by Jake Henry
Harper walked further into the yard while Scott cut Savage loose.
“You should have left it alone, Harper,” Hunter growled, his voice edgy with menace.
“I tell you what, Byron,” Harper began, “I’ll forget about arrestin’ you on false imprisonment and attempted murder charges and all you gotta do is mount up and ride out.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll shoot you. Plain and simple.”
Savage tensed as the air became electrified with tension. Hunter stood firm where he was, trembling with rage, his hard gaze locked on that of Harper’s.
“What’s it goin’ to be?”
Byron Hunter’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he turned away from Harper. He looked at his men and ordered, “Mount up, we’re leavin’.”
What happened next took everyone by surprise. For a man of his age, Byron hunter moved quite quickly as his hand clawed at the butt of the Colt in his holster.
Hunter’s scowl turned into a look of triumph as the six-gun came up level and he squeezed the trigger. The gun bucked and roared. Flame spewed from its barrel amid the puff of gray-blue gun smoke.
The shot, however, missed, and triumph turned to terror as Harper brought the Henry into line from the hip and snapped off a shot.
Byron Hunter’s mouth flew wide as the .44 caliber slug punched into his chest. It flattened as it smashed through a rib and destroyed everything in its path before exploding in a spray of crimson from the rancher’s back.
Harper levered and fired again, the second shot knocked Hunter to the hard-packed earth of the ranch yard. The older man lay on his back, sightless eyes stared at the cloudless sky overhead.
Harper levered another round into the Henry’s breech and brought it to bear on the Bar-H hands.
“Don’t any of you try anythin’,” he snarled. “It’s over. Get on your horses and skedaddle. And take your boss with you.”
Savage and Harper watched them carefully as they loaded Hunter onto his horse. They then climbed onto their own mounts and rode away.
Savage turned to Harper and said gratefully, “Thanks for savin’ my neck.”
Harper nodded and was about to speak when his attention was diverted to the ranch house as Maddie and Jeremy emerged.
“Are you OK?” Maddie asked him.
“I wouldn’t be if Harper hadn’t come along.”
Savage introduced them and then said, “Maddie looked after me when I showed up loaded with infection from the bullet Chase put in me.”
Harper nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Ma’am.”
“Likewise.”
Harper went on to explain how he happened to be there, then later, when they were all inside he asked, “Where to now? I take it you’re goin’ to continue with this quest of yours?”
“New Mexico,” Savage explained. “Cody said that was where Carver and the other two were headed.”
“I’d like to help you but my jurisdiction sort of runs out at the border,” Harper said sounding almost apologetic that he couldn’t help.
“It’s somethin’ I have to do on my own,” Savage told him. “I had a chance in the war to do it and I failed. People died … Amy died because of that failure. Now I have to make it right.”
“Why?” Maddie blurted out.
The two men looked at her as she sat across the dining room table from them.
“Because it has to be done,” Savage answered.
“But why you?” she asked. “Why does it have to be you? Do you think your wife would want you to go on like this? You could stay here, I need another hand.”
Savage shook his head gently. “No, but thanks for the offer. I appreciate everythin’ you’ve done for me already but I’ll be ridin’ on in a few days once I feel stronger. I’ll ride into town and get some supplies then head for New Mexico.”
Maddie stared at him open-mouthed for a brief moment before she stood up and stomped from the room.
“I think she had hopes for you,” Harper observed.
“She’s lonely,” Savage explained. “Her man died a while back and now she runs the ranch and looks after the boy.”
“You could stay,” Harper surmised.
“No, I couldn’t.”
~*~
Harper rode out the following day after sleeping in the barn for the night. He was heading back to Presidio to take care of a few things, at least that was his excuse.
The next few days for Savage were spent trying to regain his strength and he put himself to work around the ranch yard. Forever under the watchful eye of Jeremy.
The night before the fourth day, Savage decided that he was ready to continue his search. The next morning he rode out before the first orange fingers of dawn streaked the Texas sky. As a departing gift, he’d left behind half of the money from Wheeler tucked under a plate on the dining-room table.
~*~
Savage bought provisions in Boulder Spring and continued to ride for the next two days. On the third day, he rode into the town of Desert Wells. Not an overly large town with five-hundred citizens, but a prosperous one nonetheless.
The trail came down off a low ridge, passed a small chapel with a graveyard and when it hit the edge of town, became a long main street.
The main street itself was lined with a mix of false-fronted shops and adobe structures. There were three saloons, The Cactus Juice, The Watering Hole, and The Longhorn.
Besides those, there was a blacksmith, gunsmith, land office, assayer, barber, two general stores, a diner, stage and freight office, jail, a hotel, and at the far end of town was the Sparkling Kitty. A house of ill-repute. There too he found the livery stables with a large corral out back.
Once the sorrel was seen to, Savage walked back along the plank boardwalk until he reached the hotel. Above the windows of the second floor was a large hand-painted sign with bold red lettering saying, Desert Wells Hotel.
Savage paused briefly to toss the saddlebags over his right shoulder and transfer the Winchester into his right hand. Using his left he pushed open the hotel door and walked in …
… to trouble, head-on.
~*~
Upon entry to the hotel’s broad, well-lit foyer, what greeted Savage was the sight of a man slapping the desk clerk down. The man had taken several blows by the look of the blood on his face and as the hand rose again, Savage said in a low, clear voice, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
The sweeping blow stopped mid-swing and the slim man with brown hair hidden away under a battered Confederate campaign hat turned slowly and deliberately.
He stared at the bearded man clad in Union blue and buckskin, who dared challenge him before he said, “You’re new here Stranger, so this time I’ll let it slide. But just so you know, don’t get caught up in somethin’ that ain’t your affair. We don’t cotton to nosy Blue-bellies.”
“And what if I make it my affair?”
The man pulled his jacket aside and revealed a tarnished deputy sheriff’s badge.
Savage nodded. “So that gives you the power to do what you want?”
“If you stick around long enough, you’ll find out,” he sneered.
Confidently he turned back to face the clerk and raised his hand to slap him.
In a fluid movement, Savage closed the gap between himself and the deputy and brought up the Yellow Boy and drove the butt into his kidney area.
The deputy cried out and stiffened. Then sank to his knees as the pain of the blow traveled throughout his body.
The Yellow Boy arced again. This time, it cracked against bone and opened up a gash in the scalp at the back of the deputy’s head. Soundlessly, he slumped forward and didn’t move.
“Are you OK?”
The clerk nodded. He was a flabby man with a bulbous nose which was dripping red onto his once clean shirt. Suddenly his expression changed and his eyes grew wide.
“You have to go,” he blurted out in a panic. “You can’t stay, you have to leave.”
Sa
vage frowned. “I only just got here and I want a room.”
The clerk glanced at the deputy and then back to the stranger who stood in front of him. “You don’t understand, he’s a deputy.”
“What do you mean? Surely the sheriff won’t let him get away …”
“The sheriff is behind it all,” the stricken man blurted out. “You must go or they’ll kill you.”
It dawned on Savage that the man was serious. He was genuinely scared. He shrugged and turned to leave but the doorway was blocked by a man armed with a coach gun, its hammers back on full cock . The solidly built man stood six-foot-three, had blond hair and ice-blue eyes set in a square-jawed face. The face was one he recognized instantly.
The man in the doorway wore a shiny badge with the word Sheriff stamped on it. It was John Carver. The man he’d come all this way to kill.
Fourteen
AN EVIL SMILE split the sheriff’s cruel lips as he asked, “Goin’ somewhere?”
Internally, Savage was a whole whirlpool of emotion, an overwhelming urge to kill this man bubbled to the surface. He knew that such an attempt would be useless as Carver would drop the hammers of the shotgun. And Savage would die for nothing.
He fought his natural compunctions and remained silent, then waited to see what would happen next.
There was a moan from behind Savage as the deputy started to stir.
“Mind tellin’ me what happened?” Carver asked in a low voice.
“Your deputy was up on the desk clerk,” Savage explained. “He seemed to think that the badge he had pinned to his chest gave him the power to do so.”
“And?”
Savage shrugged casually. “He was wrong.”
“So you took it upon yourself to assault a peace officer in the act of doin’ his duty?”
“If his duty as you call it is beatin’ up defenseless townsfolk then yeah, I did that.”
Something dawned on Savage. If Carver was here wearing a badge, then it was a fair bet that the groaning deputy was one of Carver’s gang too. That would make him either Thomas or Cooper. He had no idea which but reckoned that if two of them were in Desert Wells, then the last one was probably here too.
Slowly, the deputy came around and climbed to his feet. He massaged his back and gingerly touched his split scalp opened up by the blow. When he took his hand away it was sticky with blood.
The deputy’s face screwed up as he looked at Savage and hissed, “You stinkin’ son of a bitch.”
He made to grab at his holstered six-gun but a snapped order from Carver stayed his hand.
“Save it.”
The deputy looked at him defiantly. “We should just kill him now.”
Carver shook his head. “No. We’ll make an example of him. Take his guns and go get that head looked at. I’ll lock him up.”
The deputy grunted and relieved Savage of the Yellow Boy and the Remington. After which he was marched off to jail under the watchful eye of a killer.
~*~
The answer to Savage’s lingering question was answered as they walked into the small jail. Behind the scarred desk, also wearing a deputy badge, was the third and final outlaw. A lean, boyish-faced young man with brown hair.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asked Carver who shoved Savage through the door.
“Didn’t Ringo tell you what was happenin’?” Carver asked.
There it was. He’d hit Ringo Thomas.
“He just mumbled somethin’ about wantin’ to kill some stranger and you not lettin’ him.”
“That’s right,” Carver allowed. “We’re goin’ to hang him for the whole town to see. It’s time we reminded them who’s in charge.”
“Do the town’s people actually know who you lot really are?” Savage inquired.
Both men stared blankly at him before Carver turned to the gun rack and stowed the coach gun.
“What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously.
“Well, you fellers are obviously not who the town thought you were,” Savage answered. “If they knew, I doubt you would have gotten a toe hold here. And now it’s too late.”
“How does he know?” Cooper asked.
“He don’t know nothin’,” Carver said gruffly.
“John Carver ex-raider, murderer and all-around son of a bitch,” Savage stated and turned to face the stricken Cooper. “You’re Cooper, same type of scum as your boss. The feller I hit is Thomas. Again, cut from the same mold. You all are the last three.”
“The last three what?” Carver asked.
“The last three that I have to kill,” Savage explained. “The rest are dead.”
Carver raised his eyebrows. “By your hand?”
“Mostly.”
Carver stared thoughtfully at Savage.
“We need to kill him now before the rest of the town finds out who we are,” Cooper declared.
Carver raised his hand to silence Cooper and the outlaw shut down. The killer’s gaze lingered then his eyes flickered with a hint of recognition.
“I have a feelin’ that hiding under that beard is a face I’ve seen before,” Carver pondered. “Am I right?”
“Shenandoah Valley, ’64,” Savage answered.
Puzzled, Carver said, “Refresh my memory. Tell me your name.”
“My name is Savage. I was in charge of the cavalry patrol that all but wiped out your bunch of killers,” Savage elaborated.
A strange expression came over Carver’s face. One of recognition, hatred, and admiration.
“Now I remember, I shot you. And yet here you are, still alive.”
Savage remained silent.
“But why would a man I shot so long ago be here now trackin’ and killin’ all of my men?” Carver inquired. “Unless … unless there was another reason.”
Still, Savage said nothing.
Carver raised his eyebrows. “Nothing to say?”
Still nothing.
“Lock him up, Coop,” Carver snarled.
“I still say we should kill him now,” Cooper reiterated.
“Just do it,” Carver snapped. “And then find someone to build a gallows.”
“Where do you want it built?”
“In the middle of the main damned street.”
~*~
Later that evening, the three outlaws gathered around the desk and discussed Savage. Thomas and Cooper demanded that Carver kill him straight away but Carver remained defiant.
“He’ll die when I want him to and not before,” Carver said with finality. “He intrigues me and I want to find out why he’s gone to such trouble to find us.”
“And what if the town finds out our real names?” Thomas asked.
“Then we move on and set up somewhere else.”
They were not happy with the decision but Carver let them know in certain terms that he was still in charge and would not be questioned further on the matter.
~*~
It took three days for the gallows to be built. It would have taken two but progress was hampered by rain on the second day. All day, a steady drizzle had fallen from the leaden sky and turned the dust and dirt of the main street into a sticky mess.
On the evening of the third day, Carver entered the office with a smile. He walked out the back to the cells and stopped in front of the iron bars of Savage’s temporary home.
Savage sat on a lumpy mattress that covered a steel-framed cot.
“Tomorrow you’ll swing,” Carver boasted. “The whole town will turn out to see it happen.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Because they were told to.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes, just like that.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll say somethin’?” Savage asked the smirking killer.
“Not in the least,” Carver said confidently. “You’ll be wearing a hood and a gag.”
Savage fell silent once again.
“Tell me why,” Carver said.
“Why what?”
“Why you’re here of course,” Carver said with an inquisitive tone.
Savage said only one word. “Summerton.”
“Were you there?”
“No.”
“So again, why?”
“Because you and your scum took my wife and killed her,” Savage spat. “But only after you’d had your fun.”
“So that’s why,” Carver nodded and then said coldly, “It was fun too.”
For the first time since they’d locked him up, Savage lost his composure and flew at the bars, startling Carver.
“I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!” he shouted. “I’ll damn well kill you!”
“If you manage to get out of there before tomorrow, come and find me,” Carver smirked and turned away, then strode purposefully towards the office door.
As Savage watched him go, he mumbled an incoherent promise. “You’re dead you bastard. I’ll get out of here and when I do you’re dead.”
Fifteen
“HEY!” Savage shouted for the fifth time. “Hey, is there anybody out there?”
When no one came he picked up the empty tin mug and started to run it back and forth along the iron bars.
He kept it up for around a minute before Cooper threw open the office door and shouted, “Shut the hell up and stop that racket!”
“I need to go to the privy,” Savage growled at him.
“Too bad,” Cooper snapped. “Wait until the morning. I’m on my own.”
“If you don’t let me go I’ll drop my drawers and take a dump right here in the middle of the damned floor,” Savage said as he grimaced and rubbed his belly. “I think there was somethin’ wrong with the food.”
“Not goin’ to happen,” Cooper said.
“What do you think your boss will say if he comes in here tomorrow mornin’ and there’s a big pile of shit in here? Are you going to want to clean it up?”
A look of uncertainty swept over Cooper’s face but the outlaw remained unmoved.
“Well come on man, make up your mind. I can’t wait all night.”
Still, Cooper made no move.
“What the hell,” Savage said and shrugged his shoulders before starting to fumble with his belt buckle.
“Hey, wait,” Cooper blurted out. “Alright, I’ll take you. I’ll just get the keys.”