Ambush at Dry Bone Gulch

by Ambush at Dry Bone Gulch (retail) (epub)

  Acting like he hadn’t seen anything unusual, Jonas continued back to the surrey. “Looks like we might have some unwelcome company,” he said quietly to Justin. “Act natural and don’t look up at the hill. Walk around the wagon and uncover the rifles and boxes of shells.”

  Jonas joined him and keeping the wagon between them and the side hill, scooped up a handful of .44 cartridges. He loaded 14 rounds into a Winchester and levered one into the chamber, then pushed one more into the magazine giving him 15 shots. Uncasing the shotgun, he handed it to Justin. “This is ten gauge Greener we got from England about a month ago. It’s got what they call a full choke; the barrels taper at the end so shot bunches up rather than spreads out; should make it deadly out to 150 feet.”

  Justin moved casually over to the horses and led them into a stand of cottonwoods behind the wagon and tied them securely. He motioned to Jenny and her mother to follow him to the wagon. “Jonas spotted something unusual going on and thinks we’re going to have some bad company. Ya better slip under the wagon with this shotgun...do you know how to use a double barrel?”

  Both women nodded fighting to control their fear. Justin handed them the Greener and a box of shells. Silvia broke open the action with trembling hands and managed to load both barrels without dropping any rounds. She snapped the action closed and pulled the hammers back to half-cock. They were game and both knew how to shoot if it came down to a fight. Although both women had considerable experience shooting at game and targets, neither had been in a fight with hot lead buzzing around or had to shoot at another person.

  Jonas noticed the worried look in Justin’s eyes. “Don’t worry, those gals will do well if we get into a fight. They both know how to shoot. Hell, you should know. Didn’t Jenny whip your ass when you challenged her to a shootin’ match a while back? Your shots were all over the bullseye, and she shot the prettiest clover leaf I’ve ever seen.” A big grin spread over Jonas’ face as he savored the memory and satisfaction he got from his student’s proficiency.

  Justin’s face went red and he stammered, “Ya, but I was off that day. Must have had some dirt blow in my eye.”

  “Sure, antelope can fly like eagles too. They’ll be all right. Instinct and training will take over when the time comes.”

  Figuring it was time to act and put bantering aside, Justin and Jonas grabbed hold of the wagon tongue and rotated it so the wagon’s long side faced the wash. “That should give us some protection from whatever comes at us through the canyon,” Jonas said as he inserted a sixth .45 caliber cartridge into an empty chamber he normally positioned under his Colt’s hammer. “If it’s some Bannocks using this route heading south to attack ranches they’ll be after our guns and horses and...” he nodded toward Jenny and her mom grimly.

  They waited. The only sound came from a couple of scrub jays in the oak brush calling back and forth with their shrill calls. “This reminds me of the fight on Beecher’s Island in ‘68 when we was dug in waiting for hundreds of Sioux and Cheyenne to attack. Lost several good friends in that fight,” Jonas said recalling vivid memories that he has struggled for years to tame. “I still have nightmares of hundreds of Sioux and Cheyenne charging against only fifty of us dug in on a small island in the middle of the Arikaree River...that was one brutal fight.”

  Justin looked down at Jenny under the surrey, “You all right? We shouldn’t be here too long. Gotta make sure we’re not riding into trouble once we start down the canyon...”

  He barely finished the sentence when suddenly, yells and screams broke the silence. A couple dozen braves charged up the dry streambed towards them screaming war cries and brandishing rifles and lances. “Hold yer fire until they get closer, we gotta make every shot count,” Jonas yelled as he put the front bead on the nearest rider. He let him cover a few more yards before squeezing the trigger and tumbling him off his horse.

  The charge was undisciplined and chaotic. Marauders bunched up in the middle of the wash about 75 yards from the wagon shooting from moving horses. Rounds thudded into the wagon side and spit up dirt where they fell short. Justin and Jonas kept up an accurate and sustained return fire. Their rifle barrels grew too hot to touch as they fired and ejected spent rounds from smoking actions. Both emptied their rifles and not having time to reload, started firing with their Colt .45s which cut down on their range and effectiveness.

  Justin ducked as an arrow thudded into the surrey’s wood side. He glanced over at Jonas. “Glad you brought extra rifles and cartridges. We’d be in a bad way about now without them.”

  “Can’t have too much artillery as they say in the army.”

  Three riders broke away from the group and circled around for a flanking attack. They got within about a hundred feet of the surrey only to meet double blasts from a shotgun. The heavy double 0 charge emptied two saddles while the third rider galloped away desperately fighting to stay on.

  Jonas looked down and saw Jenny holding a smoking shotgun. Her face set in a determined get-the-job-done expression. He had noticed that look before when she put cowhands to shame target practicing in back of the corral. Damn, wish I was Justin’s age, I’d go a courtin’ her like a bobcat stalking a hare, he thought wistfully. His momentary loss of focus nearly got him killed.

  Another brave circled around then charged toward Jonas launching his war lance in a deadly arc. He dove out of the way and snapped off a round with his .45 at the same time. The bullet missed the brave, but hit his horse causing it to stumble and go down catapulting its rider into some rocks.

  As fast as it started, the skirmish ended. The remaining war party swept by them across the saddle and down the other side. They had obviously decided that taking more casualties wasn’t worth the plunder of one wagon.

  “It looks like this fight’s about over...I think they’ve had enough,” Jonas said as he scrambled to his feet and pulled the war lance out of the ground inches away from where he had hit the ground. He retrieved his Winchester and pushed cartridges into the side gate until the magazine was full, levered a round into the chamber and set the hammer on half-cock. He then ejected spend .45 shells from his Colt’s cylinder and reloaded, his fingers sure and precise from long practice.

  Silence replaced the deafening crack and boom of gunfire echoing off canyon walls. Dust kicked up from charging horses slowly started to settle. Nothing moved and for a few moments the defenders stood rooted in place. Their adrenalin slowly powered down and mental processes struggled to accept the reality that the fight was over. Jonas limped over to the wagon’s tailgate to find Justin sagging against a wagon wheel. His hand clutched his side, blood seeping through his fingers.

  Jenny started to crawl from under the surrey and spotted Justin. “Justin!” she screamed and scrambled to him. “Are you hurt bad? Oh no...” She and Jonas grabbed Justin and gently lowered him to the ground.

  Jonas tore open Justin’s coat and shirt to find a bullet had passed through his side low down. He ripped his bandana off, folded it into a compress and pressed it against the wound it an attempt to staunch the flow of blood. It helped, but was unable to stop it completely. “We need to get out of here fast and get Justin to a doctor in Henryville. We can make a bed in the back of the surrey.”

  Silvia shook off any trauma she was experiencing from the attack and climbed up onto the surrey and started arranging buffalo robes into a bed. Jonas trotted over and retrieved their horses picketed in the cottonwood grove. He quickly hitched them to the surrey and tossed the reins to Jenny, “Start down the wash, I’ll catch up to you in a while, I’ve got some unfinished business here.” She didn’t argue and urged the horses into the dry creek bed and started them down the steep walled canyon.

  As soon as the surrey rounded a bend out of sight, Jonas walked cautiously to where several Indians lay. Five were dead. Two badly wounded braves tried to crawl away into the rocks. One of them left a trail of blood. The other— their leader— wore a buckskin medicine pouch around his neck. Jonas reached down and rippe
d it off. With looks of pain, defiance and unconcealed hatred, the Indian’s dark eyes glared at Jonas. The renegade tried to move his arm to resist, but it was broken. Jonas sliced the medicine pouch open with his belt knife and scattered its sacred contents of eagle claws, herbs, bones and small crystals, then ground them into the dirt with his boot heel. He knew these warriors believed their leader’s medicine bag would protect them and insure their success on the warpath. With their strong medicine now destroyed and leader killed, he hoped to send an unmistakable message that his medicine was stronger. Hopefully, any returning renegades would get the message, get discouraged and return north to the reservation.

  Drawing his Colt, Jonas shot the leader and other wounded warrior in the head. A few years earlier he would have taken the leader’s scalp, but not now. Times are a changin’ and I’ve got to change with them, he thought wistfully as he gathered up all the weapons he could find. Older Spencers and Henry rifles he destroyed by breaking the stocks and actions on rocks; bows and lances he broke in two. He knew the Bannocks would likely return to retrieve their dead and look for any usable weapons. And Jonas wasn’t about to leave anything the renegades could use.

  Most of the riderless Indian horses galloped after the retreating war party, but a couple stayed behind and were grazing nearby oblivious to the deadly skirmish they had taken part in. Jonas noticed grimly that both horses had US brands on their flank – US cavalry mounts that likely came from a recent skirmish or raid. He caught one, ripped the blanket off its back and mounted bareback. Using the previous owner’s hackamore, he guided his mount into the wash and urged it into a fast trot.

  Jonas quickly caught up with the wagon, turned his mount loose and took over the reins from Jenny. He knew it was going to be a rough ride down the wash, across sand dunes and sage flats to Henryville and doubted that Justin would survive, but said nothing. Best to keep their hopes up, he thought as he guided the wagon around a large boulder.

  Jenny glanced over at Jonas, her face drawn, lips compressed with fear for Justin along with determination in her eyes to handle whatever happened. “Jonas, do you think we’ll have to fight off more Indians on the way down?”

  “Reckon not, I think we showed ‘em their medicine was no good. They lost too many braves and will probably slip back up north to their tribe. I found their leader and without him the fight’s likely gone out of ‘em.”

  Jonas guided the horses skillfully down the wash dodging boulders and skirting sand bars. In places, canyon walls closed in so narrow that he had to maneuver the surrey through spaces with only inches to spare on either side.

  Once clear of the canyon, Jonas kept the horses moving at a fast gait skirting steep washes and sand dunes in an effort to reach Henryville as fast as possible.

  Chapter 4

  Sheriff Williams finished his beer and decided to do a last check of Main Street before calling it a night. He passed small groups of men lounging against hitching posts or clustered near doorways discussing the latest rumors. No one appeared particularly upset about Crawley’s death...at least not enough to start any trouble. Most traded stories, speculated on rumors or just bullshitted to pass the time.

  The mayor spotted Williams and hurried over. “Been looking all over for ya. Anything new ya can tell me about this Crawley situation?”

  “Not really. I’m looking into it. Got the man who brought him in down at the jail, but not much I can do until tomorrow.”

  The mayor’s voice took on a touch of panic. “If the Crawleys come in here tomorrow morning fighting mad with all their hands, what’re we going to do?”

  “Well, let’s wait and see what happens. I don’t think they’re going to shoot up the town or try to take justice into their own hands. I’ll appoint three good deputies—all good men with union army experience— to help out and keep things calm.”

  The mayor gave Williams a you-better-be-right scowl and stomped off.

  Damn politicians. If it did come to shootout you can bet he wouldn’t be anywhere near it, Williams thought resuming his patrol up Main Street following the enticing smell of fresh sourdough wafting from the Green Parrot.

  Entering the café, Williams spotted two Circle C riders he knew nursing cups of coffee at a corner table. He sauntered over, took a chair from a neighboring table and straddled it, his arms folded across the chair’s back. “Howdy Ren, Skeeter. Surprised to see you two in town.”

  “Came in for supplies and saw Mr. Crawley brought in over his horse. A real shocker. Thought we would stick around till the rest of the boys ride in,” Ren said staring into his coffee.

  Skeeter looked up at Williams, “What are ya going to do with that saddle tramp that brought Mr. Crawley in?”

  “We’ll conduct a through investigation, hopefully have a fair trial and let the law decide what happens.”

  Ren broke in, “Well, Sheriff, I don’t think you have to worry about Circle C cow punchers getting out of hand. Nothing’s going to happen without Jonas going along. He keeps a tight rein. You know he’ll back whatever you decide to do.”

  “That’s comforting...obliged for the confidence. I’ll have Nellie send some pie out, my treat,” Williams said replacing the chair on his way to the kitchen.

  An hour later with the town reasonably quiet, Williams strolled wearily back to his room at Emma’s boarding house, glad the day was finally winding down, but knowing full well tomorrow would be a lot worse. Hopefully it won’t rain tonight and turn the town’s dusty streets into a muddy quagmire tomorrow with so many people due in town, he thought as he lit a kerosene lamp on a rickety table held together by rawhide binding...the only piece of furniture he owned other than a beat-up campaign trunk.

  The next morning, a rising sun barely peeked over the eastern peaks painting the town with a pale orange tint when Williams walked into his office. He nursed a steaming mug of black, strong-enough-to-float-a-horseshoe-nail coffee he got from Emma on his way out of the boarding house. Hopefully this’ll help shake off the effects of too little sleep the last few days especially when today promises to be a real bitch, he thought clearing a space on the cluttered desk for his tin coffee cup.

  Snoring from one of the cells told Williams that Walsh had not awakened. He decided to let him sleep for another hour. Maybe he could get some work done sorting through a sheaf of wanted flyers and working on the jail’s overdue monthly budget. He’d put it off for over a week now and the town council had been bugging him to complete it by week’s end.

  An hour later, Walsh jerked awake shaking and in a sweat. For a moment he stared down into the sightless eyes of the man he had killed. His mind replaying macabre images from the day before in a continuous nightmarish loop. He eyes slowly focused on the early morning sunlight streaming in through a dirty, barred window and that jolted him back to a brutal reality. He realized with a sickening feeling that today promised to be even worse than yesterday. He groaned and tried to stand up but had to grab the top bunk railing to keep from falling. Every muscle ached, his head throbbed and his feet hurt with blisters from unaccustomed walking in riding boots.

  Williams heard the cell door creak open, and Walsh dragged himself into the office area. “You look like you’ve tangled with a couple of badgers and lost,” the sheriff said looking up from his paperwork.

  “Ya, I feel like it...maybe even worse if that’s possible.”

  “Outback is the latrine and a basin with a hand pump. Make yourself presentable. I expect Justin back with the Crawleys’ later on today.”

  Williams leaned back on his desk chair, laced his fingers behind his head and swung his boots up onto his scarred and cluttered desktop. This is looking up to be worse than a herd of stampeding longhorns, he thought. Silvia and Jenny are going to want answers and I don’t have a damned thing to tell them. Not one stinking piece of evidence or fact I can attest to. This could get real ugly considering Silvia’s hot temper.”

  The back door slammed as Walsh returned looking slightly better than
a scruffy alley cat, but starting to feel a little better.

  “I think we should grab some quick breakfast and then ride out to Dry Bone Gulch. I need to take a look-see at where you said you were ambushed. There’s a lot of questions I can’t answer,” Williams said as he stood up and reached for his hat.

  Three quarters of an hour later, Williams mounted on his grey gelding and Walsh on a borrowed chestnut rode out for the gulch about nine miles north as the crow flies. It was a warm day with only a few clouds peeking over the southwest horizon. Barring anything unusual, they hoped to make it back by mid afternoon.

  They made good time crossing the sage covered flats to the northern foothills. The terrain changed from an easy slope to rocky and steep. Sage and rabbit brush became interspersed with junipers and pinons that became more numerous as Williams and Walsh started to climb up into the foothills.

  It was an hour shy of noon when they stopped in the shade of a large juniper to rest the horses and tackle a lunch Nellie had sent along. That Nellie’s not only a great cook, but mighty attractive too. I should do something about that, but I’m not quite sure where to start, Williams thought as he polished off a beef tongue with horseradish sandwich.

  Walsh found Nellie’s lunch equally as tasty. “She is sure a fine cook. Ya know, Sheriff, you should do something about her being single and all. Not good to have an unbranded filly running around loose on the range.”

  “Well, thought about it. But all I’ve ever done is fight Indians, track down outlaws and be a lawman. That’s no future to offer a gal like Nellie—she’ll want to put down roots and have kids. There's not a lot I can offer her.”

  “Think ya ought to let her make that decision. She might not see it quite the way you do,” Walsh said with a grin.

  Williams retrieved his horse, irritated at not having a reply that made sense. He buckled his saddlebags and tied them securely behind the saddle. “Somewhere along this slope we should cut your trail when you hoofed it to Henryville.”