“Don’t worry about me...I’ll make it.” Walsh managed to reply between clenched teeth hanging on to the saddle horn.
By avoiding skylining themselves and staying in heavy cover, they were able to carefully pick their way down without being spotted. A couple of times, Circle C riders rode within rifle range of them, but Jonas was able to avoid detection by ducking down into washes or into heavy cover. “Luckily those riders are cow punchers and not trackers. They’re just wasting their time milling around in hopes they’ll get lucky and spot something,” Jonas whispered as they hide dismounted in a shallow ravine. They held their horses’ bridles tightly so they wouldn’t give them away while three cowhands rode by within 50 feet unaware how close they came to their quarry.
“Remind me to never get on your bad side. Glad you’re not with them,” Walsh said hoarsely struggling to get back on his horse after the riders had moved on out of sight.
Half hour later, Jonas stopped a couple of hundred yards from the line shack. “Stay put with the horses while I made sure there’s not a welcoming party.” He slid his rifle out of its scabbard and set off toward the shack on foot.
Keeping cover between himself and the shack, Jonas eased to within a few yards of the back wall. He noticed a familiar horse in the small corral off to the side and Jenny’s saddle thrown over the top cross pole. What in the hell is Jenny doing here? Hope she’s alone. Jonas thought moving cautiously. He eased back the hammer on his rifle to half-cock and sprinted to the shack’s back wall, waited a moment then slipped along the wall to the corner.
Jonas took a deep breath, pulled back the hammer to full cock and flipped around the corner ready to fire. Jenny was lounging against a porch support reading a book. She looked up and her eyes went wide in alarm. Her book went flying as Jenny reached for her rifle leaning against the wall. She then recognized Jonas and relaxed.
“Jenny, what the hell are you doing here?” Jonas said, hastily easing the hammer back to half-cock.
“I should ask you the same. I thought you were in town. Did you ride out to join in the big manhunt?”
“Well, I’ve got a little surprise for you. Stay put and I’ll be right back.”
Jonas dog-trotted to where he left Walsh and the horses. “Hold on. I’ve found a place to hole up for a day or two.” he took the horse’s reins and led them to the shack.
Jenny was standing in front of the corral waiting as Jonas led the horses out of the junipers. She saw Walsh slumped in the saddle of the lead horse. “Is that the man we’ve been hunting for? Walsh?” A look of shock spread across her face. She gripped her rifle not sure what to do.
“Easy Jenny. This is Walsh, but I didn’t shoot him. One of your mother’s hired guns did. Help me get him inside.” Jonas reached up and helped Walsh out of the saddle.
Jenny hesitated looking at Walsh like a mountain lion sizing up a deer. She decided to trust Jonas and sprang forward to help him take the wounded man into the shack and onto one of the crude bunks. She looked at Jonas puzzled. “Who did you say shot him?”
“One of the three professional gunmen your mother hired. They had Walsh cornered and it was about over when I came along and broke up their little party. Two of them were killed in the shooting. Before he died, one of them told me your mother hired them. They’re from Reno. Thaxton, their leader got away, though I did singe his tail feathers.”
Jenny slumped down on a wooden stool a shocked expression on her face. “I didn’t know that Mother hired professional bounty hunters. I know she sent two of our hands to Silver City a couple of days ago to deliver a letter, but I didn’t think to ask what it was about. And I’ve never heard the name Thaxton mentioned.”
“That’s probably what the letter was about. One of the gunmen told me before he died they were from Reno and Thaxton knew your mother when she lived there.”
Jenny stared at Jonas. “I can’t believe Mother would do that...I just can’t.”
Jonas shrugged and walked over to Walsh who was starting to become aware of what was going on. “I’ve got to change these bandages. You’ve got to lie still so the bleeding doesn’t start up again and you can start to heal.” He glanced up at Jenny, “Would you grab my saddle bags while I take this bandage off?”
Jenny dropped the bags on the table and stood by not quite believing what was happening. She watched while Jonas mixed a new poultice and re-bandaged the wound. “So far it doesn’t look like we’re getting any infection. This high cool air seems to help healing.”
Walsh stared at Jenny, an incredulous expression on his face. “You’re Silvia Crawley’s daughter?”
“Yep, and you’re the infamous gunfighter Walsh that everybody’s looking for,” Jenny said managing a weak smile. “Fastest gun in the west with a dozen notches on his gun.”
“That’s not funny,” Walsh replied with a peeved look.
“Just joshin’ ya. Trying to lighten ya up a bit,” Jenny said only half-joking.
Jonas smiled at Jenny’s attempt at humor then got serious, “Jenny, I need to give you the low-down on what’s goin’ on here...”
“I sure hope so. I’d really like to know what’s happening...especially about the part where Walsh here killed two of our hands. Irish brought ‘em in dead. Said that Walsh ambushed them and killed Goat and Steed.”
“That’s not true. One of your cowhands spotted me and opened fire with his long gun. He killed my horse. But I wounded him in self defense, and he rode off down the canyon and disappeared.”
Jonas looked over at Jenny. “Know it’s hard to believe, but I ran into Irish taking Goat and Steed’s bodies back to the ranch. I back tracked him and found where a wounded Steed fell off his horse and probably bled to death. It appeared from the signs that Irish and Goat had a disagreement most likely over the reward. Irish killed Goat, and I assume he told your mother Walsh had ambushed them. But I can’t prove any of this. Their tracks will be long gone by now.”
Jenny stared at Walsh trying to piece together and comprehend all that had happened. “This is getting mighty complicated. How many more people are going to get killed before this is over?”
“I’m afraid there might be more. I suppose I should fill you both in on what I know so far,” Jonas related what they had found out about suspected rustling of Circle C stock and brought her up to date on the past couple of days.
When he finished, Jenny looked dazed. While she sat silently trying to make sense of what it all meant, Jonas slipped out the door and gathered an armload of kindling from a woodpile. He returned, fed wood into an old seen-better-days Sibley tent stove mounted in a corner, added some shavings and tossed in a match. Soon a fire was going and he set a battered two-quart coffee pot in the stove opening to heat.
“From what you say, he’s just a poor cowpoke who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Jenny finally said glancing at Walsh, her expressive green eyes softened with sympathy. “I can’t imagine what this has been like for you. Shot at and hunted down for something you don’t know anything about.”
“Yeh, tell me about it,” Walsh said staring at the ceiling.
“That’s what all the signs read and I’ve never known them to lie to me. But who Randal was gunning for and why is still a complete mystery,” Jonas added as he shaved several strips of jerky and added a pinch of dried onion to the heating water. He let the mix simmer for awhile and then helped Walsh sit up enough to eat some of the soup. The rest, he and Jenny split along with some sourdough biscuits she had in her saddle bags.
With some nourishment in him, Walsh fell into an exhausted sleep.
Jenny sat munching on a biscuit looking out the open door, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she tried to put meaning to what was happening. “Jonas, from what you told me, the man Randal thought he ambushed is still out there. Maybe he’s the man you said got away?”
“No, I don’t think so. That was a hired gun your mother contacted in Silver City. Someone she knew before they moved h
ere. I think this mystery hombre is someone we haven’t run into yet.”
“I don’t like what’s happening. This was such a peaceful valley before all this happened.” Jenny said with a shiver looking over at Walsh her hostile feelings fast disappearing.
Jonas relaxed for a moment and hunted through his vest pockets for a small tobacco tin of Bull Durham and makin’s. He sprinkled tobacco into a thin paper held into a v with his thumb and forefinger, evened it out with his index finger, licked the paper edge then rolled it into cigarette. Reaching into the stove, he pulled out a burning wood splinter and lit it. He leaned back and propped his boots on a wooden firewood box. “First good smoke I’ve had in days. By-the-way what’s that new rifle you got there?”
A big smile lit up Jenny’s face as she handed him the Winchester ‘78. “Ruddy gave it to me when I left this morning. Said it’s a new centennial model in .45-60. Wanted me to get used to it so I could win him some more money. I think he snookers our hands into challenging me.”
“Well, can you blame him? But then you kinda fan the flames too. I think you enjoy humbling those poor cowpokes. Though, I gotta admit you came closer than anyone I know to beating me at a 100 paces. But my eyesight isn’t as sharp as it used to be so you just might be able to best me next time.” Jonas smiled as he worked the action and examined the nearly two inch long .45-60 cartridge. He reluctantly handed her back the rifle. “Well, I’d hate to mess with you packin’ this.”
“You saying you won’t accept a challenge and maybe a small wager?” Jenny said with an ear-to-ear smile knowing she had boxed him in a corner and his pride wouldn’t let him squirm out of it.
“Course not. When we get back to the ranch, you’re on. Better keep the wager low enough so that you can afford it.”
Jenny stuck her tongue out at him and then getting serious glanced over at Walsh now sleeping fitfully. “What are we going to do about him? I don’t think he’s going to be able to ride for a few days.”
“Well, I should ride in and tell your mother you’re here – not mentioning Walsh, of course – and find out about those gunslingers she hired. Think you can stay here and take care of him for a day or two?”
“I suppose. I’ve nursed calves, lambs, colts and even a baby eagle that fell out of its nest. He shouldn’t be too much trouble.”
Jonas quickly briefed her on how to mix up a poultice, change Walsh’s bandage and brew up a batch of his pain-killing willow bark tea.
Thaxton urged his mount down steep hillsides and through ravines until he cut Jonas’ trail in the lower foothills and followed it cautiously. From a low ridge top he stopped and glassed the area ahead. “Interesting,” he muttered to himself. Where two foothills merge into the valley forming a shallow V, he located a small line shack. He counted five horses in a corral off to the side and recognized two that had belonged to his dead companions. Two others he was sure belonged to the stranger who had foiled his capture of Walsh. He puzzled over who the fifth horse belonged to, but finally concluded it was an extra mount left behind. He sat with his back against a dead pinion trunk split and blackened by lightening long ago and took stock of his situation.
I’ve got to get rid of that son-of-a-bitch who beat me out of nailing Walsh. Likely he’s planning on taking him back and claiming the reward. But that’s not going to happen if I can help it. But, first I’ve got to find a couple men good with a six-gun and rifle, Thaxton vowed to himself that he was not going to lose out to a streak of bad luck and went to work formulating a plan.
Chapter 14
A half dozen Circle C cowhands lounged around a camp fire waiting for the rest to arrive. Damon, who had worked for the Crawleys longer than any of the others appeared to be in charge, although his enthusiasm for the job was clearly lacking. “We’ve combed the foothills thoroughly and haven’t spotted hide nor hair of this Walsh fellow although I did hear some shooting higher up a couple of hours ago. Personally, I’m not going to cripple my horses man-hunting up in the cliffs and loose shale.”
“What do ya suggest we do then?” A puncher asked lifting the lid and stirring a Dutch oven of salt pork and beans simmering at the fire’s edge.
“Well, I think we should break camp and ride back to the ranch and tell Mrs. Crawley he must have slipped past us and flew the coop,” Damon replied looking up at the foothills.
“That reward would have been nice, but I’m with you...I’d rather chase cows than hunt down a wanted man, especially when I hear he ambushed and killed Steed and Goat,” another rider added.
Damon aimed a stream of tobacco juice into the fire. “It’s settled then. Let’s have some grub and break camp. I’ll tell the new boss-bitch we couldn’t find him so we came back in,” Damon said with a sardonic grin, glad to end what they all considered a waste of time.
For over two hours Silvia rocked back and forth in a wooden rocker on the porch. She found no joy or solace in this warm spring morning. Several meadow larks sang their distinctive melodies that would have delighted her in the past. But they didn’t now. Dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, blonde hair hastily brushed back and pinned attested to the darkness her life had plunged into.
Three Mexican women that worked for Silvia quit that morning — the last straw over Silvia losing control and screaming at them over minor cleaning details. That Jenny hadn’t returned also added to her growing stress level. A past that she thought they had escaped and buried forever, now threatened to return like dark thunder clouds building up on the horizon moving inexorably closer.
Across the valley Silvia noticed a moving dust cloud from a group of horsemen riding in. She felt a burst of excitement. I hope they got Walsh, now everything can get much better and return to normal, she hoped as she stood and shaded her eyes from the mid-morning sun.
All the riders but one trotted through the gate and headed for bunkhouse. Damon peeled away from the group and rode towards the main house. Silvia rushed down the steps toward him. “Did you find Walsh?” she demanded.
“No ma’am. He must have slipped through us and got out of the territory,” Damon replied as he hastily dismounted and removed his wide-brimmed hat.
Silvia stopped. Her hands clenched into fists; disappointment showed in her face and eyes. She stood motionless for a moment then turned around and shuffled back to the house and up the porch steps. Damon stood awkwardly for a moment unsure what to do then put on his hat and led his horse over to a watering trough.
Sheriff Williams leaned back in his chair after finishing off a plate of fried calves’ liver, onions and sourdough biscuits, his favorite vittles. The noontime crowd had dwindled to a couple of townsfolk nursing cups of coffee. Nellie brought over two cups along with an ornate pink and white tea pot and poured him a cup of steaming black tea. “Now I know you think tea is for sissies, but it‘s better for you than that float-a-horseshoe coffee you men like so much.”
“I’ll never argue with a pretty cook,” Williams picked up the teacup uncomfortably forcing a big smile. Since he had taken Nellie for an afternoon buggy ride a week ago, their friendship had started to bloom. Local wags noticed it right off, and it wasn’t long till everyone started to speculate. Even saloon gamblers started talking about taking wagers on when Williams would be forced to come up with either an engagement ring or a damn good excuse.
Williams finished his tea— wondering how anyone could to learn to like the stuff—and slid back his chair to leave when two dusty cowhands, spurs jangling strolled through the door. He recognized them as Circle C hands. “Howdy, you’re just in time for Nellie’s great liver and onions.”
They grin and doff their Stetsons. “We been looking forward to some good cooking with things at the ranch going to hell faster than a starving coyote chasing a cottontail. Donita and her niece quit. Ruddy doesn’t know how to cook and the grub he claims to cook tastes like hog swill.”
“Wadda ya talking about? “Even the hogs won’t touch it. I’ll even bet a buzzard would bend a beak
on one of his steaks,” the other cowhand added seriously.
Williams smiled. “Ya, I’ve heard about Ruddy’s cookin’ from a couple of other cowhands that rode in. What’s the latest out at the Crawley spread?”
“Mrs. Crawley has turned into a bitch on wheels and ornerier than a cornered badger. She sent all hands out looking for this Walsh fellow and no work around the ranch is getting done,” said the older of the two cowhands. “She even hired three gunman or bounty hunters to go after him.”
Williams’s eyebrows shot up. “Really. Do you know who they are?”
“One was a tall skinny hombre. I think his name is Thaxton from down around Reno.”
Williams moved over to the puncher’s table and sat down. In between talk of cows and range conditions, he gathered information and stitched together a picture of what was happening at the Circle C — and it didn’t look good. That uneasy feeling that had been eating at Williams the last couple of days crept back into his thinking.
“Well, gotta get back to work. Enjoy Nellie’s cooking,” Williams stood up and smiled at Nellie as he put on his faded black slouch hat.
Back at his office, Williams put his boots up on his scarred desktop and sipped from a two-ounce shot glass of brandy poured from his now-empty Old Crow bottle. Only one bottle of Old Crow left, he thought wistfully of the two bottles of uncut quality spirits he had won from a drummer.
Williams relished the warmth of the amber liquid as it trickled down his throat. I understand why Silvia is upset and why she wants to bring her husband’s killer to justice. But there’s something here I’m missing. Something more I need to smoke out. I probably should ride out there as soon as I can get away. He relaxed letting the brandy do what it was distilled to do.
Jonas didn’t like the idea of leaving Jenny alone with a wounded man, especially when hired gunmen and Circle C cowhands were out looking for Walsh in force. But he realized it was critical that he talk to Silvia and find out what was going on. He watched Jenny put cold a cloth on Walsh’s forehead to try and reduce his fever. “We’re just about out of supplies, I should ride in see your mother and bring back some. Meanwhile, see if you can get him to drink some of that bark tea I brewed up. It does a fair job getting fevers to break.”
Ambush at Dry Bone Gulch Page 13