Blood Valley

by William W. Johnstone

  Burtell said, “They hog-tied us and took the prisoners out in the country and strung ’em up. We found ’em about dawn. The last two days has been hell. Nesters’ places burned down and the people shot as they ran outside. Men and women and kids alike.”

  “Can you ride?” I asked De Graff.

  “Oh, yeah. The swellin’s gone down near to normal. I just have to be careful pullin’ my boots on, is all.”

  “You have any idea who it was busted in here?” I asked Rusty.

  “Sure. But knowin’ and provin’ ain’t the same. It was Gimpy over at the cafe, Leo Silverman, the pitcher-taker, Langford, Alex White from the Dirty Dog. Hell, it was the whole town and lots of the farmers!”

  “Which way did you come in?” De Graff asked.

  “Through the pass.”

  “That’s why you didn’t see nobody, then,” Burtell said. “Nobody comes in, nobody goes out of Doubtful. Somebody blowed the west pass so’s the stage can’t get through, it’s runnin’ south of us now ’til the road gets cleared.”

  “The Big Three have sealed off the town?”

  “That’s it,” Rusty told me. “That crazy-actin’ Sanchez bunch has signed on with the Rockinghorse. Al Long’s brothers is with ’em. The Springer boys is with the Circle L. And Rolf Baker’s brought in a few. And Buck Hargon, Doc Martin, and the Canadian gunslinger, Sangamon, they went with the Quartermoon.”

  “Miss Mary at the Wolf’s Den?” De Graff said. “She pulled out day before yesterday. Just up and left.”

  I looked around, missin’ somebody. “I thought you hired Johnny Bull.”

  “I did. He’s out trying to talk some sense into some of the hardcases he knows right well. He’s tryin’ to convince them that doin’ what they’re doin’ is gonna bring the Army and ever’body else in here after them. I don’t think he’s havin’ much luck.”

  “Pepper?”

  “She’s all right. She and Doc have taken over the church house and are usin’ it for a hospital.”

  “My brother?”

  “He’s still in town. Stayin’ over at the hotel and stayin’ out of trouble. I ain’t got a clue as to who brung him in here.”

  “Maybe nobody did,” I finally said, after thinkin’ that over for a time. “I thought for awhile it was Rolf; but, now I’m not so sure. Well, I come in through the pass, I reckon I can go out the same way.”

  “No, you won’t,” Johnny Bull stepped into the office. “By now, they’ll have it plugged up tight. I know,” he added grimly. “I just been there; found your tracks. I met your brother headin’ out. He’s gone.”

  “Have any luck with the gunhawks?” De Graff asked him.

  “Not a bit.” His voice was filled with disgust. “I told them they all ought to be ashamed of themselves, killin’ women and kids. They just laughed at me. They said that nits grow into lice, so what the hell difference does it make?”

  He turned to face the window lookin’ out on the now nearly empty street. “I reckon I’ve killed twenty men. Half of them while wearin’ a badge down in Colorado and Arizona. The other ten,” he shrugged, “range-wars, showdowns, stand-up-and-look-’em-in-the-eye fights. I had me a bad feelin’ when I took this job of work. I almost didn’t take it.”

  “I was some surprised to see you here,” I told him. “Tell me, if you know, what have Lawrence, Baker, and Mills promised them drawin’ fightin’ wages? Has to be somethin’ more than money.”

  “I figure it’s land. Free and clear and in their names. You see, they know, like I know, and you know, Cotton, the day of the gunfighter is comin’ to an end. I figure maybe five years, ten tops, and it’s gonna be near’bout over. This is their chance to turn respectable . . . providin’ they don’t leave no witnesses.”

  It took a couple of seconds for the full impact of what he’d just said to hit me. “You mean . . . ?”

  He looked me square in the eyes. “They’re gonna have to kill every man, every woman, and every child in the valley. If their plan is to work, they can’t afford to leave nobody alive!”

  Chapter Eight

  “You can’t be serious!” Doc Harrison shouted. “My God, man, that’s the most . . . I . . . the most monstrous thing I have ever heard of!”

  “I believe that’s what they intend to do,” I stuck to my words. “And I been thinkin’ on it some. We could try a bust-out, and maybe some of us would make it. But a lot of us wouldn’t.”

  “And your plan of action, Marshal?” Pritcher asked.

  I shook my head. “I can’t help them that’s still out in the valley proper. I hate to say it, but they’re on their own. The Big Three, accordin’ to what Johnny and Rusty have learned, has planned this out right clever. When the supply wagons come, they got hands ready with wagons to off-load the flour and salt and coffee and beans and such, tellin’ the freighters they’ll take the stuff into town. And they’re payin’ cash money for the bills of ladin’ right there on the spot.”

  “Then they are planning on starving us out,” George Waller said.

  I shook my head. “No. Think about it, George. When was your supply wagons due in?”

  “Why . . . yesterday, as a matter of fact.”

  “And they run . . . ?”

  His face turned grim. “Once a month. They come in convoys for safety from highwaymen and Indians.” His face tightened some. “We are completely cut off.”

  “Those men have to give me my medical supplies!” the Doc blurted. “I’ve got sick people, hurt people that might die without them. I’ll just go talk to the men.”

  “No you won’t!” I shoved him back. “You’ll do no such thing. They’ll kill you, Doc. And we need you right here in town.”

  Pepper spoke up. “Then what is your plan, Cotton?”

  I smiled at her. “Why, Miss Pepper, we are goin’ to have a party. It’s gonna go on ’round the clock. They’s gonna be drinkin’ and dancin’ and singin’ and shoutin’.”

  “Have you lost your mind, Marshal?” George asked.

  “Nope. I just feel in the mood for a party, that’s all.”

  It must have been quite a sight and show for them I knew was on the ridges above the town watchin’ and spyin’. We filled up all the empty whiskey bottles we could find with colored water and sodee pop. Then we had us a street dance. Several people “passed out” and had to be toted away, lookin’ like to them watchin’ that they was passed out from too much whiskey.

  We took turns, so none of us would be all tuckered out and unable to fight when the other side made their move on the town. I figured two days, and I was right on the money.

  The women in the town, includin’ the soiled doves, they had them a high old time, really kickin’ up their heels and whoopin’ it up, and it went on day and night.

  At night we’d string lanterns and put up torches to give the party light. And it was durin’ that first night, that the men began gettin’ in position all around the town. They carried all the food and water and ammo they could stagger with and got into where I assigned them and stayed there, quiet, not movin’ .

  Boardin’ House Belle, she had her a hell of a time, dancin’ with ever’ man in sight. She grabbed me for a reel three times and damn near crippled me, stompin’ all over my feet. De Graff was the only man in town she didn’t dance with, he begged off ’cause of his bad toe. Even Wong got trapped into doin’ a reel with her, and if that wasn’t a sight to see. Wong, he was a-jibber-jabberin’ in China talk—I knowed he was cussin’ her—and Belle just grinnin’, lovin’ ever minute of it.

  And it was at night that we stashed weapons all around the town: behind water troughs, under the boardwalk, in places that was easy for us but hidden from them when they come ridin’ in.

  And the kids, they had a big time, a drinkin’ that make-believe whiskey and whoopin’ and hollerin’ and dancin’.

  “Aren’t they cute?” Pepper said.

  But I got suspicious and grabbed one of them bottles. The little buggers had got into the
real stuff while we wasn’t lookin’. They wasn’t actin’. Hell, they was all drunk!

  Their mommies put them to bed and the party rolled on.

  Dawn of the second day give the watchers a different sight. The boardwalks was littered with passed-out people, men and women, the women with their dresses hiked up damn near to their never-see-it. I was sprawled out in front of the Salty Dog, on my belly, as was nearly ever’body else; that was the only thing that might give the plan away, but that couldn’t be helped. ’Cause we had shotguns under us.

  All the hidden marksmen was in position and we waited, motionless as the sun broke free and it was full dawn. Then I heard the sounds of hooves.

  “Nobody move,” I called out. “If they touch you, you’re all passed out. Don’t nobody screw it up now.”

  About a half dozen rowdies was the first in town. And I got to give it to the women. Them gunslicks got them some quick feels of places where they shouldn’t have felt. But the ladies, bless their hearts, they didn’t move.

  More riders come in, and finally I heard one shout, “Come on in. Hell, they’re all drunk and passed out. Dumbest goddamn thing I ever heard of anybody doin’. There’s Johnny Bull. Somebody kick that son of a bitch.”

  I heard the boot hit Johnny, and it must have hurt something awful. But Johnny, he didn’t move.

  Openin’ one eye, I could see the street, from one end to the other, was filled with gunhands. As we had planned, I lifted my hand just slightly and let it fall to the boardwalk, and that opened the real dance.

  Two dozen shotguns on the roofs of the buildings roared and bucked as the passed-out people come to life, with pistols and rifles and shotguns.

  It was carnage.

  I put both barrels of my Greener into Ugly Injun Tom Johnson, the blast completely liftin’ him out of the saddle and flingin’ him, several different pieces of him, into the dirt.

  Grabbin’ up another shotgun, I fired both barrels into a knot of Rockinghorse riders, punchers, but they was drawin’ fightin’ wages, so that made them fair game.

  I cleared three saddles with that blast.

  Droppin’ the Greener, I hauled out both pistols and let the hammers fall.

  The noise was a screaming nightmare. Shotguns and rifles and pistols and the screamin’ of scared horses and the screamin’ of badly wounded and dyin’ men.

  Wong, he come out of his shop, some sort of funny-lookin’ hatchets in his hands, and give them a fling, hittin’ his mark both times; one rider fell to the dust, minus his head!

  Luther Long come up the boardwalk, ridin’ his horse smack at me. I shot him between the eyes and emptied another saddle.

  Johnny Bull was deadly with his Colts; I seen him drop Bitter Creek and Tulsa Jack, then turn and put lead into Kilby Jones. The foreman stayed in the saddle for a moment, then toppled over into the dirt.

  George Waller come out of his store with a pistol in each hand, smokin’ them Colts as he come. He took out Nimrod and Bob Clay before a slug took him in the leg and knocked him down.

  Boardin’ House Belle, she come chargin’ out into the street, right in the middle of it all. She jerked Fox Breckenridge slap off his horse and dumped him on his butt in the dirt. I heard her squall, “Spurn my affections, will you?” Then she hauled off and slugged him, right on the side of his jaw. Fox dropped like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer and lay still.

  Joe Coyle tried to make a run for it. Leo Silverman blew him out of the saddle, letting the gunfighter have both barrels from a goose gun.

  Clay Dundee met his end when he tried to hightail it out through an alley and run into Rusty. Rusty, with a Colt in each hand, dotted Clay’s eyes and put an end to another career.

  De Graff was down on one knee, with a Henry, Martin Truby beside with another Henry. I seen them clear three saddles—Pete Clanton, Dave Tunsall, and Ike Burdette goin’ down under the deadly hail.

  Burtell and Dick Avedon was bangin’ away at each other, from opposite sides of the body-littered, bloody, and horse-crap-filled street. Dick got lead into Burtell, but as he was goin’ down, Burtell eared back the hammer and shot Dick through the chest.

  Burtell’s left arm was all bloody, but he wasn’t about to give up the fight. He blowed a kid tinhorn out of the saddle, hurt but not dead, and then walked right out to him and laid his Colt up alongside that punk gunfighter’s head.

  Pen Castell ended the life of the feller who ran the leather shop, knockin’ him off a roof. Liftin’ my left-hand gun, I sighted Pen in and watched as the slug took most of his jaw away. He fell into a horse trough and was still.

  From up past the end of the street, I heard a wild Rebel yell, the kind that sends chills runnin’ up and down your spine, and here comes Jesse Bates and the whole Arrow bunch. They had busted through the blockade and was a most welcome sight. Miss Maggie and Miss Jean was right in the middle of it, reins in their teeth and a smokepole in each hand.

  Lydell Townsend went down under the guns of Miss Maggie and Tanner Smith dropped to his knees, gut-shot from two rounds from Miss Jean.

  A bullet hit the post I was standin’ next to, sendin’ splinters into my face, stingin’ and drawin’ blood, but not doin’ no serious damage. Turning, I faced Waldo Stamps and we both fired at the same time.

  I felt a tremendous blow in my right side that knocked me backwards and down to the boardwalk. I seen where my slug had hit Waldo in the shoulder, spinnin’ him around.

  Lookin’ down, I first felt relief, then got pissed off.

  The bastard’s bullet had hit my fine new watch and ruined it.

  “You no-good peckerhead!” I yelled at him. “You busted my watch.”

  “Hell with you!” Waldo snarled, and lifted his gun.

  A bullet hit him in the right temple and exited out the left. Waldo dropped to the boardwalk. Turnin’ my head, I seen Pepper acrost the street, a rifle in her hands.

  We grinned at each other.

  And then it got almighty eerie quiet. Gettin’ to my feet, I looked around. The fight was over. I could hear the sounds of gallopin’ horses, their riders whippin’ them hard, gettin’ the hell out of town.

  Bernard Pritcher come walkin’ up the center of the street, carryin’ a shotgun that was near’bouts as big as him. He had him two gunhands marchin’ in front of him, their hands held high over their heads.

  “By the Lord!” the newspaper man hollered. “That was quite exhilarating! March, you heathens!” He poked one sorry-lookin’ gunslick in the butt with the shotgun.

  Jesse Bates rode up to me, and seen me holdin’ my side. “You hit, Marshal?”

  “Naw. Bullet busted my watch.”

  He grinned at me. “We secured the town’s supply wagons. I left some hands with them ’bout a mile out of town.”

  “That’ll be good news for the Doc. He’s got some much-needed medical stuff in them wagons. Any of your boys hit?”

  “Couple. They don’t look too bad.”

  Miss Maggie and Miss Jean rode up, Maggie askin’, “Do we form up a posse and take out after the rest of them, Marshal?”

  I thought on that as Rusty come up, blood drippin’ from a scalp wound. “Let ’em go,” I finally said. “We’ll clear out and clean up this mess in town and then see to the gunhawks that might be left out in the county.”

  I looked back at Jesse. “Any word on the smaller ranchers and the nesters?”

  “Most of them are all right. A few got hit pretty hard, but it’s better than I thought it would be.”

  Lawyer Stokes come up to me, a Colt in each hand. He smiled. “I have been a fool, Marshal. I wonder if the town will ever forgive me for representing the Big Three?”

  “I ’magine so, Lawyer. Now that you’ve come to your senses. That was some fine shootin’ on your part a while ago.”

  Stokes blushed.

  Maggie, she swung down and stepped up right close to the lawyer. “You married, lawyer?”

  “Why . . . ah, no. As a matter of fact.”
<
br />   “Is that right?” she asked sweetly.

  Me and Jesse and Rusty, we vacated that area in a hurry!

  Chapter Nine

  The roads leading into and out of Doubtful was cleared of debris and the stages started runnin’ again. We buried twenty-seven gunfighters in boot hill. I sent De Graff foggin’ it south to wire the U.S. Marshal’s office and tell them to send in some help to once and for all clear this mess up.

  Nobody I talked with had seen hide nor hair of A. J. Lawrence, Matt Mills, or Rolf Baker.

  On the next stage that come through, I got a letter from the U.S. Marshal’s office.

  Can’t spare anyone. Handle it yourself.

  The letter went on to state that I had several thousand more dollars comin’ to me in re-ward money. Seems like Waldo Stamps and a couple more that I’d smoked had some old flyers out on them. That ranch in the valley was gettin’ closer and closer to reality.

  Miss Mary and her barkeep was back, and had reopened the saloon. The big ugly bruise on my side had disappeared, and me and Pepper was makin’ firm plans for our weddin’. It was going to be a double weddin’. Rusty and Tina was gettin’ hitched up, too.

  There hadn’t been no more nightridin’, I hadn’t seen no sign of my brother, Jack, and for the first time in a long while, the valley was peaceful. Wire was bein’ stretched to connect Doubtful to the telegraph office south of us; gonna be a big party, a real one this time, when all that was completed.

  Doc Harrison and Pritcher and some of the others, includin’ George Waller, they thought it was all over and done with. But me and the boys, we knew better. Knew it ’cause there was still about a dozen gunslingers still around. And they hadn’t taken no part in the assault on the town.

  Fox Breckenridge, well, he was still around. I’d had me a talk with Fox, and the longer I talked, the longer and grayer his face got. Went something like this: “Now, Fox, you know you’re lookin’ at spendin’ the rest of your life in prison. Maybe even a hangin’. So here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna hang onto all the charges I got agin’ you. As long as you’re a good boy and marry up with Belle and keep her happy, you’re free.”