Where the Bullets Fly

by Terrence McCauley

  “Billy’s the second best tracker I know next to Sim. I’ll need him out there with me, which leaves Underhill the odd man out. He’s better suited to town work now.”

  Pappy had no trouble keeping pace with his son. “This is about her, isn’t it? Not Darabont or Old Wilkes or any of the others. This is about rescuing Katherine.”

  Mackey had rarely won an argument with his father before and knew he wouldn’twin this one, either. “It’s about more than her,” he lied. “It’s about the loggers and the miners and the ranchers he killed. It’s about not allowing him to get away with what he did to this town. And it’s about making sure he doesn’t do it to anyone else again.”

  “And what if she’s already dead?”

  “Then I’ll bury her.”

  “And what if he kills you? You’re worth a hundred Darabonts, and you know it.”

  But that was just it. He didn’t know it. He just knew Katherine was worth the risk. “If I die, Billy will see to it I get a Christian burial.”

  “Stubborn son of a bitch,” Pappy said. “Stubborn and stupid for throwing your life away on a woman who ain’t even yours.”

  Pappy stopped walking.

  Mackey didn’t.

  * * *

  Mackey found Mary on the bench outside their home. Her eyes were red and hollow, the way they always were when she’d been crying and now was beyond tears. If she saw him, she didn’t show it, not even when he sat next to her.

  Mackey took off his hat and toyed with it in his hands. He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, so he said, “Long day.”

  A single tear ran down her face, but her voice was surprisingly strong. “I suppose you’ll be leaving after them, won’t you?”

  “Who told you?”

  “No one. I just know you.”

  “I’ve got no choice, Mary. I can’t . . .”

  “You can’t?” The lines around her mouth deepened. “You’re the sheriff who just saved this miserable town. You can do any goddamned thing you want, including letting that rabble keep going on their way.”

  “And if they come back?”

  “We fought them off before. We can do it again.”

  “Next time they’d be ready.”

  “If there even is a next time. Christ, Aaron. They’re gone. You won. Can’t you just let them go? It’s not as though they killed anyone important.”

  “They killed Old Wilkes. And burned out the JT, and probably killed most of the miners and loggers, not to mention those women up at . . .”

  “Whores,” Mary spat. “And whores don’t count as women. I know the woman you’re after, and she’s a whore, too. No better than the rest of them.”

  Mackey closed his eyes. He’d been fighting and arguing and staying strong for days. He just wanted to go upstairs and gather his things, but he didn’t want to leave it like this. “I’m not going after anyone but Darabont.”

  “You’re going after her the same way she came out here after you,” Mary said. “You’ve got the courage to defend a town, to walk out in the darkness and let them kill you. But you don’t have the courage you need most; to let those animals go and take her with them.”

  He’d been having the same argument all morning. He didn’t want to argue any more. “Underhill will be minding things while I’m gone. He’s a good man.”

  “With far more sense than you have. You can’t beat these men, Aaron. They’re not Apaches. They’re wild, rotten dogs who do whatever they want whenever they please. Well, I’ve been married to you long enough to know there’s no amount of pleading I can do to make you stay, so I won’t even try. But the second you’re out of sight with whatever idiots are dumb enough to follow you, I’m going right over to Mason’s Store and buying a black dress out of the Sears and Roebuck catalogue. For it’s a widow I’ll be by the time it gets here.”

  Mackey slowly stood up and walked inside. He waited for her to join him. He prayed that she would. But she didn’t. She didn’t move at all.

  He allowed himself one final glance at her before he headed upstairs. He tried to remember her as that bright young girl with the windblown hair who’d beamed up at him that miserable day when he’d gotten off the train all those years ago.

  But that young girl was gone, just like the man in that uniform had gone. All that was left was the bitter, angry woman sitting on the bench outside the house they’d built together.

  Mackey went up the stairs two steps at a time.

  * * *

  Mary was gone by the time Mackey came back downstairs with his field pack. He loaded what he could on Adair without weighing her down too much. The rest would go on the pack animals Billy had already secured.

  He untied Adair from the post and swung up into the saddle. He didn’t know if this would be the last time he’d see Mary or his house or his town. He didn’t allow himself to think of such things. Such thoughts were cheap in town, but expensive on the trail. Questions like that could cost him his life.

  He rode past the jailhouse and to the cemetery that lay just beyond the blacksmith. He saw the diggers were already filling in the dead whore’s grave while the undertaker murmured readings from the Bible. He figured the bastard would charge the town extra for the prayers.

  Only Underhill stood off to the side, hat in hand, while the men went about their grim work.

  Mackey thought about joining the tail end of the service, but decided not to. He hadn’t even known the girl. He couldn’t even recall ever seeing her before that morning. In that way, praying over her now would make him no better than the rest of the people in town.

  He watched Billy ride out from the livery, trail ready and eager to ride. Next to the stable, both Boudreaux boys, the two Mexicans from the JT Ranch, and the big German named Brahm. Three pack mules for the seven of them, thanks to Billy’s preparation. Mackey figured most of it was ammunition.

  Mackey rode over to the men and asked the question even though he already knew the answer. “You boys ready?”

  Billy nodded. So did the others.

  Mackey swung Adair south and headed toward the trail. Billy and the others followed, leaving Dover Station behind.

  And no one had come out to say good-bye. Not even Pappy.

  Chapter 32

  Billy spent the rest of the afternoon riding ahead of the others, scouting out the trail. Mackey knew Sim was tracking far out ahead of them by now, but it helped to have him at the head of the group. He’d assigned the vaqueros to serve as outriders, loping along either side to broaden their range of view. They were used to ranging cattle, so it seemed a natural fit for their talents. Mackey, Brahm, and the Boudreauxs rode clustered in the center.

  He didn’t have a pocket watch, but judging by the sun, he could tell they had maybe an hour or so of sunlight left. There’d been no sign of Sim in all that time, which meant Darabont’s men must’ve gotten a bigger head start than he had thought. Mackey knew the old scout’s methods and knew he’d be back after nightfall. He always had been before.

  Mackey looked up when he heard Billy’s familiar whistle that told him he’d spotted something. Billy was pointing out at a lone rider off to the right in the near distance, slumped forward in the saddle atop a horse that ambled along as it nosed the tall grass.

  Mackey ordered the rest of the group to stop. “Stay here and rifles at the ready. This might be a straggler or it might be a trap. Get ready to shoot at anything that’s not Billy or me.”

  Mackey and Billy converged on the stranger from different angles.

  As he rode closer, Mackey could see the horse was a brown bay speckled with white. The rider was just a kid, probably no older than twenty. His skin and clothes were blackened by soot and his body moved with every movement of the horse. Mackey had no idea what was keeping him from falling out of the saddle.

  Billy and Mackey reached him at the same time. Billy took hold of the horse’s reins while Mackey shook the boy awake. “What’s your name?”

  The
kid looked at him with dull, bloodshot eyes. “I know you,” the young man slurred through parched lips. “You’re the sheriff.”

  “That’s right. What’s your name? Where’d you come from?”

  “I’m from the JT Ranch. We . . .” The kid’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he went limp. Mackey grabbed him under the arm before he fell out of the saddle.

  Billy helped Mackey lay the kid across his saddle and lead the horse back to the others. Mackey knew it was uncomfortable, but without a wagon, it was the only way either of them knew to get the boy moving.

  “This boy looks familiar to me,” Billy said. “Those vaqueros and Brahm will be happy one of their old friends is alive.”

  Mackey pulled the horse’s reins as he led it back to the others. He had one more mouth to feed and no time for sentiment.

  * * *

  Billy had been right. The arrival of the kid into the group had improved the mood of the vaqueros and Brahm. They took turns tending to the young man they’d known as Sandborne. Brahm filled him up with as much coffee and biscuits and bacon as the young man’s belly could hold.

  After dinner, some color seemed to return to the boy’s face. Mackey thought he looked like he might be strong enough to answer some questions.

  The low fire crackled and spat out cinders as Mackey asked, “You feeling up to telling us what happened to you?”

  “I’ll tell you what I know,” Sandborne said, “but I’m afraid it ain’t much. Whole thing’s kinda murky.”

  “It’s not a race,” Billy told him. “Take your time and tell it your way.”

  That’s what Sandborne began to do. “Me and some of the boys were out tending the herd in the north field when some riders came over the hill and hit us before we knew what was happening. I can’t tell you how many on account of everything happening so fast, but it was more people than I’d ever seen in one place before. The bastards started shooting at us as soon as they were in range. Hit some of us, I guess, because I remember seeing some JT men fall off their horses.”

  “You get hit?” asked Solomon, one of the vaqueros.

  The kid shook his head, then winced from the effort. “No, but the noise scared my horse something awful and he threw me. I landed near a tree and must’ve hit my head or something because I got knocked out.”

  Mackey looked at the purple bruise on his left temple. He’d seen men die from blows like that. The kid was lucky.

  Sandborne went on. “When I woke up, the hay barn in the north field had already burned all the way through and was smoldering something awful. The bunkhouse and all the barns and Mr. Tyler’s ranch house, too, were still burning. The rail fences had all been busted in several places and the cattle had scattered. Guess all that commotion must’ve stampeded the herd, or else those raiders scattered them. My head hurt something fierce and I couldn’t get my bearings long enough to stand on my own two feet.”

  To Mackey, Billy said, “Bet they butchered themselves some cattle while they were at it. Could give them enough provisions for the trail.”

  But Mackey didn’t care about their provisions. “You know if anybody else made it out of there?”

  “Didn’t see anyone else around when I woke up. No one was looking for me either. I was so bleary-eyed, I couldn’t see more than a couple of feet in front of me.” He thumbed back over to where they’d picketed the horses. “That’s when my own horse wandered by and I managed to climb up. I meant to ride into town, but, well, the rest is a blur until you woke me up. What the hell happened, anyway?”

  Mackey quickly told him about Darabont, and how he’d hit the miners and the loggers and the town, too.

  The kid’s eyes went wide. “He did all that? What happened?”

  Billy grinned. “We’re still here, ain’t we, boy?”

  “We’re riding out after him now,” Mackey added. “I hate to tell you this, but Mr. Taylor got killed first. He’d ridden into town with Manuel and Solomon and Brahm here to offer them as part of our posse. He got shot on his way back to the ranch, just before they raided it. He died as best as he could.”

  The kid swallowed hard. “Mr. Taylor wasn’t an easy man, Mr. Mackey, but he was a good man. I’d be proud to ride along with you if you’ll have me. Ain’t like I got much to go back to anyway.”

  Mackey figured he would. “You might think about that differently after your head clears. In the meantime, you’ll ride with us until you’re feeling better. After that, we’ll see.”

  The two vaqueros and Brahm began peppering young Sandborne with questions of who else had been in the north field with him. The Boudreauxs listened, but kept to themselves.

  Billy set his dish aside and began building a cigarette. He looked around at the darkness surrounding them and spoke quietly to Mackey. “You see who’s out there?”

  “Yeah.” Mackey sipped his coffee. Brahm’s coffee wasn’t as good as Billy’s, but it was close. “Figured I’d give them a minute to get reacquainted before I ruin their evening. The more relaxed they are, the better this will go.”

  Billy licked the cigarette paper and rolled it tight. “Damned shame, too. Nice fire. Sorry it’s gonna have to get ruined on account of this.”

  “Yeah. Wasn’t our doing, though.” Mackey drank his coffee and decided it was time to break the news to the men. He didn’t bother asking them to quiet down. The less formal, the better. Instead, he simply spoke over them. “Any of you men take the train up to Dover Station?”

  All of the men stopped talking. They looked at each other and shook their heads. Manuel said, “We never had enough money for a train ticket.”

  “That means you all spent time on the trail getting here. You’ve seen what can happen across open land and you know about the dangers and people you can meet along the way.”

  He looked at each man, waiting for them to nod. Some of them did.

  Mackey continued. “And since you followed Billy and me out here after Darabont, I suppose you boys trust us.”

  Jack Boudreaux spoke first. “Sure we do, Aaron. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t.”

  Mackey finished his coffee and set it aside. “That’s good, because I’m going to need you boys to stay as still as you are right now. When I leave, do exactly as Billy tells you.”

  The men traded glances as they watched Mackey slowly get to his feet. From his spot at the fire, Brahm asked, “Where are you going, boss?”

  Mackey slowly unbuckled his gun belt and let it drop to the ground. “For the past fifteen minutes or so, we’ve been surrounded by a band of Blackfoot Indians.” He held his arms away from his sides and slowly turned in a full circle to show he wasn’t armed. “Don’t move and don’t say a word and we’ll all make it out of here just fine.”

  Brahm reached for his rifle.

  “Don’t do that.” Mackey kept his voice calm. “I’ve dealt with these folks for years and I know how to handle them. Just stay in the light where they can see you and keep your hands in the open. They mean us no harm.”

  “How the hell you know that, sheriff?” Solomon asked.

  Billy answered for him. “Because we’d already be dead if that’s what they wanted.”

  Mackey spoke to the darkness in Siksika, the language of the Blackfoot tribe. “I have no weapons. I mean you no harm. These men mean you no harm. Tell me what you want of me.”

  A lone Blackfoot warrior stepped from the edge of the darkness. As was the way of his people, he had used the weakness of his enemy to his advantage. In this case, Mackey knew it was the white man’s need for firelight at night. In his own tongue, the warrior replied, “If you are their leader, come with us.”

  Mackey looked down at Billy. “Keep them close. Keep them alive. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “We’ll be here.” He looked around the edges of the campfire. “I got a feeling we’ll have plenty of company, too.”

  Mackey followed the Blackfoot warrior into the darkness.

  Chapter 33

&nbs
p; Mackey followed the warrior back to a small settlement he judged to be about a mile from where he and his men had made camp. Even in the dim light of the settlement’s main fire, he could see what had happened there and knew why he had been brought to that place.

  The camp had been attacked. Wigwams had been burned out; the scent of burnt canvas and charred lodge poles still hung in the air. He smelled the unmistakable scent of burnt flesh, too—just like in the wreckage of Hill House and on the hillside earlier that morning and from when he had still been in the cavalry.

  Darabont had done this.

  A group of seven members of the Blackfoot tribe sat around the great fire. Sim Halstead sat next to a very old man; speaking with his hands in the sign language of the Blackfoot people. His hands moved just as fluidly as those of his host.

  Sim stopped signing when Mackey approached the fire. The chief looked up also, his high cheekbones and strong jaw line looking fierce in the firelight. His nose cast a long shadow across the lines on the long planes of his face.

  The chief did not extend his hand, nor did he attempt to rise. Mackey had not expected him to, for this man was Wolf Child, the chief who had led his people through many seasons. He bade no greeting to any man, white or otherwise.

  Mackey had seen the man several times since his father had brought him to what would eventually become the town of Dover Station. The chief had been much younger then, but every bit as imposing as he was now. Pappy and the chief could never be considered friends, but had managed to forge something of a truce that had held many decades. Their people lived apart from each other without incident.

  Even now, as a much older man, Wolf Child’s presence made Mackey as uneasy as it had when he was a boy.

  As the warrior who had brought Mackey to the village spoke to the chief, Mackey made sure he stood in the firelight, wanting all of the men of the tribe to see him clearly. He held out his arms as he slowly turned as he had turned back at camp, so all could see he was unarmed.

  When the warrior gestured for him to speak, Mackey spoke in the chief’s own language. “I come to you in peace and without weapons.” He was careful not to look at Wolf Child directly, for to do so could be considered a great insult. “My people and I mean you no harm. We come in peace as we always have.”