by Larry Hunt
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
What’s your Business
The late summer air is stifling and hot as Luke sits on the front porch cleaning the guns he and Sam had gotten off the dead outlaws after they killed the bear at the cabin. They had salvaged three Colt handguns, two Henry .44 caliber carbine rifles, and three skinning knives. He has just finished cleaning and loading one of the Henrys as he notices four riders approaching from the direction of Knoxville. He assumes they were heading over the mountain to Lexington, Kentucky. He assumed wrong.
When the riders reach the gate leading to the farmhouse, they stop. They do not nudge their horses forward up the mountain instead they turn left and enter through the gate. From the gate to the house, a distance of about five hundred yards, the riders spur their mounts in to a slow gallop.
As they approach Luke stands up and walks to the railing of the porch carrying one of the Henrys, fully loaded. As the four men near, he can see they are not locals, they each are riding double hitched, Texas quarter horses, the type of horse used to rope and herd cattle. The man riding in front wears a pair of black, boot length, leather chaps. His Mexican roping saddle is glistening, black leather, inlaid with silver. His spurs are so large Luke can hear them jingling as he approaches. All four wear leather vests and large, ten-gallon Texas Stetsons. Colt .44 six-shooters are strapped to the leg of each. They each have lassos tied to the right side of their saddles, and leather chaps draped over the front of the saddles. The bullets in their pistol belts glint in the sunlight as they near.
“Howdy, friend,” the lead rider says to Luke as he reins his horse to a stop.
Before answering, Luke looks the strangers over closely; the one with the black chaps has a .44 on each hip with the butts turned forward. Luke assumes this is to necessitate a faster draw. Luke recognizes a gunfighter when he sees one. He didn’t know about the other three, but this one dude is not only the leader he is also the fast draw of the bunch. Setting the Henry butt end down upon the porch railing, finger on the trigger, hammer back Luke replies, “What’s your business?”
“Now,” says the gunslinger, “that don’t sound very neighborly, friend.”
“Two things wrong with that,” says Luke.
“What you tryin’ to say friend?”
“I ain’t tryin’, I’m sayin’, I ain’t your neighbor and I’m sure ain’t your friend. Now turn them horses of yours around and mosey, yeah that’s what you say in Texas ain’t it, ‘mosey’ on back to the gate and keep on going. Turn left and you’ll find The Lone Star state in about a thousand miles.”
The gunslinger sits up in his saddle and asks, “Where’d you get that Henry carbine? It’s got the initials “B.B.” carved in the stock. That rifle belongs to Bert Black. How’d you get it?”
“Bert must’a lost it, and I found it, guess it rightly belongs to me now,” said Luke.
As Luke talks the gunfighter begins to throw his left leg over his horse’s flank as if going to dismount. Luke grabs the Henry and pulls the trigger, the gunfighter falls headfirst to the ground. The .44, the gunfighter had slipped into his right hand to ambush Luke, falls to the ground also.
The other three pull their pistols and begin to fire; Luke ducks behind a porch post as slivers of wood begin to rain down on him. The outlaws are shooting so fast he cannot stick his head out to get another shot; suddenly he hears the crack of the old Spencer repeater, opening up from the barn.
Nate knocks one of the riders from his horse with the first shot. Luke now has time to begin emptying his Henry toward the remaining two gunmen. One gunman breaks toward the road in an attempt to escape to the front gate; Luke hears the belching of fire coming from a Colt .44 from behind the big old oak tree beside the barn. It is Sam. Sam fires again and headfirst the rider crumbles from the saddle onto the dirt.
Number four hollers, “Don’t shoot,” while sticking his arms into the air. “I give up!” He no sooner said the word ‘up’ when another Spencer round catches him squarely in the chest knocking him from the saddle. Falling across his horses’ flanks he lands flat on his back with a deadly thud on the dirt of the yard.
Luke runs out into the yard to check on the men. The gunslinger never knew what hit him. The one Nate popped from the barn was done for. So too was the one Sam hit who broke and ran for the gate; however, the last one Nate nailed as he was surrendering was alive, just barely. Just in case these outlaws are interested, and this one obviously is, a .56 caliber Spencer makes a mighty big hole going in and an even larger one coming out.
Luke bends down and cradles the dying man’s head in his lap, blood oozed from the front and back of his shirt, “Why? Why did y’all come here looking for trouble?” Luke earnestly asks.
Gasping for air the outlaw speaks, “Me and Cimarron wuz up at the Gap... the day Bert comes runnin’ in... tellin’ about Old Bill and his gold mine. When spring come... we found that old cabin and found the graves of what was left of Bert and the other fellows, so Cimarron... just...just figured you all was the nearest place, so you must a knowed where... the...the... gold wuz and y’all y’all had the map. He said y’all would be... easy...easy... pickin’s. We come here to get... it....,” and he exhaled deeply, once then twice and died. Luke using his hand he closes the dead man’s open eyes.
“Why did you shoot him Nate, he was giving up?” Luke asks as Nate comes running up to the dead fellow.
“Shucks, I wuz goin’ two fer two couldn’t ruint my shootin’ record!”
As the smoke settles Catherine runs from the house and throws her arms around Luke, “Are you hurt, my darling?”
“No, no I’m fine, I wasn’t hit anywhere.”
“Jest in case anybody’s interested I’s fine too!” said Nate sheepishly.
“Speaking of being interested,” Nate says, “Sam, where’s Sam?”
“Last I seed of him,” said Luke, “he was firing that old Colt hogleg from behind the big oak.”
All three instantly look toward the oak, all they see is Sam’s legs lying prostrate on the ground – he has been hit and isn’t moving! Sam drops the Spencer to the ground and runs toward the tree, Catherine and Nate follow closely behind.
“Sam! Sam speak to me!”
“My leg Luke, it’s my left leg!”
Removing his bandana, Luke makes a tourniquet, slows the bleeding, and he and Nate carry Sam into the house. Luke works on removing the bullet, and finally calls Catherine and Nate to the bedroom, “Well, I’ve got good news and bad. The good is Sam’s goin’ to be fine, the bullet missed all the major arteries, but the bad is he’s going to be laid up for a spell.”
“Nah, Luke gimme a day or two and I’ll be fit as a fiddle. We’ll load up them wagons and get going before the first snow.”
“I’m sorry Sam, but leaving this fall is out now, you’ll be off that leg for a month or so. We’ll leave for Alabama in the spring.”
“I’m sorry Luke for putting us behind schedule, but what was them fellers after anyhow?”
“Gold, they knew about the gold. Listen up, all of you, those four may not be the only ones that knows our gold secret, so until we leave this place we need to have someone on guard at all times. Since you’re going to be off your feet for a while, Sam you can sit on the front porch, when you feel like it, and do that job. Nate find some boards and go nail the front gate shut, but before you do let’s bury those dead fellers lying out there in the yard. What about up yonder on the hill where we buried your Ma and Pa?”
“No way!” said Catherine, “I’m not having no murdering outlaws lying next to my mother and father. Bury them out yonder in the pasture, or haul’em off and throw them off the bluff. That’s good enough for them.”
“Wow, she a tough one huh Nate?”
“Tough as rawhide, Luke, I believe youse done met yer match,” Nate said grinning..
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