Jonas turned his mount into the corral and walked over to a six-foot by eight-foot log structure elevated on three-foot high cedar posts. He saw Ruddy nearby. “Glad to see you’re still around.”
“Been kinda stayin’ out of sight so Silvia won’t order me to go out lookin’ for this Walsh fellow like the rest of ‘em. Somebody’s gotta keep this place going.”
“Need some supplies to tide me over a few days, Ruddy. Sheriff’s office will pay ya.”
“Like hell. More ‘an glad to help ya out. What can I get ya?”
They packed Jonas’ saddle bags with jerky, coffee, bacon, dried fruit and flour. “This should last a few days. Obliged Ruddy. Mind if I bunk down in the barn tonight?”
“Plenty of empty bunks in the bunkhouse. Take yer pick.”
A brilliant and cloudless dawn that foretold a warm day in the high valleys found Jonas in the saddle heading east. His horse smelled the sage and wanted to run, so Jonas let him pick his pace that eventually settled down into a distance eating cantor.
Nearing the foothills, Jonas saw a dust plume of a rider coming toward him fast. As the rider neared, he recognized Jenny. He reined in and dismounted letting his horse crop some tufts of June grass. “I was just heading back to the line shack,” Jonas said as Jenny slid gracefully out of the saddle.
“You didn’t tell us when you’d be back and we were out of grub.”
“Ya, sorry about that. Your mom isn’t doing so good. I tried to talk to her, but she was ornerier than a cornered grizzly, so I got some supplies and left early. I got to thinking that Thaxton may still be around, so I’m gonna mosey around a little and see if I can pick up some sign. I’ll drop these supplies off at the line shack first.”
Jenny’s face broke into a big smile and her green eyes softened. “Be careful and don’t shoot the stranger you’ll find there. I roped Walsh into using the soap and razor you left and even clipped his hair. Not a bad looking ‘poke now....and he’s doing much better. He was up and moving around when I left.”
Jonas gave her a puzzled look. “Now, that’ll be interesting to see.”
“Oh, and I’ll see what I can do about Mother, but she has never been one to confide in me,” Jenny said as she slipped her boot into the stirrup. “I’ll ride back out tomorrow and see how things are going.” Still wearing a big smile, Jenny spurred her horse and was gone.
Jonas watched her gallop off, a perplexed look on his face. He doffed his hat, scratched his head then shrugged and mounted up.
Chapter 16
Walsh stood weakly on the porch in the crisp high mountain air and tried to flex his wounded shoulder. A stab of pain rewarded his efforts when he tried to elevate it above his shoulder. He thrust his arm back into its sling and gritted his teeth as the pain from his effort slowly powered down.
Although the wound was healing fast, Walsh knew it was going to be several weeks before he got his full strength back. Lacking anything better to do, he filled his cartridge belt from the box of .45s on the table then cleaned his Colt. Reloading, he placed five cartridges in the cylinder and rotated it so the hammer rested on an empty chamber— a common practice to prevent the pistol going off if the hammer was bumped accidently in a fall. A hard lesson many greenhorns learned either painfully or fatally.
Picking up one of the Winchesters Jonas left, Walsh tried working its lever to load and eject rounds, but found the effort clumsy and painful. That’s not good. I’ll have to rely on my six gun for awhile until I heal up enough, he thought slipping his pistol into its holster.
Returning from the Crawley ranch, Jonas swung around and approached the line shack from its north side so trees would screen him from sight until he got close. He halted before riding into the clearing and checked out the surroundings, a cautious habit that had saved his scalp many times.
Jonas spotted Walsh perched on the edge of the porch intent on touching up his Bowie knife’s edge. He smiled to himself with a mischievous glint in his eye and slid quietly out of the saddle. Stealthily, he eased around the back wall to the corner, picked up a pebble and bounced it off Walsh’s back.
Walsh lurched to his feet and clawed for his six-gun as he spun around. Jonas leaned against the wall with a big smile. “You’re so slow I could whistle Dixie before you could get off a shot and if I was an Injun, I’d have a new scalp to hang on my lodge.”
“Sore shoulder slowed me down,” Walsh replied unconvincingly and slumped back down on the porch his face growing red with embarrassment.
“Jenny told me she cut your mane and that there’s a real cowpoke under all the hair. Just had to make sure it’s really you,” Jonas said with a twinkle in his eyes. “She’s right; may not have recognized ya if it wasn’t for your sore arm.”
Walsh got even more embarrassed and not knowing how to respond stared at the ground and said nothing. Jonas walked over and picked up the Bowie knife Walsh dropped. “Beautiful knife, has good balance, wouldn’t mind scalping a few Injuns with this...glad you didn’t throw it at me.” He handed it to its owner handle first.
“That knife has quite a story behind it. Some say it has a curse on it. Have to tell you about it sometime,” Walsh said hoping to change the subject.
“Like to hear it, but right now I’m going to mosey around and make sure we don’t have any unwelcome company. Jenny said she would be back tomorrow or the next day, so sit tight and keep your eyes peeled.”
“You saw Mrs. Crawley?”
“Ya, she’s not doing too well. Lettin’ herself and the ranch go downhill. I can’t seem to get through to her and neither can Jenny. She’s got some dark secrets she’s holding on to tighter than a fat lady’s corset.”
Walsh looked up with a pained look in his eyes. “I’m really sorry for causing ya all a heap of trouble. Who knows how this is all going to end and how many are going to end up dead.”
“Well, don’t blame yourself. You wasn’t the one trying to ambush someone, and you didn’t cause the problems. We’ll get to the bottom of all this eventually. Gotta go fetch my horse...brought back some vittles for ya.”
Jonas dropped his bulging saddlebags on the porch. “Gonna do some scouting around. I don’t think Thaxton left the country; he can’t afford to. Keep that hog-leg handy and your eyes peeled.
Jenny trotted up to the corral and reached down, opened the gate and rode in. After securing the gate, she removed her saddle and threw it effortlessly over the corral’s top pole then slipped out between bottom and middle rails.
She stopped and looked around. The place was quiet, too quiet. Jenny knew the work wasn’t getting done but didn’t know what to do about it. Normally she would be roping calves, dragging them to the branders and helping out wherever she could.
Jenny snapped out of her reverie and hurried to the house. She stopped in the doorway, removed her spurs and called out. No answer. She sprinted up the stairs to her mother’s bedroom and found her sprawled across the bed in a silk robe. On the stand a half filled bottle of brandy and small brown bottle of laudanum. “Mother, wake up!” Jenny screamed trying to shake her awake.
Silvia’s eyelids fluttered. Her eyes opened and she tried to focus, but gave up and turned away mumbling, “Leave me alone...I just want to sleep.”
Jenny fought a wave of panic not knowing what to do. Her mother’s breathing was regular, and she didn’t appear to have over-dosed. Jenny decided she had no choice but to let her mother sleep it off and try to talk to her later. She collected the bottles on the night stand and left the room.
Crossing the yard toward the corrals, Jenny spotted Ruddy carrying a pitchfork full of hay from the barn to the horses. “Ruddy, where are all the hands? It’s so quiet around here.”
Ruddy tossed the hay into the corral and doffed his battered and sweat-stained fedora. He took an old red bandana out of his pocket and wiped his forehead, his motions slow and lacked motivation. “Most of ‘em are out playing posse and a few quit. Silvia pulled all the hands off spring calf roundu
p and sent them out to find that Walsh fellow. She even told me to send out the haying crew, but I ain’t done it.”
“I think Mother mixed some laudanum and brandy and it really knocked her out...I don’t know what to do.”
“Ya, she’s been liquored up since yesterday. We need to get her sober so she can make some decisions and pay our hands or we won’t have any left.”
Jenny’s face tightened with concern and her eyes had tears from worry. “What can we do, Ruddy?”
“Well, let’s let her sleep it off for a few hours and keep the laudanum away from her and see how she feels later on. Meanwhile you can help me feed these horses.”
Daybreak in high western valleys often hovered just above freezing in late spring and the two men Thaxton hired stood in the livery’s doorway waiting. They cupped their hands and blew on their fingers trying to keep them warm. Both men and horse’s breath formed steamy clouds visible against the predawn darkness.
From the shadows of a side street, Thaxton emerged leading his horse. Always vigilant and cautious, he avoided riding down Main Street whenever possible even in the dark. It was his way to stay in the background and move around as unnoticed as possible.
Thaxton nodded to his new hires and asked brusquely as he stepped into the saddle. “Morning. Ready to ride?”
Both men mounted up. “Lead the way, boss,” said Wilson as he rotated his black gelding to follow Thaxton towards a brightening eastern sky.
“You boys gonna make some easy money today...we should wrap this job up by nightfall and get ya some gold in your pocket,” he predicted putting on a show of confidence.
Always good at playing the long odds, Thaxton didn’t doubt he would collect his bounty and maybe hang around the ranch for a few days and comfort Silvia. The thought made him smile as old emotions long dormant stirred and started to awaken.
Thaxton’s past crush on Silvia still smoldered. He had tried to win her hand when she was a successful dealer at a high stakes gambling club in Reno. Her blond hair and slim figure had made her stand out. But when one of her steady poker players had offered her a job at the Carson City Mint because of her head for figures, she had eagerly taken it.
Through someone at the mint, she had met Randal, fell for him and Thaxton was left in the cold. Although the three had remained friendly, Thaxton’s hope had never fully died. And now with Randal dead, it was rekindled and maybe lady luck would at last smile and deal him a full house.
About three hours later, Thaxton and his men left their horses at the foot of a small ridge from where he had glassed the shack before. They scrambled up through loose rocks to the top and laid low peering over the crest.
Thaxton passed his binoculars around so they could study the layout around the line shack. He went over his plan with them a couple of times to make sure they understood it. “You gents got this crystal clear on what you need to do? Our timing has to be close.”
They both nodded in unison.
“And make sure you don’t shoot or harm the girl. I’m not sure who she is, but we don’t want any more complications than necessary,” Thaxton said slipping his binoculars into its leather case.
Walsh sat on the porch trying to whittle a flute from a foot length of green willow and enjoying the morning sun. He brewed a cup of Jonas’ willow bark tea that cut the pain in his shoulder from a constant throb to an occasional painful stab when he moved wrong. Thoughts of Jenny kept popping up in his mind like a colony of prairie dogs. She’s a danged fine gal, but how can a drifter hope to attract the daughter of prosperous ranch owner especially one who wants me dead. The only thing I have to my name is a worn out-saddle, a six-gun and old Bowie knife.
As he worked on his whistle, Walsh noticed two riders a couple of hundred yards away casually riding through the trees toward the line shack. His six gun lay on the porch a couple of feet away. He pulled it out of the holster, thumbed the hammer back to full cock and stood up facing the riders with his pistol hanging down by his side.
“Howdy,” one of the riders said leaning forward in the saddle. “We’re from the Circle C, supposed to round up these cows and calves and get ‘em started toward the ranch. Didn’t know anyone was here.”
“Just passing through.”
“Well, talk to Mrs. Crawley, and she’ll likely give you a job. She needs riders pretty bad right now.”
Walsh relaxed slightly but kept the hammer cocked on his six gun. He heard a slight sound behind him and started to turn when the cold steel of a rifle barrel was thrust against the back of his head followed by the unmistakable sound of the riders in front of him cocking their six guns.
“Well, well, finally gotcha. One move and you’re dead, though Silvia said dead or alive, I’d rather take you in alive. More professional that way...but you can go easy or across the saddle, really makes no difference to me...I collect either way.”
Walsh lowered the hammer on his pistol and dropped it. He stood there while Thaxton maneuvered around him keeping his rifle aimed at his head as his two hired guns slid off their horses and approached, their six-guns pointed at him as well. Parley eased over to the shack’s door and peered in. “Nobody in there, boss.”
Thaxton nodded and poked Walsh in the chest with his rifle barrel. “Who’s that other fellow who killed my deputies earlier?”
“He’s a deputy marshal from Henryville. Supposed to take me in for an inquest that’ll clear me on Randal Crawley’s death. Don’t know when he’ll be back. So, you’re the bounty hunter we had the shootout with up on the mountain?” Walsh asked with a look of contempt in his eyes.
“Ya all got lucky once; don’t count on it happening again. Me an’ the boys gonna deliver you live to the Widow Crawley. If she wants a proper hanging for killing her husband...well, we can handle that too. Might cost her a little extra, but we’re full service. Other deputies like to bring ‘em back over a saddle, less trouble that way. But me, I try to bring ‘em back alive and let my employer be the judge and decide on the punishment,” Thaxton bragged as he gave Walsh a vicious grin. His cold, emotionless gray eyes stared out at Walsh from under a flat-topped wide brimmed hat. “Oh, and where’s that little red heifer that was hanging around here earlier?”
“She’s Jonas’ gal and got tired of it out here, so she left for Henryville a few hours ago,” Walsh lied hoping she wouldn’t suddenly come riding in.
“Well, no matter. We got what we want...now all we need to do is collect.”
One of Thaxton’s men saddled a horse from the corral and boosted Walsh into the saddle and tied his hands to the horn. Walsh winced in pain, but said nothing. “Don’t try anything fancy. We got three guns, and we’ll cut your ass down before you get ten feet,” the hired gun said with a sneer.
Thaxton mounted up, paused and turned to Parley, “You said you were a reb sharpshooter in the 53rd North Carolina, so take your rifle and hunker down in that clump of trees,” he said pointing to a thick stand of junipers about 50 yards up the hill. “I’ve got a notion that Henryville deputy will be along soon and you can take care of him and then catch up with up us. Kill him and there’s a $50 dollar bonus. We’ll meet ya at the ranch when you’re through.”
A big grin spread over Parley’s face. “My pleasure, boss.” He led his horse to a thicket of chokecherry trees about two hundred yards away and staked him near some bunch grass. Satisfied, the horse was hidden, he trotted back to the stand of junipers. Rolling up his coat for a rifle rest, he settled down into a prone position, steadied his Winchester, flipped up its vernier sight and set it for 150 yards. Not as good a sharpshooting rifle as the old English Whitworth rifles we used at Gettysburg, but a .44 will do, he thought feeling the old thrill return of shooting an enemy from ambush.
Jonas rode in a large semi-circle north and east of the shack in an attempt to cut sign of anyone following them. He hadn’t ridden more than a half mile before he crossed fresh tracks. Studying them he realized he had encountered those hoof prints before from the ho
rse Thaxton was riding when he escaped the shootout with Walsh.
But there were two other sets of tracks he hadn’t seen before. He followed them to where Thaxton and company tied their horses and climbed the ridge to glass the shack. That son-of-a-bitch followed us and has been up here spying on the line shack, He knows Walsh is down there…maybe Jenny too. Jonas thought.
It suddenly dawned on him that his quarry had probably ridden to Henryville and hired some guns to help him attack the line shack. Well, that’s nice to know, I’ll have to make them welcome. He felt his adrenalin power up a notch in anticipation of another chance at stopping him.
Jonas followed Thaxton and company’s tracks as they circled wide to approach the shack from the south. I better take this slow and easy and not crowd them, Jonas reasoned slowing his horse down to a walk.
About a quarter mile from the shack, Jonas swung around through a meadow so he could approach it taking advantage of heavier cover. He urged his horse to a trot as he cut through a grassy meadow. Halfway through, his horse suddenly stumbled and went down. Jonas reacted instantly by kicking his boots clear of the stirrups and threw himself clear so he wouldn’t get pinned under the horse. He hit the ground hard; his head glanced off a half buried rock.
For several minutes, Jonas floated in a world of black that slowly gave way to grey. More minutes passed as he gradually became aware of his surroundings. His head throbbed, his vision was still blurred.
Jonas struggled to his knees and cursed himself for getting careless. Damn, I should have known better than try to short cut through a prairie dog town. Hope my horse didn’t break a leg.
The horse had struggled back to its feet and stood nearby favoring its left front leg. Jonas, still groggy, climbed unsteadily to his feet and staggered over to his mount. Although not broke, the horse’s foreleg was badly sprained. He would have to leave his mount behind and continue on foot. That would eat up a lot more time than he had planned.
Ambush at Dry Bone Gulch Page 15