by Cotton Smith
Nestled against the wagon was Atlee’s packed supper of fried chicken, complete with a pink bow, for the women’s supper raffle. All of the money raised would go to improving the school. The wives went along with the fun, but the real emphasis was on the single men trying to guess which box belonged to which single woman. Mrs. Beinrigt had sent along a German chocolate cake to go into the cake contest. Atlee read aloud from the latest Wilkon Epitaph newspaper Deed brought, sharing all of the day’s activities. In addition to the gymkhana and horse race, cake contest, and box-supper raffle, there would be a Mexican band, a band from the fort, horseshoes, and special activities for children. Homemade ice cream would be ready in the afternoon.
“Gosh, I can hardly wait!” Benjamin exclaimed. “How do you think I will do at the gymkhana?”
“You’ll do great,” Deed said, smiling. “Chester may be old, but he’s one savvy fellow.”
“Do you know what all they’ll make us do?”
Deed shook his head. “No. That’s a surprise.”
“What if they make us jump?”
Atlee glanced at Deed, frowning.
“Haven’t you and Chester jumped over a log?”
Benjamin nodded. “Oh yeah, lots of times.”
“Well, then, you’re ready. Just give Chester his head.”
The Rafter C ranch came into sight and stopped Benjamin’s concerns. Waiting for them at the entrance was Blue’s family and Silka. The ranch would be protected by their regular hands, with the promise of a big steak dinner cooked by the ranch cook, Too Tall, a short, quick-tempered man with a flair for fixing good food.
No one thought the former samurai would be strong enough to go, but if he did, it would be in Blue’s wagon. Silka would have none of it, insisting on riding his own horse.
Jeremy, Matthew, and Mary Jo were excited to meet Benjamin and Elizabeth, and it was quickly decided the children would all ride in Blue’s buckboard.
Deed’s fast-running Warrior was tied to the back of Blue’s wagon; he planned to enter him in the race. The black-and-white horse had been rounded up last year in a group of mustangs. It was a Comanche warhorse that had taken to Deed and become a fine cow horse.
“How good to see you again, Atlee,” Blue said and held out his hand.
“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Blue. Your family is beautiful.”
“Atlee, you remember my wife, Bina.”
The two women were soon talking like old friends. Soon the joyful band was on the way again. A beautiful October day welcomed them. Wilkon was filling with people as their two wagons headed for the livery. Signs indicating where the various events were to be held highlighted most of the main street and the adjacent park.
Deed and Benjamin took their horses to the areas marked for them. The gymkhana was scheduled for the morning; the horse race would cap the day’s activities. The baseball game between a town Red team and a town Green team was already underway. The boy asked if he could stay and watch the course be set up and Deed agreed, saying he would return shortly. Silka seemed to become more perky the closer they got to town. Quietly, Silka told Deed he was going to the barbershop and grinned. The young gunfighter remembered the Chinese woman and smiled.
Bina and Atlee dropped off their supper boxes at the long table set up for that occasion and two smiling women accepted them and wrote down their names on the list of participants. Bina’s box was wrapped with a blue ribbon, Atlee’s with a pink one.
After dropping off Olivia Beinrigt’s cake at the cake competition table, the two women guided the younger children to an area near the school where Rebecca Hannah and three other women were waiting. One was the new schoolteacher, Claire Baldwin. She had arrived yesterday, thanks to Billy Lee Montez bringing her in a buckboard to town from the station. Her blond hair was pulled back in a bun and she was filled with energy. The other two women were volunteers from town. They would be in charge of the children’s activities, including a spelling bee for all ages.
Blue and Deed excused themselves and headed for the marshal’s office to see Holt and James Hannah. In the alley next to the general store several men were beginning to work on making ice cream. Fiddle music filled the town with a lively sense of celebration. Later, a dance would be held in the street.
Holt greeted them at the doorway, holding a cup of coffee. “Hey, look here, it’s my two favorite brothers! Come on in!”
They shook hands and Holt welcomed them inside. “Strongest thing I’ve got is hot coffee. But it’s fresh.”
“Sounds good to me,” Deed countered. “Say, where’s Tag?”
“Oh, he and a buddy hooked up to explore the town.”
After pouring coffee for them and a few minutes of catch-up, Blue briefed him on the status of their ranch and the Bar 3. Both spreads were in good shape for the coming winter, with plenty of cut hay stored and the line cabins occupied. Most of the washes had been damned up to hold any water and all the regular water holes had been cleaned. New calves were being branded on both ranches as soon as they were spotted. The coolness of fall had driven away any signs of disease, no screwworm or black fly infections.
Shaking his head, Holt told them about his unfinished tour of the county, seeing the Hallorans again, meeting Logan Wheeler and his two children, and seeing the Johnsons once more. He told them about Judd and that his wife and son were staying in the hotel for now. Deed asked if he was interested in Allison and Holt shook his head, but said he couldn’t leave them with Judd. He said the Hallorans had come by earlier this morning, and he hoped the Wheeler family would attend the day’s festivities.
Blue asked if he had met the new teacher and Holt was surprised to hear she had arrived, then realized she had come when he was out of town.
“Say, where’s Hannah? Sleeping in?” Deed asked, changing the subject.
“No. He’s at the bank. In it, actually,” Holt answered. “Been there since last night. We decided this would be a good day to rob the bank. What with everything going on.” He blew on his coffee.
“Makes sense.” Blue walked over to the window, sipped his coffee, and watched the street. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen the town this busy.” He glanced back at Holt. “We could’ve kept the bank closed, you know.”
“Thought about that, but there are a lot of folks who’ll want some money today. Good for business,” Holt responded. “How’s Silka?”
Deed chuckled and told him the samurai had ridden into town with them and had immediately gone to see a certain Chinese woman at the barbershop. He sat on the edge of the marshal’s desk and tried his coffee. Very hot. He blew on its surface and tried another sip.
Finally finishing his coffee, he laid the empty cup on the desk. “I need to get back to the gymkhana. Atlee’s boy is entering.”
“You should be there . . . dad,” Holt teased.
Deed’s neck reddened, but he grinned.
Blue put his cup down on the desk. “Yeah, we’d better catch up with the womenfolk.”
“Sure,” Holt said. “By the way, your Warrior will be going up against one of my Comanche horses. Littleson is going to ride him. Best I stay out of it.”
“Hey, that’ll be fun. Want to make a side bet?”
“Of course.”
The three brothers laughed. Blue agreed to hold the wager and the other two brothers handed over their money. Blue and Deed headed for the door.
“We’ll see you later,” Deed said and left with his brother ahead of him.
“Looking forward to it.”
Holt strolled over to the stove where the coffeepot sat. It was nearly empty, so he decided to make more now. A bark at the door told him Tag had completed his adventure. He opened the door and animal and man greeted each other enthusiastically.
“Making some coffee, Tag,” Holt said and returned to the stove. “Want some?” He chuckled.
After filling the pot with water from the big pitcher and filling a water dish for Tag, he went to the cupboard beside the stove to get the
coffee sack.
Another knock on the door. Being sheriff meant being available. At the door were Allison and her mother and brother.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” Allison cooed. “We just dropped by to see you . . . Thank you again for helping Mom.”
It was awkward, but he had to be cordial. He invited them in and apologized for not having any coffee. Mrs. Johnson said they didn’t intend to stay, just wanted to greet him. Oliver proudly told him that he had a job at the hotel, cleaning rooms, helping out at the front desk, in exchange for their room.
Allison tried to flirt with him and it had annoyed him. He had finally asked them to leave because he had work that needed doing.
Nodding, Mrs. Johnson said, “Oh, of course. How silly of us. I’m sure you’re very busy. Come along, Allison. Oliver.” She headed for the door.
At the doorway, Allison mentioned the dance scheduled later and reminded him that her supper box was tied with a purple ribbon. After they left, he wished he had told her that he would be on duty. Instead, he had only muttered that it sounded like fun. He growled to himself and reached for the half-used sack of coffee. Tag rubbed against his leg.
“Yeah, I’ll get you something to eat, too.” He looked again in the cupboard and produced a piece of jerky for the dog.
From down the street came two quick booms! Hannah! Holt dropped the sack, grabbed a Winchester from the rack, and hurried out the door. He thundered down the boardwalk with townspeople jumping out of his way, unsure of what was happening at the bank. Others realized the shots were coming from the bank and ran for cover. The music stopped as if on cue. Tag barked and kept with him stride for stride. A carriage with an older couple skirted down the crowded street, somehow avoiding hitting anyone.
Outside the bank, Billy Joe and Hixon sat in the buckboard as planned and were uncertain what to do. From the commotion inside the bank, it was clear Marshal Hannah had been waiting. No one expected that.
“Let’s make a break for it. Nobody’ll figure we’re part of this,” Hixon said and unwrapped the reins from the brake.
“No, wait. Here comes Holt Corrigan. We’ll get him. That’ll spook that gunman marshal friend of his. We can still get the money. It’ll be easy. Nobody else is gonna stop us,” Billy Joe growled and put his hand on the reins to stop Hixon’s retreat. “It’ll be easy. Just let him turn his back to us.”
Hixon swallowed. “A-all right.” He drew a short-barreled revolver from his overalls pocket and held it at his side. Billy Joe was already holding a Winchester in his lap.
Holt hurried past him and into the bank, Tag at his side. From up the street, Blue and Deed ran toward the bank, coming as soon as they heard the shots, and saw what was happening. Both Hixon and Billy Joe aimed at Holt as he entered the bank.
“Those two in the buckboard are part of it.” Deed knelt on one knee in the center of the now-vacant street, aimed, and fired his Remington.
“Look out, Holt!” Blue yelled.
Two steps behind, he drew his Walch Navy 12-shot revolver and fired in one motion, then fired again. Deed’s shot struck Billy Joe in the temple and he collapsed against the front of the buckboard. His rifle looped in the air and thudded on the boardwalk. Hixon grabbed his leg as Blue’s second shot drove into his right thigh. From inside the bank, Holt’s two rifle shots sounded like one and Hixon stood in the wagon, staggered backward, and fell.
Resuming their rush to the bank, Deed and Blue hurried to the two downed outlaws.
“That’s fine shooting, Deed,” Blue said, looking at the black hole in the side of Billy Joe’s head. His wig had dislodged from his scalp, along with the large bonnet, and lay in a pool of blood.
“Hell, Blue, I was aiming for his gut,” Deed responded. “Holt, you all right in there?”
Tag wandered from the bank and stood as if on guard.
“Yes, but take a close look at those two,” an unseen Holt yelled. “They’re part of the Bordner bunch the Rangers took away.
Deed stared again at the bodies of Hixon and Billy Joe. “Of course. This is Willard Hixon.” He pulled the unmoving body of Billy Joe aside so he could see his face. “And this is that scumbag they called Billy Joe. Tried to ambush us in the livery.”
From across the street, inside the general store, a woman turned to her husband and proclaimed, “My God, Henry, they shot a woman. A woman!”
Hannah came from the bank, pushing Georgian ahead of him with the nose of his shotgun. “The other one’s dead. Bear’s what they called him. That means there’s more somewhere in town.”
“Yeah, plus whoever helped them get away from the Rangers.” Deed shoved a new cartridge into his Remington.
“Wait, James,” Holt said. “This is Georgian. He’s a smart man. He’ll tell us what happened. Might save his neck.”
“Go to hell.”
“Bad answer, asshole.” Deed stepped against the outlaw and pressed his Remington against Georgian’s stomach. “Remember, I’m not a lawman. It doesn’t matter to me or anyone else if you make it back to the jail or not. Talk. Do it now. Actually don’t. I’d much rather blow you apart.”
The big outlaw tightened his mouth and Deed slapped him across the face with the nose of his gun. “Last chance.”
“I-I . . . Rhey’s half-brother broke us out. Lorat. He’s crazy. Killed the Rangers, all of t-them. Caught them sleeping at Make-Camp Pond.” Georgian stammered. “P-please . . . I didn’t do it. Lorat and Rhey set all this up. I-I . . .”
“Of course, you were just an honest man caught up in a bad situation,” Deed growled.
“P-please . . . don’t shoot.”
Deed spun away from the man. “That means there are three left.”
Blue was outside, staring up the street. “I think we just found out where two of them are. They’ve got Bina and Atlee.”
“What?” Deed began running toward the jail. Blue was a few steps behind him. Holt was standing beside the bank, talking to Hannah.
In the street, Rhey held Bina in one arm and Lorat held Atlee.
“Stop right there, boys . . . or your womenfolk die,” Rhey commanded and pointed his pistol at Bina’s head, then turned it back at the oncoming brothers. “We’ll blow their brains all over this street.”
Blue stopped, but Deed kept advancing. Across the street, he glimpsed a nervous man cowering behind a horse trough. He would be no worry. But leaning against the post outside the Blue Dog saloon was a well-dressed stranger. The tall man wore knee-high tan boots with his striped pants tucked inside them. A tailored vest and silk cravat set off a buckskin jacket with fringe. His short-brimmed fedora covered brown hair. He lit a black cheroot and watched the situation with no apparent inclination to get involved.
Deed decided the man was not a threat and turned his full attention back to the outlaws in the street.
Sneering, Lorat added his own command and pointed his pistol at Deed. “Bring up that buckboard, tied at the bank. When we’re safe out of town, we’ll leave these two lovely ladies.” His forearm clasped Atlee’s neck. “Maybe they’ll be alive if you’re quick about it . . . and they’re nice to us.” His laugh was taunting.
With his heavy pistol at his side, Blue turned toward Holt, still at the bank. “Holt, bring that buckboard up here. Hurry.”
“That’s a good boy.” Lorat grinned. “Don’t try coming any closer, Deed. I know your tricks. Both of you, drop your guns or we’ll shoot. Got it?”
Deed took two more steps toward the two outlaws and stopped.
“I told you not to come closer . . . and I told you to drop your guns. You want me to shoot?” Lorat’s voice was shrill and agitated.
Deed took another step closer; he was now fifteen feet from them. His Remington was at his side. “I get this, Lorat. You harm either of those women and I’ll hunt you down and kill you like the dogs you are. It doesn’t matter where you go, or what you try to do. Now . . . do you get it?”
Lorat’s eyes widened and he blinked several times. �
�I said drop your gun.”
Deed leaned over and laid his revolver on the ground in front of him.
“Stupid fool,” Lorat sneered and pointed his gun at Deed.
From the schoolhouse area, Logan Wheeler came running. In his hands was his Henry. He skidded to a stop, knelt, and yelled, “Put down your guns. You’re surrounded.”
Both Lorat and Rhey glanced in the direction of the farmer. Glancing first at Deed, Atlee swung her purse directly up and into Lorat’s face and spun away from his grasp. Almost at the same moment, Bina jammed a pair of scissors from her purse into Rhey’s stomach. She, too, jerked away, diving to the ground.
Lorat screamed like a wild animal and aimed his gun to shoot at Wheeler. The farmer fired and missed. So did Lorat. Deed grabbed the throwing knife carried in a sheath behind his back, on the rawhide that also held the bushido brass circle. His throw was hard and direct, catching Lorat in his throat, up to the hilt. The outlaw seized the knife to pull it free. Deed re-grabbed his Remington and fired in one motion.
“I’ll kill you!” a wild-eyed Lorat gasped, blood spurting from his neck. Holding the knife in one hand, he tried to raise his gun.
Wheeler levered his Henry again and fired.
Lorat jerked sideways as both bullets hit him. Moving forward, Deed fired three more times into the blond outlaw.
Next to him, Rhey sat down in the street, holding his stomach with one hand, where a red spot was growing, and his gun in the other. Bina’s scissors lay a few inches away. Wheeler ran over to Rhey and held his rifle on the downed outlaw.
“You sonuvabitch, you threatened my brother’s wife and . . . the woman I love!” Deed screamed. His gun clicked on an empty chamber.
Wheeler forced Rhey to drop his gun and the farmer picked it up. Blue came to his brother, holding Bina with his lone arm. “It’s over, Deed. He’s dead.”
Deed stared at Blue, then at Bina, blinked, and hurried to where Atlee stood. “Oh my God, are you all right?” He took her in his arms.