Dead Aim

by Dusty Richards

  “Did you find them?”

  “We think so.”

  “Harp and some of the boys, along with the Indian trackers that were hired, went back to the campsite to get an early start in the morning.”

  Long shook his head.

  “Why? What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Find a boy to ride over there and tell them to wait until we join them. We know where those troublemakers are at.”

  “Find Bucky,” Calamity said to a hand. Chaw’s bride was standing there on the porch drying her hands on a dishtowel. “So, you did find them?”

  “Yes, we found the camp. Your boy will give them word tonight, and we will join them early tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The boy in his teens called Bucky had just run up to them.

  “We need you to go to the camp where our men went and tell Harp that we will join him in the morning and that we know where the men we are looking for are at. That they are to wait for us.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You know where that camp Harp is at and know how to find it in the dark?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t get shot by them thinking you are one of the raiders.”

  “I’ll watch that, too.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “Yes, sir, and thank you.”

  “And you tell your mother she raised a good boy next time you see her.”

  “I will, sir.” He smiled and was gone.

  Long was still chuckling about the boy’s politeness when he put his arm on her shoulder and let his wonderful wife lead him to the house. He’d have to tell her the whole story about what they found—should have had Harp along to do all that talking for him. No. Not really. He really enjoyed her company and confiding in her. It simply was that Harp had spoiled him all those years growing up by doing all the talking.

  “Did you really see them?” Calamity asked him, setting places for the three men at the large table.

  “Yes, and they have an army, dang near,” Long said, taking a seat after washing up.

  “Personally I am glad you didn’t try,” Jan said.

  “You have to be sensible sometimes,” he said, filling his plate out of the bowls of food the two women brought them.

  “It was a good time to be that way.” Jan kissed him on his cheek going by.

  “You two guys looking at what I have to put up with?” Long asked Johnny and Anthony, who had joined them at the table.

  “Oh, me and Anthony are looking at how real bad you are being treated.”

  They all laughed.

  All he could say was, he was damn glad to be safe, and with her after all he’d been through by going to see the shining mountains and coming back. Maybe in the next days they could round up the ones threatening them, settle that business, and get back to normal ranch life.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jan’s windup alarm clock woke him at four a.m. The skeleton ranch crew was busy saddling horses while the three of them ate oatmeal and drank her good strong coffee. Then they were ready to ride and meet Harp in the cow camp. He kissed his wife good-bye, mounted his horse, and they rode off to war.

  Harp and his crew were mounted when they arrived, and they left the camp at a trot. Long explained to his brother and Chaw about the tough guys’ camp on Horse Creek and what they’d found there.

  “Did they have lookouts?” Harp asked.

  “Not when we scouted them.”

  “Coming from this way we better be careful. This is where they’d expect us to come from.”

  Long agreed. “There were two dozen or more of them in that camp yesterday and another camp of two men and their families farther up that small creek. The ones with the families didn’t offer us their names and they acted real tough. I didn’t want the cart turned over so we backed off, but they might have warned the others that we had been there.”

  “That’s a chance we take. I am not familiar with this road.”

  “It is hardly a road but more a wagon track that goes along the ridge parallel to the creek.”

  Harp nodded. “These two with us are good trackers if they have already fled.”

  Long nodded. “This land will make good cow country. There is lots of water in the creek for this late in the year.”

  Harp agreed. “But it is damn sure a long ways from any place or town.”

  Everyone was told to be as quiet as possible as they rode in closer. Long and Johnny went ahead on foot to see if they had posted any guards. They found no one at the head of the trail and waited. Most of the O’Malley men’s horses were hitched up at the top of the trail. Chaw, Harp, and Long planned to ride theirs down off the hill in case they needed to pursue anyone.

  The other men began to spread out on foot to descend the hillside. Wood smoke told them someone was still in the camp. The two trackers said no one had ridden out recently, and when they were certain most of their men were getting close, the three horsemen started off the hill.

  They came in at a charge and slid into camp as men were running about trying to set up a defense. Harp shot a man who came out in the open with his six-gun in hand. Both Chaw and Long were shooting at others, when the ranch crew with their rifles joined them to mop up the rest. Then things were silent except for the moaning, wounded outlaws on the ground.

  Harp ordered all two dozen of the dead buried and the wounded rounded up.

  “Chaw,” Long shouted. “Those men at the other camp I bet heard the shooting.”

  “I’ll get Harp’s horse,” Johnny said, and ran to catch him.

  “Let’s ride. I want them, too,” Long said, and they tore up the hill for the road. Harp could handle the rest; he wanted those two captured, too. They made the trip to the road in fast time, and riding off the hill, they met both armed men coming up on horseback. Chaw shot the tall one who was brandishing a revolver. To stop him, Long drove his own horse into the shorter man’s mount, and they both went down in the collision. Thrown from his saddle in the wreck, Long rolled a distance downhill and got up to see that Johnny and Chaw had the short guy covered. He was lying on his back and had obviously broken his leg in the wreck.

  Nothing too much felt wrong with his body, so Long stood up and dusted himself off, laughing. “That was a real meeting, guys.”

  “You all right, boss?” Chaw asked.

  “I will be now these bastards are caught.”

  “He’s dead,” Johnny said after checking on the tall one.

  “This one’s broke his leg,” Chaw said about his prisoner.

  Long shook his head in disgust. “I can see that. My good Comanche horse over there has to be put down, too. His front leg is broken. I hate that happened.”

  In a flash Johnny rushed over and caught Long’s horse’s reins, talking to calm him, and undoing the latigos, he stripped the saddle off. “I can do that for you . . . he ain’t my friend like he is yours.”

  The tack taken off, Johnny led the horse, limping, to the edge and shot him in the forehead. The horse went to his knees, groaned, and spilled onto his side in death on the hillside slope.

  “Thanks.” Long felt the loss. He had been a damn good horse.

  “Neither one of them was worth that horse,” Johnny said in disgust, and holstered his gun.

  “Who are you?” Chaw asked the outlaw.

  “Short Taylor. You going to have my leg fixed?”

  Chaw shook his head. “You won’t need it where you’re going. How many women in that camp down there?”

  “Three.”

  “They wives?”

  “Two are mine. The other’s Caldwell’s.”

  “That his name?”

  “Wendell Caldwell.”

  “What’re we going to do with the women and kids?” Chaw asked.

  “Get some wagons and send them to Kerrville. Harp can decide.”

  “I’ll go tell him what we’ve got.” Johnny stepped into his saddle and rode out.

  Three sobbing young women in ragged wash-wor
n dresses came from the camp. One held a baby in her arms.

  “What’s gonna happen next?” the sharp-faced one asked, wiping her long black hair, unkempt and windswept, back from her face.

  “They say they’re going to hang me,” Taylor said, squeezing his injured leg.

  She dropped down and kissed him. “I’ll pray for you, Short.”

  “Pray they don’t, you dummy.”

  “I ain’t no dummy. You’re the one said nothing would come of this business and we’d have some money.”

  “Who hired him?”

  She stood up, red-faced mad. “Tell him, Short. He won’t save you.”

  “I ain’t no stool pigeon.”

  “Then you’re the stupid one.”

  Long said, “I’ve got fifty dollars . . . tell me who hired them.”

  Holding out her dirty palm she brashly said, “Pay me. His name’s Fargo Jennings.”

  Short shouted at her, “Damn you, whore. I saved your ass.”

  She gave him a swift hard kick in the ribs. “You have me in a worse fix now than when you found me. Broke, pregnant, destitute, and miles out here—” Quickly she counted the paper money Long put in her hand.

  Then she curtsied and thanked him.

  Chaw asked, “You know this Jennings guy?”

  “No. But you can bet good money I will find him.” Long reached back and felt his sore hip. His future looked like he’d be hurting for a while from the fall.

  Fargo Jennings, he’d remember that name. He’d find Jennings and end his miserable life. That was a promise he’d keep.

  When they arrived back to the camp with Taylor, Harp’s quietly spoken plan was to string up the remaining raiders, wounded or alive. Then use the three wagons to deliver the six women and children to a church or someplace in Kerrville.

  Harp spoke to all the women. Each, when they left the area, would receive two hundred dollars for the promise of not saying a word, except that they did not know anything. Then they must move on to continue their lives on that generous amount of money.

  Long knew Harp’s offer for the penniless women would be a good start.

  Chaw, with three of his ranchmen, had said he’d handle the matter of getting those camp women and kids to his place, rather than someplace strange. Long knew the teary-eyed women and children needed to be moved away before the trial, so, slowly, the three wagons moved out to eventually get to Chaw’s ranch headquarters.

  Long and Harp went back to the big camp where ten nooses were tied and trees selected. Then four of the raiders were set on horses regardless of their condition, and asked if they had any last words. Most didn’t have a thing to say worth their audience’s time. They died of broken necks. Six more, including Taylor, met the same fate. The men then buried them all under the trees they were hung from.

  After the lynching everyone else rode back to their own places, some passing the wagons on their way.

  Long felt really sore from his crash so he borrowed two pints of whiskey from a couple of cowboys, and by the time he reached the headquarters, he was drunk enough to be singing “Sweet Betsy from Pike.”

  And by then his beat-up body didn’t hurt, either.

  How he stayed in the saddle had the crew wondering. Harp told Jan about his wreck and the pain medicine he drank. It took both of them to get his boots off and him into bed.

  His last words before falling asleep were, “Fargo Jennings, I’ll get you.”

  When he awoke in the morning his head felt like it was swimming. The pain in his body was sharp. Jan pushed him back down.

  “Let me rub your back if that is where the worst pain is.”

  “In a minute. I’ll be right back.”

  She laughed.

  He stumbled outside the tent, relieved his bladder, and straightened. He felt rough. Back in the tent he shook his head. “My back is the worst part.”

  Facedown on the cot and her sitting on his legs, the cold rubbing alcohol she dabbed on his sore muscles brought goose bumps up on the back of his arms. Then those powerful hands of hers began to knead the stiffness and pain. At first his body resisted her efforts and left him with even more hurting, but soon that sharpness grew less and less. He felt his own body strength drain away, too, until he worried he was too weak to ever walk again.

  “Is that better?” she whispered in his ear.

  His eyes closed. He mumbled something and was off into a deep sleep.

  He woke four hours later, his body able to move. He dressed and still a little light-headed went in the house’s kitchen and slumped into a chair.

  Chaw’s wife, Calamity, poured him coffee and asked what he wanted to eat. She suggested some ham and eggs.

  He nodded. “Where’s Jan?”

  “She’s down at the bunkhouse treating a wound a cowboy earned in this last war you had. She didn’t like how it was treated and said it must be dressed better to ever heal right. You know she’s almost a doctor.”

  “I know. My back is livable thanks to her.”

  “They said you had a helluva wreck stopping one of the guys.”

  “But we did learn who hired them.”

  “I never heard of him. Faro somebody.”

  “Fargo Jennings is his name. I’ll find him.”

  Calamity delivered his ham and eggs with a side of hashed potatoes.”

  “Thanks . . . you’re dandy.” He smiled at her.

  “No, you and Harp are. You gave Chaw this foreman job so he could marry me. I really figured we’d never get married and in the end I’d have to be the third wife of some old man who lost his other two. That’s what is so dandy. Me and him married and are having such a good life here on this ranch you all bought for us to run.”

  “I can see you are a happy wife.”

  “When he came to Mason and told me we were getting married I did cartwheels in the front yard and didn’t care who saw me doing it. Why I’m so happy being his wife, here, and will be as long as we’re together.”

  Busy eating his food, Long grinned at how her outright sincerity amused him. But Chaw was a good person, too, and equally proud of her as well. Like he never knew what he’d do without Jan. Just then she came into the kitchen with a basketful of medical supplies on her arm.

  “You better the guy?” Calamity asked.

  “Yes. And bandaged the right way this time, too. Calamity, you fed Long?”

  “I did. He’s doing fine.”

  “I am not fine. I am much better and can stand by myself. Everyone else all right?”

  “Harp said to tell you he’s gone to find out more about Jennings and why he hired those thugs.”

  “The men did a good job and cleaned up the mess in short order. Those won’t be back.”

  “I guess not.”

  Long was back to being himself in a week, when three white state police showed up in their usual arrogant fashion. At the time, the crew was busy trying out some fresh horses in the home ranch corrals. The first one the boys tried had stuck his nose in the dirt and was trying his damndest to throw the Comanche boy Silver Tom off his back. A regular dust devil to ride. The boy was in the saddle and whacking him between the ears with a quirt to get his head up. There would be no way that pony could throw that boy, so he might as well get over his squealing and bucking. The horse did not agree.

  Long was standing on the corral fence, shouting for Silver to ride him, when a big voice demanded he answer his questions.

  Long turned to see what smart mouth was there.

  Texas State Police wore large shields for badges. They never wore ranger stars.

  “What do you need?” He slipped off the corral to stand at the base.

  “My name is Sergeant Callaway. Texas State Police. Three men have been reported missing from around here. Allen Hawthorn, McKendrick Rathbone, and Warren Holden. Do you know the whereabouts of these men, sir?”

  “Callaway, I never heard of them before. What did they do wrong?”

  “Nothing I know about. Their fa
milies reported them missing, and I wondered if you knew anything about them.”

  “Nope. No one has been around here by those names. But we will look for them for you. Did they say what they were doing out here?”

  “No. Working for some guy who has ranches, and their families completely lost track of them.”

  “What was his name? The guy they worked for?”

  “Faro Jennings or Jenks? They weren’t sure about it.”

  “I don’t know him.” How about Fargo Jennings? And the men you want are resting under a tree up on Horse Creek.

  “Thanks. Mr. O’Malley, you know that several men have vanished recently around here. If you hear of them contact the Texas State Police.”

  “Texas is a big place. Cowboys drift through here and are gone. We don’t know where they go to.”

  “But way too many are disappearing in this very area. Enough to make me suspicious.”

  “Of what? Out-of-work hands don’t leave no marks; they simply ride on for another free meal.”

  The captain swung his horse around and left. His two lemon-sucking deputies followed his lead.

  Back when they lived west of Fort Worth, real rangers came by all the time, flirted with their mother, gave him and Harp hard candy, and were part of the family. Those carpetbagger police were like icicles he’d seen on the roof edge during one real cold spell.

  Go to hell, Callaway. We won’t miss you.

  Johnny came by after they rode off. “They’re looking for them raiders?”

  “I guess I could’ve told them they were resting under a tree, huh?”

  “They won’t find them. Those police are afraid of that wilderness we own. That Callaway is kinda like a damn rattler. Rattling some and then squirming off for another day.”

  Long shook his head. “He’s been here before, awhile ago. Asked my dad about some guy we’d planted. Dad didn’t know about it but he’d not told that damn Yankee one single thing.”

  They were getting another bronc saddled for Silver to ride. “Them damn boys sure sent some outlaws for him to ride. Hold up a minute, Johnny.” He climbed on the fence.

  “Silver, when you go home, stop at the store in town and get your mother a sack of frijoles to feed her family and charge them to me. You are doing some great riding.”