by Ralph Cotton
In the early-morning light, Bo Anson brought his riders to a halt and watched as Leon Foley rode toward them on the trail. Spotting Anson, Foley waved his hat back and forth above his head and kicked his horse up into a gallop. Anson sat his horse at the head of his riders and rested his gloved hands atop his saddle horn.
“Now I suppose I’ll be saddled with this idiot all day,” he said to Ape Boyd as Boyd sidled his horse on his left.
“I can shoot him, Bo,” Ape volunteered.
Anson looked him up and down.
“The colonel sent him, Ape,” he said. “Think I ought to first hear what he has to say?”
Ape didn’t answer; he just stared ahead as Foley approached. Five minutes later Foley slid his horse to a halt crosswise in front of Anson. Dust rose around the riders.
“Man, am I glad I found you so early!” Foley said to Anson when his horse jolted to a stop. “I was afraid I’d be riding the flats all day.” He put his hat back on and pressed it down against a warm morning breeze. “Lucky me, huh,” he said, “finding you already on the trail?”
“Yeah, I’m thrilled for you,” Anson said in a flat tone, fanning a gloved hand against the dust. “Why’d the colonel send you looking for us?”
“He wanted me to scout you out and tell you to hurry up. We’re headed back to Gun Hill,” Foley said.
Hurry up? Anson almost chuffed out loud.
“Headed back to Gun Hill? Why?” he asked.
“Because a rider came out from the rail station there and said Mr. Siedell’s train is in town—” He caught himself and stopped and said, “Oops, I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that part. I was just supposed to tell you the colonel’s on his way.”
“I won’t mention it,” Anson said, the wheels already turning in his mind.
“Just how far back is the colonel?” he asked, crossing his wrists again.
“Four or five miles,” Foley said, still elated at having found Anson and the new men so close on the low hill trail. “That’s what I meant about being lucky that I—”
“I got it,” Anson said, cutting him short. “Now shut up and leave it alone.” He half turned in his saddle and spoke back to the rest of the men. “We’re stopping right here, boys, waiting for the good colonel.”
The men relaxed in their saddles, having already heard how close the colonel was to them.
“What’s so important the colonel wants us waiting right here? We could ride on and meet him along the trail.”
“I have no idea on that matter,” Foley said. “I’m always saying I have no business being a detective.”
“Nonsense, you don’t mean it,” Anson said.
“No, I really do,” Foley said. He looked back at the dust-streaked buggy sitting close behind Anson, the ragged, bloody Cady brothers sitting in it.
“My goodness, what happed to them?” he asked, seeing only one tired bay pulling the two-horse rig. Lyle had caught the horse and hitched it just before Anson’s men had arrived and escorted the brothers back to the trail.
“It’s a long story,” Anson said grimly, glancing back over his shoulder at the Cadys. Lyle drove the buggy while Ignacio lay sprawled to the side, his bloody bullet-shattered upper arm wrapped in his torn-off shirtsleeve. A foot-long length of iron wagon frame served as a splint. “How many men are riding with the colonel now?”
“Seven, same as when you left,” Foley said with a shrug. He gave Anson a questioning look.
Anson returned the shrug.
“I figured he might’ve got some of them killed since then.” He gave Foley a thin, wry smile.
“No, everybody’s fine,” Foley said, not realizing that Anson was only making a dark joke. That he couldn’t care less about the colonel or his men. The naive detective looked back at the woman, her dusty ragged dress, and at the nearly naked man on the horse beside her, his head bowed beneath the floppy hat brim. “Who’s that?” he asked Anson.
Anson studied his face for a second with a flat stare as if deciding what to do with the man. Finally he gave out a resolved breath and straightened a little in his saddle.
“She’s my sister,” he said. “And that’s my crazy cousin, Lonzo, beside her. Keep your hands off her—him too, for that matter.”
“My goodness,” Foley said for the second time. He looked bewildered at the naked Sheriff Stone. Then he looked back at Anson and asked, “Why is your cousin naked?”
“That’s a whole other long story,” Anson said with the same flat stare. He leaned forward a little, eyed Foley closer and said, “Look at me, fool. I’m obliged you brought us the colonel’s message. But ask me one more question and I will leave you lying dead in the dirt.”
Foley sat stunned for a moment. But he wasn’t able to keep his mouth shut for long.
“What on earth for?” he said. “How else can I know anything without asking—”
The roar of Ape Boyd’s big Starr silenced the young detective and sent him flying backward from his saddle. Foley’s spooked horse reared and turned on its hind hooves. It touched down and darted back along the trail.
Sheriff Deluna kept herself from gasping and looked away as if not wanting to see anything she shouldn’t.
“Jesus, Ape, that was right in my ear!” shouted Anson, rounding a finger deep into his left ear against the loud ringing. “What the hell?”
“Didn’t you want me to shoot him?” Ape asked. “You said one more question. He already asked two.” He held up two large grimy fingers. “I just figured . . .”
“All right,” Anson said. “It makes no difference. That one was just looking for somebody to kill him every time he opened his mouth.” He gazed down at Foley lying in the dust. “Drag him off the trail and throw some sand over him—give him a cat burial, before the colonel gets here.”
As Ape stepped down and Roland Crispe joined him to drag the dead detective off the trail, Anson swung his horse around and rode back a few feet to where the woman and Stone sat their horses side by side.
“Get down and give the Cadys their horses back, and both of you get in the buggy,” he said to Deluna.
Sheriff Deluna nodded at Sheriff Stone beside her. “Can he have a duster or something? He’s burning up alive out here bare-chested.”
Anson chewed as he looked Stone up and down. Then he spat and said, “Naw, he’s a tough lawman. Sun won’t hurt him.”
“The sun will kill him,” Deluna said.
“So?” said Anson. “It won’t kill him before he tells us where the bribe money is.” He gave a crooked tobacco-chewing grin. “If it does, just reach over and give him a shove. I’ve got something bigger on the spit right now. I’ll have to deal with him later.” He touched his hat brim, backed his horse and turned it away. Hearing the conversation from the buggy seat, Lyle Cady looked up at Anson.
“Can we switch right now?” he asked.
“I don’t care,” Anson said in passing, nudging his horse forward back to the head of the riders. “Get switched and come up front. Sit beside me.”
“Iggy, wake up,” said Lyle. “We’re getting our horses back.”
“Oh, why now?” Ignacio asked in a pained voice.
“I expect Bo must’ve decided he’s tormented us enough,” Lyle said. “Says he wants us to come join him up front. Maybe he’s giving us our guns back.”
“What about the bribe money?” asked Ignacio. “Did Stone tell him anything yet?”
“Not yet,” said Lyle. “Anson said he’s got something more important going on right now.”
“Damn it,” Ignacio groaned in pain. “That’s our money, not Anson’s.”
“Keep your mouth shut, Iggy,” Lyle whispered, wrapping the buggy reins around the short brake handle.
On the horses, Sheriff Deluna looked over at Stone and adjusted his flop hat brim. She glanced down at his empty holster and noticed that
his loincloth had slipped a little to one side, exposing him.
“Are you ever going to come back to your senses?” she asked quietly, not even expecting an answer from Stone as he reached down and adjusted the loincloth to cover his lap against the burning sun.
“I’m . . . trying,” he whispered with much effort.
Deluna stared at him, stunned for a moment. Then she saw the Cadys standing beside their horses, Iggy with his splinted upper arm stuck out to the side.
“All right, get down from there,” Lyle said sharply. “You’ve been riding our horses long enough.”
Stepping down, Deluna helped the half-conscious Stone over to the buggy and up into the seat. She looked around as the Cadys mounted their horses and rode up front beside Anson.
“All right, men,” Anson called out loudly enough for all the riders to hear him. “This is what we’ve been waiting for. Roland, you and Charlie take the buggy out of sight. I don’t trust the woman sheriff far as I can throw her.” He glared back at Deluna as he spoke. Then he turned to the Cadys and said, “I see you both have bandannas. Pull them up over your mouths.”
“What?” Lyle said in disbelief. Ignacio just stared, his broken arm out to the side.
Anson’s rifle swung up at him from across his lap.
“You heard me. Now, don’t make me say it again. I’ll kill you, bribe money or not.”
“Can I smack them, Bo?” Ape asked. The Cadys looked at him, again in disbelief.
“Not now, Ape,” said Anson. He raised a hand and waved the riders forward. “Let’s go, men. I want us to be moving along the trail when the colonel finds us.”
Lyle and Ignacio gave each other a puzzled look. But they kept quiet and nudged their horses forward beside Bo Anson and Ape Boyd.
* * *
An hour later, the colonel saw Bo Anson and the newly hired riders moving along the trail toward him, and he hurried his detectives and rail guards forward the last quarter of a mile. As Colonel Hinler and his men drew closer to Anson and the new riders, Anson saw one of the detectives riding beside the colonel leading Foley’s horse by its reins.
“Everybody stay cool and calm,” Anson said to the riders bunching up behind him. “This might get touchy right off.”
Ape hefted his rifle in his hand and said, “Want me to—”
“No, Ape,” Bo said, cutting the big man off before he could even ask. “I said stay cool and calm. Just keep doing what I told you to do.” He gestured a nod at the Cadys. “Keep them quiet.”
Ape settled, and stared hard at the two brothers as they swayed in their saddles. They looked just as Anson had wanted them to. Each of them now had a large purple gun barrel welt across their foreheads, their bandannas tied tightly to cover their mouths. Their hands had been tied in front of them. Ape led their horses on a short rope.
“Here we go, men,” Anson said quietly to Ape and the others. “You all know what to do.” He watched the colonel stop his horse ten feet in front of him, his detectives behind him. A wide, harsh grin came to Hinler’s face as he looked at the battered faces and tied hands of the Cady brothers.
“By Godfrey!” he said to Anson. “I see you’ve snared a couple of the scoundrels.”
Oh yeah, we’re good, Anson assured himself.
“That’s right, Colonel,” he said. “We don’t miss a thing. This desert is ours.”
At the sight of the colonel and his men, Lyle Cady grew hopeful. He struggled to speak, but the bandanna muffled his voice to a series of grunts.
“No more out of you,” Ape said, swiping the barrel of his Starr sidelong across Lyle’s jaw. Lyle’s head bounced backward as if on hinges. He slumped back down in his saddle.
“What was that man saying?” the colonel asked.
“It makes no never mind,” Anson said. “Probably cussing you and your whole family. They’re some real heathens, this Bard Gang.”
“Indeed,” said the colonel. “Well, we’ll see how much cussing he does hanging from a limb.” He looked all around the barren terrain as if searching for a hanging tree. Seeing none, he grumbled to himself and then looked back at Anson. “Good work, Bo,” he said. He looked around at the new faces. “I take it these are the men from across the border you spoke of?”
“They are,” said Anson. “Men,” he called out over his shoulder, “meet Colonel Hinler, the man I’ve been boasting about these past days.”
The colonel gave a nod to the men. The men touched their hat brims in return.
“You’ll learn everybody’s name in time, Colonel,” Anson said. “I figured you’ll want all the men to get to know each other straightaway.” He waved the new men forward. “Go introduce yourselves, boys. These men will be your trail pards while you’re riding for the colonel.”
The colonel turned his horse a little as the new men filed past him. Ape remained beside Anson, the Cady brothers’ horses in hand. Lyle’s eyes opened a little, but he dared not say a word, seeing Ape snarl at him under his breath.
“Have you happened to see a rider I sent out to find you?” the colonel asked Anson pointedly. “That’s his horse back there.” He nodded back at his detectives as the new men spread out and rode in close to them, some touching their hat brims, others extending their hands in friendship. “We found the animal a while ago, shortly after hearing a gunshot.” He studied Anson closely.
Anson eyed Foley’s horse as he took out a fresh wad of chewing tobacco and poked it back against his jaw.
“Interesting,” he said, positioning the wad into place with his tongue. “We heard a gunshot too . . . the same one you heard, I’m thinking.”
“Most probable,” the colonel said. He looked all around the trail, the downward slope over rock and brush, pockets of towering rock stands—endless possibilities for an ambush. “The man is a fool. Most likely his gun went off, he fell and his horse left him. I hate losing him, though. He’s a fool, but he’s my fool, if you know what I mean.”
“I do indeed, and I wouldn’t worry too much, Colonel,” Anson consoled him. “I’m certain you’ll be joining him real soon.” He smiled at his private little joke.
“I hope so,” said the colonel. “Even fools like him are hard to find in this line of work.” He paused, then changed the subject, saying, “We’re headed back to Gun Hill, Bo.”
“Oh, really?” said Anson. “I’ve been telling these men we were heading across the border, going to kill us some ol’ guerrilla riders.”
“There will be plenty of time for that in the coming days,” the colonel said. “First we’re going back to Gun Hill to resupply.”
“Might I ask why, Colonel?” said Anson. As he spoke he raised his hat from his head and ran a bandanna across his moist, gritty brow.
The colonel turned rigid in his saddle. His face took on a stern expression.
“No, you may not ask,” he said. “Don’t get too big for your britches, Bo.”
Anson glanced at Ape and the Cadys, Lyle with his eyes barely open and sitting as silent as stone. Then he turned his eyes back to Hinler.
“My apologies, Colonel,” he said quietly. He placed his hat back down atop his head and spat tobacco. Turning his horse slightly, his cocked rifle lying across his lap, he lined the barrel up with the colonel’s chest. “I won’t do it again,” he said resolutely. He pulled the trigger; the bullet lifted the colonel backward from his saddle and tossed him away like some broken rag doll.
“Tell that fool of yours howdy when you join him,” he said, staring down at the colonel’s twisted body lying bloody in a puff of dust. Ape laughed beside him; the Cadys’ eyes had flown open wide at the sound of the rifle blast.
A heavy barrage of gunfire followed in the wake of Anson’s shot. As he looked up from the dead colonel, his men had made similar moves on the detectives. Their rifle shots at close quarters lifted the unsuspecting detectives fro
m their saddles. Those preferring revolvers rode their horses back and forth among the fallen detectives, killing those still mounted and finishing off any wounded on the ground. Anson backed his horse a step, sat with a twisted smile and spat a stream.
“And that’s that,” he said. “Some of you strap the colonel across his saddle. We’re taking him to Gun Hill with us—with heavy hearts, I might add.” He looked around at the Cadys and said, “Now that we’ve got some time, we’ll talk about that bribe money. I want to know if it’s worth fooling with—how much cash does it take to bribe a territorial judge?”
The Cadys struggled, trying to speak against the tight bandannas around their mouths.
“Ape, pull down their gags,” Anson said to Boyd. “Let’s hear what these Cady brothers have to say.”
Chapter 14
“Yee-hii! Kill the hell out of them railroad sons a’ bitches!” Mexican Charlie Summez shouted, laughing out loud. The sound of gunfire rose over the hill separating the main trail from the smaller lower path where the buggy sat with the two sheriffs aboard it. He turned to Roland Crispe and said, “I wish I had a bottle so’s I could drink to a job well done.”
Crispe looked him up and down. “How do you know that’s not the colonel’s detectives killing the hell out of our gunmen?”
“Watch your language, Roland,” said Mexican Charlie. “I can read the thunder. Our men started the shooting and they ain’t letting up none.” Gunfire continued to roar, waning some but still strong and steady.
Roland smiled and nodded.
“In that case, I’d drink to it too,” he said.
“I’m only sorry I wasn’t in on it,” said Charlie, “instead of having to sit here eyeballing these two lawmen.”
“Lawmen?” Crispe nodded at the buggy and sized the woman up. Deluna didn’t like the look in his eyes. “If you think that’s a lawman sitting there, you need to be eyeballing through a pair of spectacles.”
“You know what I mean, Roland,” Mexican Charlie said. “What am I supposed to call her, a law-woman?” He shook his head. “That’s the trouble with these gals today. They jump into a man’s work and confuse every damn thing—don’t even know what to call them. Makes my head hurt sometimes.”