Confessions of a Gunfighter

by Tell Cotten

  Whenever I needed food I would stop a while and hunt. I always cooked enough meat to last a few days, and when that ran out I just stopped again. I figured ol’ Slim could use the rest anyways.

  At first I did see a few Injuns from time to time. But they were always a long ways off, and I would quickly change directions.

  I don’t know why, but after a couple of weeks I got the distinct feeling that I was being followed. I did my best to cover my tracks, and several times I stayed all day in one spot while I carefully watched my back trail.

  I never saw anything. But still, no matter how careful I was, I just couldn’t shake the feeling.

  Despite this feeling, I finally figured that I had traveled enough. I was now deep into cow country, so I decided that I would stop and ask for a job at the next ranch I came across.

  That night I made camp at the base of high ridge.

  Evening time had become my favorite time of day. It was a good time to relax and drink some coffee, and I was planning on doing just that.

  There was a nice, gentle breeze, and I leaned up against my saddle and got comfortable while I watched Slim graze. It was real peaceful, and I couldn’t help but think that this sure did beat being an outlaw.

  It was almost dark when suddenly, from up above on the ridge, I heard a clicking sound.

  It was a sound I knew all too well. It was a rifle hammer being pulled back.

  I dropped my coffee, and then I rolled over and dove to my left.

  Chapter forty

  A rifle boomed loudly, and there was a loud ping as the bullet hit my coffee pot.

  I scrambled as I knocked over my pot of coffee and doused out the fire. In the same motion I also grabbed my rifle and dove behind a log.

  Another bullet came crashing down. It made a loud, whining sound as it ricocheted into some nearby rocks.

  I had good cover, so I hunkered down.

  I glanced upwards. It was almost completely dark, and I couldn’t see a thing. But I figured that was good, because that meant the shooter couldn’t see me neither.

  I wondered who the shooter was. It could be a stranger looking to steal my horse, or it could be Yancy.

  But my gut told me it was Ryan Palmer.

  Time passed slowly, and the only thing that moved were my eyes. I never saw anything, and before long it got so dark that I couldn’t even see the ridge no more.

  I moved as quiet as possible as I packed up camp and saddled Slim.

  The whole time I worked I was real tense as I expected the shooter to fire again. But to my relief, it never happened.

  I climbed up onto Slim and took out in a slow walk.

  I went two or three hundred yards. After that I kicked Slim up to a trot, and we got out of there.

  We trotted for ten minutes or so, and then I pulled up Slim and made him be quiet. I listened hard, but didn’t hear anything.

  I was satisfied that I wasn’t being followed, so I rode on.

  I wasn’t happy about the situation. It looked like Palmer was still on my trail, and apparently he wasn’t giving up any time soon. And, more important to me at the moment, he had made me miss my evening coffee.

  A couple of hours passed, and my thirst for coffee got even worse.

  I had just decided to stop again when I suddenly spotted a glow of a campfire in the far distance in front of me.

  Injuns were the first thing that crossed my mind, but I quickly dismissed the idea. Injuns usually didn’t come this far south, and if it were Injuns they wouldn’t let their campfire be seen.

  I knew it would be safer to just ride around whoever’s camp it was. But, the thought of getting a cup of coffee changed my mind.

  As I got closer I could hear occasional laughter, and I also could hear them talking English.

  I relaxed a bit, but I was still wary.

  I pulled my rifle out and laid it across the front of my saddle.

  “Hello the camp!” I called out.

  I heard all sorts of commotion, and then somebody yelled back, “Who’s out there?”

  “I’m by myself, looking for a cup of coffee is all,” I replied.

  It was silent, and then the same voice answered, “come on in then.”

  I tightened my hold on my rifle and kicked up Slim.

  I noticed that they had a herd of about thirty horses, and it was an assorted bunch. There were paints, sorrels, buckskins….all kinds.

  There were twelve or so men in camp, and the first thing I noticed were their blue uniforms.

  Yankees!

  My heart jumped, but I made myself relax. The war had been over for a while now. And, contrary to what Kinrich believed, not all Yankees were bad.

  There was a big, young, lanky feller keeping watch, and I rode by him first.

  He had a cocky way about him that I didn’t like. I could tell he thought that he was a gunfighter, because he wore his gun low and tied down.

  He was sneering at me, and he stepped forward and blocked my path. He also reached out and grabbed my reins.

  “Hold on there, sonny,” he said.

  I started to tell him to get out of my way, but then another big feller walked up from the camp.

  “Private Roy Shaw, return to your post,” the big feller commanded.

  Shaw didn’t like it, and he reluctantly turned loose of my reins. He glared at me as he turned and walked out into the darkness.

  The big feller walked on up to me, and I got a good look at his face.

  I almost dropped my rifle in surprise.

  “I’m Lieutenant Kenneth Porter,” the big feller said.

  Only he wasn’t.

  He was Mr. Jones from the wagon train.

  Chapter forty-one

  My first impulse was to shoot him.

  But I held back. It had been years since Mr. Jones had seen me, and I could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t recognize me.

  I decided to act calm and cordial, and then get away as soon as I could without raising any suspicions.

  Lieutenant Porter was looking me over.

  “Who are you?” He asked.

  I started to answer truthfully, but I caught myself just in time.

  “Uh, my name’s Joe. Joe Lenders,” I replied awkwardly.

  Lieutenant Porter didn’t seem to notice my hesitation.

  “Traveling kind of late, ain’t you?”

  “I reckon you could say so,” I agreed.

  Lieutenant Porter frowned as he studied my face.

  “Have we met?” He asked.

  My heart started beating fast, but I managed to stay calm.

  “No, don’t think we have,” I said truthfully.

  “You look familiar,” he replied.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “I do?” I finally asked.

  It fell silent. But finally, Lieutenant Porter shrugged.

  “Oh well, it’s probably nothing,” he said.

  I was relieved, and I smiled softly.

  Lieutenant Porter beckoned at the fire.

  “We’ve got food and coffee if you’re hungry,” he offered.

  “Thanks,” I replied. “I could eat.”

  I kept my rifle in hand as I swung down off Slim. I tied Slim to a bush, and then I walked over to the fire and helped myself to some grub and coffee.

  Lieutenant Porter sat down across the fire and watched me while I ate.

  “Where are you from?” Lieutenant Porter asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Nowhere, really. I was born back east, but these past few years I’ve just been drifting.”

  “Besides drifting,” Lieutenant Porter said, “what are you good at?”

  I thought on that.

  “Oh, a little of this, and a little of that,” I replied.

  “Hmm,” Lieutenant Porter said thoughtfully.

  He was still looking me over, and I could tell that he was interested in me. And especially when he noticed how I wore my six-shooter.

  “You l
ooking for work?” Lieutenant Porter asked.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “You any good with that?” He nodded towards my six-shooter.

  “I can sure hit a pine cone,” I replied.

  Lieutenant Porter grinned shrewdly.

  “Yes, I’m sure you can. You know, I’m pretty good at hitting pine cones myself.”

  I didn’t reply. Instead, I just nodded.

  “How do you feel about our current government?” Lieutenant Porter asked abruptly.

  His question startled me. Now, at an early age I had been taught to tell the truth, and old habits were hard to break. So, I swallowed hard and answered.

  “It’s a necessary evil, I reckon.”

  Lieutenant Porter chuckled gruffly.

  “I figured you might feel that a-way,” Lieutenant Porter said, and then he leaned forward. “Joe, I might know of a job that meets your, uh, qualifications.”

  “You offering me a job?” I asked bluntly.

  “That’s right,” he nodded.

  “Doing what?”

  Lieutenant Porter smiled wryly.

  “Looking out for my interests.”

  “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” I frowned.

  “It’s like this,” Lieutenant Porter said. “I’m the new law around here, and whatever I say goes.”

  “Oh?” I asked.

  Lieutenant Porter puffed his chest out.

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what?” I asked.

  “Governor Davis has organized a new state police force, and I’ve been appointed to this area. In fact, we’re setting up our new headquarters right now over at Empty-lake.”

  “Ain’t that something,” I replied.

  Lieutenant Porter ignored my sarcasm.

  “You see, some of them old rebels are still giving us fits, so a few weeks ago Governor Davis declared martial law to help maintain law and order. We’re going to really show them old rebels a thing or two.”

  “Where would I come in?”

  Lieutenant Porter grinned.

  “Taxes have also been raised here in Texas to bring in more money. Now, I know for a fact that there’s several ranches around here that won’t be able to pay them higher taxes. I’ll have to confiscate the deeds to their range, and when that happens those deeds will be put up for sale real cheap. I’m going to buy all that land, and when I do I’ll need somebody like you that can take care of any unpleasantness. You savvy now?”

  I frowned distastefully. I had never liked the word ‘confiscate.’

  “I understand. But this plan of yours is going to take a lot of money,” I said.

  Lieutenant Porter grinned.

  “I’ve got me a real good side business.”

  “Selling horses?” I asked.

  Lieutenant Porter’s face stiffened.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I noticed your herd is all,” I replied.

  “Them horses are none of your business,” Lieutenant Porter declared roughly.

  I had hit a nerve without even trying to.

  “Sure,” I replied quickly.

  It was silent as I finished eating.

  I had irritated Lieutenant Porter, and his face was flushed and red.

  “So, do you want the job or not?” He asked.

  “No, don’t think I do,” I replied carefully.

  “What? Why not?” Lieutenant Porter demanded to know.

  “I’m looking for something a little more peaceful,” I replied.

  Lieutenant Porter narrowed his eyes as he studied me.

  “Well, I thought I had you figured out, but I guess I was wrong,” Lieutenant Porter said.

  “Reckon so,” I replied.

  “Well, since you don’t want a job, then I want you outta this part of the country,” he declared.

  “Sure thing,” I replied. “I’m running low on supplies. Is that town you mentioned the nearest town?”

  Lieutenant Porter nodded.

  “Empty-lake is about a three day’s ride to the west,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Well, I reckon I’ll head towards Empty-lake come morning then.”

  “Suit yourself,” Lieutenant Porter replied as he stood. “But don’t you be staying there for too long.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied.

  We turned in after that, ’cept for the night guards.

  I was real uneasy, and I slept light. I was up before breakfast, and I had Slim saddled and ready to go before sunrise.

  I ate breakfast with them, and it was real uncomfortable. Everybody was in a bad mood, and I was sure ready to part company.

  After breakfast I mounted up.

  Lieutenant Porter mumbled a good-bye, but that was all.

  As I rode out of camp I saw Private Shaw looking at me, and I sure didn’t like the cruel look that was in his eyes.

  It made me uneasy, and I got the distinct feeling that I hadn’t seen the last of Private Shaw or Lieutenant Porter.

  Chapter forty-two

  Lieutenant Porter was on my mind as I rode along.

  He had ordered me to clear out. The more I thought about that, the more irritated I got. I hadn’t done anything wrong, and it riled me to think that some Yankee could order me around like that. Especially him.

  So, I decided that I wasn’t going to leave. I was going to find a job some place close, even if that meant working in town cleaning out horse stalls.

  I was also bothered by the way he planned on taking away the rancher’s lands. I didn’t know much when it came to the law, but to me that just didn’t seem right.

  But then, who was I to decide what was right and wrong?

  There was also the mystery of those horses. Lieutenant Porter had sure acted funny when I had asked about them, and I got the feeling that they had been stolen.

  ***

  Two days later, just as it was getting dark, I rode up to a little ranch.

  Recovery from the war had been a long and painful process here in Texas, and I could tell that this place had fallen upon hard times.

  The pole pens sagged; they were just about to fall down in several places. The roof on the house seemed to have more patches than original material, and the barn leaned in directions it shouldn’t be.

  There was a lamp burning inside the main house. As I pulled up Slim, a middle aged man came out onto the front porch. An older black man hobbled out behind him.

  I noticed that both of them held rifles.

  The middle-aged man was a big man with wide shoulders and large, powerful arms that were accustomed to hard work. His face was weathered and tired looking, but his eyes were sharp.

  As for the black man, he was just old.

  “Who’s out there?” The middle aged man called out.

  “I’m just passing through, looking for work is all,” I replied. “I ain’t looking for trouble.”

  “In that case, light and set a while, mister,” he offered. “Supper’s on the stove. Put your horse up in the barn and come have a cup of coffee.”

  That sounded good. My coffee pot still had a bullet hole in it, and I’d gone two days without coffee.

  “Thanks for the invite,” I replied.

  They went back inside while I went down to the barn and unsaddled Slim. I watered and fed him some hay, and then I went back up to the house.

  The middle-aged man met me at the door.

  “My name’s Steve Hardin,” he said as he shook my hand.

  “I’m, uh, Joe Lenders,” I replied.

  We walked inside.

  “This here is Jeremiah Batch. He works for me,” Mr. Hardin said.

  I nodded at Jeremiah, and he nodded back.

  Supper was ready, so we sat down at the table.

  It was a plain meal of bread and beans. But there was plenty, and we ate heartily.

  “Where are you headed?” Mr. Hardin asked.

  “Just drifting, hunting work,” I replied. “You couldn’t
use an extra hand, could you?”

  Mr. Hardin frowned.

  “I’m sure you’ve got eyes. We’re barely making it as it is. Besides, me and ol’ Jeremiah do all right by ourselves. Ain’t that right, Jeremiah?”

  Jeremiah nodded.

  “Times are hard,” Mr. Hardin continued. “Only place I can think of that might be hiring is the Tomlin’s place.”

  “Oh?” I asked curiously.

  “They’re the biggest outfit around these parts,” Mr. Hardin explained. “They run some cows, but they also raise a lot of horses.”

  “Sounds interesting,” I replied. “How far off is it?”

  “Their range starts just as soon as you leave my place,” Mr. Hardin told me. “But their headquarters is about twelve miles to the west.”

  “That would put it pretty close to Empty-lake, wouldn’t it?” I asked as I gulped down some coffee.

  Mr. Hardin nodded.

  “Empty-lake is a few miles due north of their headquarters.”

  “Well, reckon I’ll head that way in the morning then,” I replied.

  It was real nice being amongst honest fellers again, and I enjoyed myself. Mr. Hardin seemed to be sort-a lonesome, and he talked non-stop.

  “You’re the second visitor I’ve had today,” Mr. Hardin told me suddenly. “But I didn’t like the looks of that other feller, and I sent him packing.”

  Jeremiah nodded in agreement.

  “Oh?” I asked.

  Mr. Hardin continued.

  “I think he was looking for somebody. He kept asking me if’n I had seen any other strangers about.”

  I was suddenly curious.

  “Did he tell you his name?” I asked.

  Mr. Hardin shook his head.

  “No, don’t recall that he did.”

  “Just what did this feller look like?” I wanted to know.

  “He was a young feller with curly, yeller hair, and he was riding a light colored dun horse,” Mr. Hardin told me. “Seemed real cocky too.”

  My fork froze halfway up to my mouth.

  Ryan Palmer! I thought grimly.

  I was worried, but I tried to look calm.

  “Well, I’m just glad that he didn’t give you any trouble,” I said.

  Mr. Hardin grinned as he reached over and patted his rifle, which was laid out on the table beside him.