Lincoln.”
Brown started forward. Brewer checked him with a hand. “It’s settled, boys. We take ’em to Lincoln.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
March 6th
Warm weather stayed on, riding a southwest high desert breeze under a bright sun. The trail to Lincoln led northwest through the Flying H. Brewer led the posse with Middleton, Waite and Billy Bonney. The prisoners followed flanked by Bowdre and O’Folliard. Scurlock, McCloskey and Brown had the prisoners’ backs. Ty and Johnny trailed behind with McNab.
Ty glanced at his friend. “You plannin’ to ride all the way to Lincoln?”
“I got what I came for.”
“Crystobal?”
He nodded. “With him off my trail, Chisum says he’ll put aside his worries over me marryin’ Dawn Sky.”
“What worries? I mean, other than the fact it’s you.” He grinned at the jibe.
Roth chuckled. “He figures I made some bad enemies huntin’ bounty. He doesn’t want Dawn to wind up a widow. I can’t say I blame him for that. I’m not partial to the idea, either.”
“I wouldn’t expect so. Seems like in the dead or alive business you’d only have to fret over the alives.”
“Nothin’ much I can do about any of ’em. Old Crys put the worry on Chisum’s mind. With him out of the way, I s’pect Dawn will weary him of his worries.”
“As only a woman can, my friend. Soon as she gets done wearyin’ Chisum, it’ll be your turn.”
“You don’t know Dawn.”
“You don’t know wed-locked women.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Ledger’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Sooner or later, we all do.”
“You plannin’ to ride on to Lincoln?”
Ledger fixed on the priso
ners and nodded.
“I was hopin’ you’d ride down to South Spring and stand up for me at the weddin’.”
“Hell, Chisum’s got worry enough about you without that.” They both laughed. “Truly it’d be an honor, Johnny, but I’m worried about seein’ to it those men make it to a fair trial.”
“They’ll be all right. Brewer’s made that clear. McCloskey will be along to keep an eye on things. How much more can you add to that?”
“I don’t know. I just feel responsible.”
“I understand, but you can’t be the keeper of every name on those warrants. If those boys decide to ignore Brewer’s order, what are you going to do about it?” He pointed with his chin. “I see a half dozen professional guns up there not countin’ Mc-Closkey. In my business, I figure the chances. In case you can’t guess, them chances stink.”
“That’s the difference between us. You figure chances. I uphold the law.”
“Look, every last man jack of them swore the same oath as you. The carriage of justice will be right well guarded without you.”
Ty scowled. “I s’pose you’re right. You are about to get roped and tied, aren’t you?” He parted with a smile. “That alone might be a sight worth seein’.”
“Then you’ll come?”
He nodded.
Flying H
The posse made the ranch just before sunset. They secured the prisoners in a storeroom and set about putting up the horses and preparing supper. The house glowed in golden lamplight when they sat down to fatback, beans and biscuits. Ledger and Roth joined Brewer and Waite at the table.
Brewer scraped a forkful of beans. “Fred, you and a few of the boys take the prisoners up to Lincoln in the morning. You’ll likely have to stay on to hold them. You can take your orders from Justice Wilson.”
“Marshal Widenmann will back you up if you need it,” Ty said.
Waite turned to Brewer. “Who should I take with me?”
“Take the Kid, Doc and Henry.”
“I’m on my way down to South Spring with Johnny, Dick,” Ty said. “You best send McCloskey with them.”
Brewer flicked his eyes to Ledger. He weighed the marshal’s unspoken intent. “Take Bill along too then.”