Noose

by Eric Red

  What the hell is going on here?

  CHAPTER 38

  Bess ran for her life, dashing around the large rock to her left and looking back over her shoulder.

  She didn’t see the two men ahead until she had bumped right into them.

  Bess nearly cried out—had already pulled her clenched fists back to pummel the two men with punches and hit them with her fiercest blows, half figuring since they were going to shoot her anyway she might as well go out swinging.

  But then she saw who they were.

  And caught herself just in time.

  Two familiar, friendly, and utterly unexpected faces looked back at her, dumbstruck.

  It was the Jackson Hole lawmen Marshal Jack Mackenzie and his good-looking young deputy Nolan Swallows. She couldn’t believe her luck, them showing up like this. Whether them riding like the cavalry to the rescue was by accident or design the woman didn’t know nor care—that they were here was what mattered. The lawmen were both as clearly startled to see her as she was them—both her counterparts wore blank expressions of slack-mouthed shock. The peace officers were standing by their two horses, leading them up the narrow trail when Bess had come scrambling ass over teakettle around the big rock and crashed headlong right into Mackenzie.

  It took the female lawman an instant to realize why the men were looking at her with such alarm: she understood her appearance must look shocking—bloody, bruised, her clothes tattered and her wrists bound with rope.

  About to faint, Bess was too dazed to think of anything else to do but grin hello and then her legs gave out.

  “It’s all right, Bess, we got you.” Mackenzie caught her. He was already pulling off his jacket and wrapping it around Bess’s shoulders. The dismayed old man was visibly shook up with horror at the distressed sight of her.

  Bess leaned against his barrel keg chest in exhausted and grateful relief. “Th-thank God you’re here. Thank God. Thank God. It’s so good to see you men. I thought y-you—I thought you were them.” It sounded to Bess like she was babbling, her voice separated from herself.

  Mackenzie hugged her tightly, covering her shoulders with his huge bear arms and rocking her. “What bastards done this to you?”

  “They’re coming.” She gasped. “W-watch out. Be careful.”

  The marshal drew his knife from his belt and cut the rope binding the young woman’s wrists and arms. Bess nodded thanks and rubbed her wrists to get the circulation going.

  Hauling his Winchester repeater rifle out of his saddle holster, Deputy Swallows had already levered it several times, jacking several rounds into the breech, keeping a sharp lookout on the dense tree line rising up the steep ridge on all sides, scanning the area for any sign of movement. The young peace officer was listening so intensely it looked comically serious on his Johnny Appleseed freckled boyish face but looks were deceiving—Swallows was a deadly shot who wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. If any man popped his head out at this precise second, Swallows would shoot first and ask questions later—one bullet from the deputy anywhere up to a hundred yards and the man on the receiving end would be dead before he hit the ground. The deputy listened to the trees, his gun and his head moving left to right in perfect coordination. His nose went where his muzzle went. But other than a little wind in the leaves it was quiet, almost too quiet—the only sound was the hyperventilation of Bess’s forced respiration and the rustle of clothing on her body against Mackenzie’s.

  Bess couldn’t seem to use her words. Her mouth worked like she wanted to say something, but nothing but sputtering breaths escaped her lips.

  “Was it the man who shot your father, Joe Noose?” the marshal asked gently, doing the talking for everybody, it seemed.

  Adamantly and repeatedly, Bess shook her head no. Then the words came and once she started talking she couldn’t stop. “No! No! Joe Noose didn’t hurt me. Never laid a hand on me. And he didn’t shoot my daddy, either. That was a big damn lie told by Frank Butler to get the reward.”

  Mackenzie and Swallows exchanged curious glances and looked completely confused. “But—I don’t understand. . . you telegraphed from Hoback—”

  “Forget all that.” Bess shook her head and waved her hands dismissively, fixing her fellow lawmen in a steady penetrating gaze that held their attention. She continued, her voice calmer, “This is what happened, what really happened: Joe Noose was framed by this gang of bounty killers run by a man named Frank Butler. He’s as bad as they come, fellas. Butler shot my father in cold blood just so he could frame Noose to get a reward put on his head that his gang could hunt Noose down and collect. This thing, it’s all about money.”

  “You telegraphed us yourself about the reward—” Swallows was still confused, half his attention focused on guarding the perimeter with his rifle.

  “I know I called in to get the reward authorized, but it was because they tricked me. My dad had been shot and I was upset and didn’t know what to do and these killers used that advantage and railroaded me. These bounty killers, these are the same ones took me hostage and roughed me up. Same ones I just escaped from. And they’re close by. The leader, Frank Butler, I mentioned is a no-account bloodthirsty murderer.”

  “I met him and you’re right,” Mackenzie agreed.

  “Then you know he’s a very dangerous individual. His posse are bad but Butler’s the worst, and his gang do what he tells them. Noose killed a few of the gang. Five so far. Joe Noose is tough as hell but there’s still seven of them to his one. We need to help him.”

  “Did this gang know you were a U.S. Marshal?”

  “They knew.”

  The old marshal’s face flushed with rage. “This won’t stand.”

  “How many of these killers you say there is?” Swallows brooded.

  “Counting Butler? Seven,” Bess replied.

  “And three of us,” the Jackson marshal fretted.

  “Four,” she corrected. “Including Noose.”

  “Well, I don’t know this Noose fellow’s whereabouts and looking around this here group I count three. Up against seven. We’re way outnumbered.”

  “So how do you think Noose feels right now?”

  “If I was him I’d be shaking in my boots but he ain’t my immediate concern, Bess. You are. The U.S. Marshals Service lost a good man yesterday. Ain’t gonna lose his daughter, too. And my first order of business is getting you the hell out of here and back to Jackson directly. We’re getting you to safety, then we’re going to round up and deputize a posse and come back up here directly and get these killers and make ’em pay for their deeds. It won’t take long, neither. We’ll organize a hunting party and be back here in a few hours.”

  The woman’s eyes were moist. “Noose may have minutes, not hours.”

  “Like I said, Bess—”

  “Marshal Mackenzie—Jack . . . we got to help Joe Noose. It’s seven-to-one odds and they have guns and bullets and he’s unarmed. He’s tough but nobody’s tough enough to face those kind of odds.”

  “Bess, your father was a good friend of mine and—”

  “I know but—”

  “You’re the marshal’s daughter, Bess, Saving your life is the Marshals Service’s priority.”

  “I can handle myself.”

  “Look at the state you’re in, girl.”

  Bess hardened suddenly with controlled rage but kept her temper even though her voice was steel. “When my dad was gunned down, as his deputy I became the acting marshal of Hoback, Jack, you know that, and I still am. This crime happened in my jurisdiction and I intend to save this man with or without you. If you ain’t gonna help out, give me a gun and ammo and get out of my way. I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch Frank Butler myself. He murdered my father, your friend, a U.S. Marshal, and now he’s trying to kill an innocent man he framed to collect a fat reward he shot my dad to get. If that ain’t evil, I don’t know what is. This man must die. Today. I mean to pull the trigger.”

  Mackenzie watched the fearless a
nd dangerous expression in Bess’s determined face. She looked suddenly ten times tougher than he remembered. What the hell happened to her? he wondered. He didn’t want to know the answer.

  Bess wasn’t done. “And I will not let Joe Noose die. Not on my watch. Not when there’s a chance I can do something about it. That we can do something about it. Do those badges you’re wearing mean something or not? We’re the damn law. You boys gonna help me, or aren’t you?”

  Mackenzie and Swallows exchanged nodding glances. There was no arguing with that, or with her.

  Without blinking, Bess stared straight into their faces.

  Mackenzie fixed her in a narrow stare. “Just like your old man. Stubborn and muleheaded. No talking to him, either.” He looked at Swallows and shrugged. Then he looked back at Bess. “Okay then, Marshal, we got a job to do so let’s get to it. You want to take on these curs we’ll put ’em down like the dogs they are.”

  “Thank you.” Now, suddenly, Bess looked unsure of herself. “So what’s our first move?”

  “You asking us? I thought this was your show.”

  “I’ve had this job two days, Jack. You’ve had it twenty years. You’ve been in actual gunfights and captured real gangs of outlaws. You tell me what we’re supposed to do.”

  “Fair enough.” He looked slyly at his deputy. “You thinking the same thing I am?”

  Swallows nodded laconically. The men seemed to Bess to have a shorthand. “Yeah. Reckon that’s one thing we got in our favor.”

  “What?” Bess said eagerly, looking like a kid again.

  Marshal Mackenzie cocked his rifle and looked up into the woods. “We have the element of surprise. They know about you but not about me and him. If we play our cards right, we can bushwhack them.”

  “They saw where I went.”

  “That’s right. Where you went,” Swallows pointed out.

  Mackenzie nodded. “These boys don’t know you have backup. They don’t know more marshals were coming their way, and they damn sure don’t know we’re already here loaded and locked down. They figure they’re chasing one poor defenseless woman all by her lonesome.”

  Bess nodded, shrugging her agreement.

  Mackenzie’s eyes turned flinty. “So to keep the element of surprise, the best thing for us to do is not dissuade them of that notion. The smart move is dangerous for you, Bess, and it’s gonna require you stickin’ your neck out.”

  “I’ll do what you tell me, Jack.” She had no fear.

  “They think you’re still on the run. That’s what we want ’em to keep thinking. The tricky and dangerous part is you got to get near them and let them spot you. Then they’ll chase you and come out in the open and expose themselves to our line of fire . . . that’s when me and Nolan surprise them and hit from behind from either side and ambush the crap out of them. Those bounty killers won’t see us coming. But it’s going to require you putting yourself in harm’s way just until we get a clear shot at these boys.”

  “Let’s do it.” If Bess was frightened she wasn’t letting on. The trio collected their guns. Bess walked to Mackenzie’s horse and studied the array of heavy-caliber firearms packed in his saddle, shooting him a questioning glance.

  The Jackson marshal returned a curt nod that granted her permission to take whatever guns she wanted. Bess selected two Colt SAA revolvers, checked the loads, holstered them, and rummaged through the ammo bags to stock her bullet belt.

  “Where was the last you saw them?” Deputy Swallows asked as he led the horses off the trail to a quiet spot.

  Bess pointed up the hill. “Five hundred yards that way. On foot. They couldn’t be far off.” Her face screwed up in worry and she gnawed her lip. Switching her gaze to the watchful faces of her fellow lawmen, she came out with it: “The thing is, they split into two groups. One group, two at least, came after me. But the other group was chasing Noose, and Frank Butler led them.”

  “What are you worried about?”

  “Well. We don’t know where those other men are. What if . . . ?

  “We’ll keep our eyes peeled. Two groups means less men to face. Divide and conquer is our play.”

  The three lawmen grouped together, did final checks on their guns, and were ready. Mackenzie said a few words before they went up into the forest after the bounty killers: “Shoot to kill. Put ’em down so they stay down. There’s too many to try and take prisoner anyhow. These men all deserve to be shot dead for what they done to Nate and to Bess here. And be careful.”

  The marshal and deputy mounted their horses and saddled up.

  Bess inserted the last cartridge into her cylinder and spun the revolver shut, shoving it into her holster. “Remember one thing,” she added, looking over her shoulder as she started climbing back up the hill.

  “What’s that?” The men were right behind her.

  “Nobody kills Frank Butler but me.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Joe Noose was halfway up the tree when Butler and the four others rode past below. Noose was hunkering on a heavy branch that easily supported his considerable weight of solid muscle and was right above them twenty feet up when the marauders suddenly stopped.

  The top of Frank Butler’s black Stetson was twenty feet straight down right below his boots and if Noose just dropped from the branch he’d come down spurs first on the son of a bitch’s head and snap his neck like a twig. Noose coiled and got ready to spring, adjusting his position slightly because what he intended to do was land on Butler’s back, knock him from his horse, grab his revolver, and use the leader as a body shield as in four shots he took out the other four shootists, using the element of surprise, shooting Butler in the skull with the fifth shot if the leader’s body hadn’t already been riddled with his men’s bullets trying to shoot past him at Noose. Up in the tree, Noose saw the whole thing play out in his mind in a space of five seconds, knew exactly what he was going to do in advance and the way it was all going to shake out until something happened he just didn’t expect.

  “Mr. Butler! Marshals are here! Mr. Butler! The law is here!” two of the jackass bounty killers were yelling from the trail down the hill. Hearing that, Frank Butler snapped his head in their direction, spurred his horse, and charged down the hill followed by his four men, and Noose missed a once-in-a-lifetime chance to kill his enemies in one fell swoop.

  Cursing his foul turn of luck, the cowboy crouched in the tree and watched bitterly as the seven distant figures of the Butler Gang briefly exchanged a few words out of earshot, then swiftly rode off the trail back toward the ravine.

  Noose’s only satisfaction was Frank Butler looked mad as hell.

  * * *

  The two Jackson Hole lawmen rode in single file up the rough trailhead and stopped their horses in a small grove. Taking point, the female marshal was fifty yards ahead of them, on foot, both Colt SAA revolvers drawn. Big trees surrounded them on all sides and it was very quiet.

  The deputy looked around, saw the marshal was doing the same, as the two met each other’s gaze.

  Mackenzie’s head disappeared in a red galaxy of spraying blood, brains, skull, and flesh before Swallows even heard the shot—one moment the deputy was looking in his boss’s eyes and the next the face was gone, the trees behind the headless body visible through a waterfall of bright oxygenated blood on the decapitated marshal’s body. Swallows winced, grimacing as his own face was splattered with splinters of bone and warm, salty arterial spray. He blinked in shock. Mackenzie’s messy headless upper torso sat for a second upright in the saddle shivering, then the startled horse took off and the corpse flipped out of the stirrups and landed in a heap on the ground as pumping blood gusted in a geyser from the ragged neck stump.

  A Colt Dragoon is an ugly weapon.

  The single gunshot reverberated through the tall branches of the trees. Birds took flight and scattered in all points of the compass.

  Swallows’s eyes briefly met Bess’s as Mackenzie’s Appaloosa crashed into her in its urgency to esca
pe, knocking her clean off her feet and spattering her with the marshal’s blood flying off the saddle as she landed on her stomach and her guns flew out of her hands.

  As the shell-shocked deputy swung his head left and right in a confused desperate gaze at the trees for the source of the shots, at the same time socking the Winchester to his shoulder, Swallows was thinking he hadn’t heard the first shot before he saw the bullet kill Mackenzie and wondered if he would hear the shots about to kill him.

  That thought was carried out the back of his skull as the next round drilled him between the eyes, instantly extinguishing his life as five more bullets slammed into his chest in rapid succession.

  As it turned out, he never did hear the gunshots.

  * * *

  Frank Butler swung out of his saddle on his big black stallion and his muddy boots and spurs hit the dirt. He was already reholstering his smoking pistol because the badman knew there were no lawmen with the men he just killed. Just the girl.

  The bounty killer leader stepped out of the trees and walked emotionlessly over to the dead marshal and deputy gruesomely sprawled on the slope below the tall canopy of the shadowy green conifers festooned with their blood.

  Two more Wyoming lawmen whose deaths Butler intended to falsely blame Joe Noose for. With any luck, the story should stick.

  As the leader trudged through the clearing toward where Bess was crawling away on the ground, he threw a speculative glance to his gang, thinking if his men were all were dead, too, it would mean a bigger reward for himself.

  Business was booming, he had to say.

  * * *

  When Butler was coming toward her, Bess was covered with blood, crawling on her belly for the gun, but it was too far away, and then she heard the click of a hammer being pulled back. Terrified, lying on her stomach facing in the other direction, she put up her shaking hands behind her head. “Don’t shoot.”

  He didn’t. Yet.

  “Stand up,” Butler said.

  Bess rose.

  “Turn around,” he said.