Ralph Compton Big Jake's Last Drive

by Robert J. Randisi

  A payroll sounded tasty to him, and maybe it was just the thing he needed to distract him while he waited for Motley a bit longer.

  “Gar.”

  “Yes?”

  “Go get two beers,” he said, “and then tell me about this payroll.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Approaching San Antonio eight days later, Jake was wondering if Seaforth was expecting him. How far would he go? Would he send a scout to watch for him? His intention had been to ride to Three Rivers to find the man, but what if the man found him before that?

  He decided to skirt San Antonio, stop in a smaller town to refill his burlap sack with supplies. He found a small town called Wayfair that had a trading post. He was able to get what he needed, and a drink while waiting for the owner to tally his bill.

  “There ya go,” the man said, handing him his gunnysack. “That’s a smart way to carry your supplies, instead of packin’ your saddlebags.”

  “I thought so,” Jake said. “Thanks.”

  “Sure thing.”

  He started out, but decided to try to find out some information. After all, he was only about seventy miles from Three Rivers.

  “Maybe you can help me with somethin’,” Jake started.

  “What’s that?” the white-haired clerk asked.

  “Three Rivers.”

  “What about it?” the man asked.

  “I was thinking of stopping there for supplies, until I saw your store.”

  “Well, you’re lucky you did.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Three Rivers is a closed town.”

  “How’d that happen?”

  “There’s a group called Seaforth’s Raiders got it sewed up,” the clerk said. “Nobody’s allowed to even buy supplies there. This Major Seaforth’s laid claims to the entire stock in the general store.”

  “Is that still goin’ on?” Jake asked. “I thought I heard those raiders had come to a bad end.”

  “Not that I know of,” the clerk said. “In fact, from what I hear, they got more men than ever in that group. Or I should call ’em a gang, because that’s what they are.”

  “Is that right?”

  “They got delusions that they’re like Quantrill’s Raiders, but they ain’t even close. I’m just glad they don’t hardly come this far north.”

  “Stay to themselves, do they?”

  “Not hardly,” the man said. “They just hit a payroll wagon ’bout a week ago.”

  “What about the law?”

  “Ain’t no law around Three Rivers,” the clerk said, “and don’t nobody else want to claim jurisdiction. Say, why you askin’ so many questions? You got some business with that gang?”

  “I might.”

  “I’d advise against it,” the clerk said. “They say that Major’s a madman, and you look like you’re alone.”

  “I appreciate the advice.”

  He left the trading post, tied the sack to the sorrel’s pommel, and mounted up. It sounded like madman Major Seaforth wasn’t twiddling his thumbs, waiting for Jake Motley to come and find him. Neither was he hiding out. And if he had more men than he had before, Jake was going to have to figure out a way to get to him. He didn’t like the thought of killing him the way they had killed Chance, from a distance. He wanted to put a bullet in the man’s gut from close up, which meant he was at least going to have to deal with his segundo as well as the breed scout.

  He turned his horse and rode out of Wayfair, deep in thought and alert.

  * * *

  * * *

  He immediately recognized the place where the raiders had attacked, and Chance died. He stopped at the gravesite. The cross had been knocked over, probably due to weather or predators. There had been some digging but the body of his friend seemed to have gone undisturbed.

  He dismounted and did his best to prop up the cross. Then he stood there and stared at it.

  “Sorry, old-timer,” he said. “You should have had dozens of years left, if I hadn’t dragged you on this drive. But it wasn’t really my fault, it was that Seaforth fella, and I’m gonna take care of him for ya.”

  Jake didn’t know if it was Seaforth who took the shot, his segundo, or the breed, so he just figured he’d be killing all three of them.

  But one at a time, if he could.

  He mounted up and headed south. Three Rivers was less than a couple of hours away.

  * * *

  * * *

  He camped outside of Three Rivers, making a cold camp, not wanting to attract any attention. It was spring into summer, so having no fire was not a problem. He supped on beef jerky and washed it down with water from his canteen. Tomorrow he wanted to take a look at Three Rivers from a distance, see if Seaforth’s Raiders were there. That would tell him what his options were. If they weren’t in town, he could ride in and wait. If they were then he might have to do something to draw them out.

  He turned in for the night, but kept his gun close.

  * * *

  * * *

  He woke when he heard somebody step on a dry twig. It snapped, and he came rolling out of his bedroll, gun in hand.

  “Wow,” someone said, “that’s a good move for an old codger like you.”

  “What?” He squinted into the dark. The voice was familiar. “Who is that?”

  “Do not worry, señor,” Taco said. “It is only us.”

  They came into view, then, as his eyes got used to being awake in the dark. He saw Taco, Dundee, and Curly.

  “Where’s Desi?” he asked.

  “He had to go back to Mexico,” Taco said. “And he took Carlito with him. But we thought you would need our help.”

  “I told you if we snapped a twig he’d hear it.” Curly laughed. “They said you’d sleep right through it.”

  “Well,” Jake said, holstering his gun, “since the three of you are here we might as well build a fire and put on some coffee.”

  “Got anythin’ to eat?” Dundee asked.

  “Yeah, we can make some beans.”

  “I’ll get some wood,” Dundee said.

  When he came back with the wood he and Taco got the fire going. Jake put the coffee and beans on the fire, and then they sat around and waited.

  “Why no fire before now, Jake?” Dundee asked.

  “I didn’t know who’d be around,” Jake said. “How’d you three find me?”

  “Taco’s a pretty good tracker,” Curly said. “And he figured you’d be runnin’ a cold camp.”

  “I know you, señor,” Taco said.

  “Yeah, you do.”

  “We saw Chance’s grave,” Dundee said. “Figured you were there. That cross looked like it was freshly dug back in.”

  “Yeah, it got knocked over,” Jake said. “I been thinkin’ about diggin’ him up, but then I don’t know where to bury him. South Texas? Old Mexico?”

  “He called Mexico his last home,” Taco said. “Perhaps there.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Jake said. “If I’m still alive after this, maybe I’ll do that.”

  “You hear anythin’ about Seaforth and his raiders?” Dundee asked.

  “Yeah,” Jake said, “heard he’s got more men than ever.”

  “So he restocked,” Curly said. “That don’t matter. We took ’em once, we can take ’em again.”

  “There’s four of us this time,” Jake said, “and more than a dozen of them.”

  “Yeah,” Curly said, “but you’ve got a plan, right?”

  “I was gonna take a look at Three Rivers tomorrow and, if they’re not there, ride in and wait.”

  “Wait for a dozen men?” Dundee asked.

  “More,” Curly reminded him.

  “And if they are in town?” Dundee asked.

  “Figure out a way to draw them out.” />
  “I don’t like this plan,” Taco said.

  “What about joinin’ up?” Dundee asked. “I’m sure they never had a good look at me or Curly. We could ride in and join up, and then be on the inside.”

  “Too dangerous,” Jake said. I don’t want you guys gettin’ killed—at least, not without me.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Dundee asked.

  “Let’s just wait till mornin’,” Jake said, “and see what comes up.”

  “We settin’ a watch?” Curly asked.

  “Well,” Jake said, “now that we’ve got a fire, I think we have to.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The next morning they woke, doused the fire, saddled up, and moved out.

  “Taco,” Jake said, “ride up ahead and see what you can see. You’re scouting for their scout.”

  “Sí, señor.”

  As he started to ride ahead Jake called, “Taco!”

  “Sí, señor?” Taco said, turning in the saddle.

  “If you see him, just ride back here and tell us.”

  “Sí, señor.”

  As Taco rode ahead Dundee asked, “Are we gonna take a look at Three Rivers today?”

  “Yeah,” Jake said, “but from a distance. I don’t want them seein’ us until we’re ready.”

  “That sounds okay to me,” Curly said.

  “Three Rivers is about two hours ahead,” Jake said. “Let’s be real alert.”

  “Agreed,” Dundee said.

  * * *

  * * *

  After about an hour and a half they heard a horse coming their way. Curly raised his rifle.

  “Easy,” Jake said. “It’s one rider, probably Taco.”

  As the sound came closer the rider appeared, and it was, indeed, Taco.

  Curly put his rifle up and they waited for the Mexican to reach them.

  “I saw him,” Taco said.

  “The scout?”

  “Sí, the breed,” Taco said.

  “And did he see you?” Jake asked.

  “I do not think so,” Taco said.

  “How far are we from town?” Dundee asked.

  “It is just over that far rise,” Taco said. “We can observe it from there.”

  “Then let’s go,” Curly said.

  “But if we can see the town,” Taco added, “they can see us.”

  “We’ll keep low,” Jake said.

  “Sí,” Taco said. “We can leave the horses and approach on foot.”

  “All right,” Jake said. “Curly, you stay with the horses.”

  “Why me?” Curly demanded.

  “You’re still the wrangler,” Jake said.

  “Yeah, yeah . . .”

  They left their horses in Curly’s care and made their way up the rise. As they reached the top they got down on their stomachs and crawled the rest of the way. From their vantage point they were able to look down at Three Rivers.

  “Nothin’,” Dundee said. “They ain’t there.”

  “Yeah, they are,” Jake said.

  “How can you tell?” Dundee asked. “There’s nobody on the streets.”

  “It’s because there’s nobody on the streets that I know they’re there,” Jake said. “The people are staying inside.”

  “Their horses must be in a stable,” Taco observed.

  “I agree,” Jake said. “And they must be in a saloon, a café, or a whorehouse.”

  “Except for the breed,” Dundee said. “He’s out here, somewhere.”

  “Right,” Jake said, looking around. “Let’s back out of here.”

  They backed down the rise, then got to their feet and ran back to Curly and the horses.

  “Well?” Curly asked.

  “They’re down there,” Jake said.

  “We can’t go down and get them, can we?” Curly asked hopefully.

  “Definitely not,” Jake said. “Especially now that we heard there’s more of them than ever.”

  “Then what do we do?” Dundee asked. “Can you take a shot from up here, Jake?”

  “No,” Jake said. “Chance was the marksman with a rifle, not me. What about you boys?”

  “Dundee might be able to make the shot,” Curly said. “Not me.”

  “Not me,” Taco said.

  “And I don’t want Dundee to kill Seaforth,” Jake said. “I wanna do that myself.”

  “Well,” Curly said, “I’m stumped. I’m glad the play is yours to call, Jake.”

  “Let’s mount up and ride,” Jake said. “I want to put some distance between us and Three Rivers. I don’t wanna be spotted while I’m tryin’ to decide what to do.”

  They all mounted up and rode back the way they had come.

  * * *

  * * *

  They found a place to camp, inside a circle of rocks Jake had spotted earlier in the day. They wouldn’t be able to be spotted from a distance.

  “Are we buildin’ a fire?” Dundee asked.

  “Not till it’s dark,” Jake said. “The rocks will hide the flame, and the dark will hide any smoke.”

  “What about the smell?” Curly asked.

  “The breeze is blowing toward us from town,” Jake said. “They won’t smell our coffee from there.”

  “And the breed?” Taco asked.

  “I don’t think he’ll be out here in the dark,” Jake said.

  They collected what they needed to make a fire and, as darkness fell, built it, and put the coffee on. Following that, Jake filled the pan with beans, enough for the four of them. They decided against bacon because that smell would be too strong.

  As they sat around the fire and ate they decided Taco would take the first watch, and then they would each take a two-hour turn. That way they would all get enough shut-eye.

  “What are you thinkin’?” Dundee asked Jake, after he had sat in silence for a while, not taking part in the young men’s conversation.

  Curly spoke before Jake could answer.

  “Do you think you could ride down there and get Seaforth to face you man-to-man, without his raiders?”

  “I doubt it,” Jake said. “I don’t think the man has the nerve. But also, I ain’t no gunman. In a shoot-out like that, I don’t know if I’d survive.”

  “And I do not think his men would stay out of it,” Taco added. “Riding into town would be the death of you, señor.”

  “I agree.”

  “How far are we from San Antonio, d’ya think?” Dundee asked.

  “About seventy-five miles,” Jake answered. “Why? Do you wanna ride back there?”

  “There’s somethin’ that I can handle better than a gun,” Dundee said.

  “What’s that?”

  Curly snapped his fingers.

  “Dynamite!”

  “Right!” Dundee said.

  “Dynamite might even up the odds,” Jake admitted. “But you wouldn’t be able to ride back here as fast as you ride there. Not with dynamite. So we’re talking six or seven days.”

  “Pleasanton,” Taco said.

  “Taco’s right,” Jake said. “Pleasanton is a decent-sized town. It should have a mercantile, which, hopefully, would have some dynamite.”

  “How far is it?” Dundee asked.

  “Half the distance,” Jake said. “And I think we’ll all go. There’s no point in any of us just sittin’ and waitin’.”

  “Suits me,” Dundee said. “I could use a beer.”

  “No beer for you,” Jake said.

  “And why not?” the young man asked.

  “Because you’re the one who’s gonna be handlin’ the dynamite,” Jake reminded him.

  * * *

  * * *

  They killed the fire before daylight so that the smoke would no
t be seen. That meant a very early breakfast of coffee and beef jerky.

  By the time the sun was up they were on their horses and riding north again, to Pleasanton.

  Taco kept an eye behind them, in case the breed scout happened to be following them. But once they put some distance between themselves and Three Rivers, it was no longer a factor.

  They reached Pleasanton around ten a.m., found the main street busy with foot traffic, horses, and wagons.

  “Busier than I remember,” Jake said. “The mercantile must be bigger than it used to be, too.”

  They rode directly to the store and reined in their horses in front of it. Four men riding in was bound to attract attention, so it was no surprise when they felt themselves being watched.

  “They’re suspicious of strangers,” Jake said. “I can feel it.”

  “They have a bank,” Dundee pointed out. “Maybe we look like a gang of bank robbers.”

  “I do not look like a bank robber,” Taco said. “I am a lover, not a robber.”

  “Maybe they’re worried about their women with you,” Curly said.

  “That I would believe,” Taco said.

  “No point in all of us goin’ inside,” Jake said. “Taco, you and Curly stay out here with the horses.”

  “This is the last time I’m bein’ the wrangler,” Curly announced.

  “Agreed,” Jake said, and went into the store with Dundee.

  The clerk behind the counter was laughing and talking to his customers, calling them by name, and as each customer turned to leave with their purchases they gave Jake and Dundee curious glances.

  “Can I help you gents?” the clerk asked when his regular customers had left.

  “Yes,” Jake said, “my friend wants to buy some dynamite.”

  “Dynamite,” the middle-aged clerk said. “You’re a pretty young fella to want to handle dynamite.”

  “I’ve had plenty of experience,” Dundee told him.

  “What’ll you be usin’ it for?” the clerk asked.

  Dundee looked at Jake.

  “Boulders,” Jake said. “We’ve got to move some big boulders.”