by Ralph Cotton
“He was gone fishing,” said Summers.
“Gone fishing!” Vertrees’ grin widened. “That was mighty fortunate for Goose and Moses, weren’t it? Do you reckon they knew the sheriff wasn’t there, or do you call the whole thing a coincidence?”
“You know me, Dick,” said Summers. “Coincidence is just one more card in the deck.”
“I see….” Dick Vertrees’ eyes made a suspicious sweep across the posse then across Abner Webb as he considered what possibilities might be at work.
Seeing the question in the gunrunner’s eyes, Summers headed off any further discussion. “The sheriff ran into the Peltrys along the trail. Now he’s shot all to pieces,” said Summers. “But that’s neither here nor there to you. The point is, I brought you some customers. Do you want to do some business or not?”
Dick Vertrees considered it for a second, scratching his shaggy beard. “Me and the boys keep all the business we can handle. Twixt the Mexican Federales and whatever rebel forces happen to be at war, we stay busy on both ends. I don’t know that we want any more business right now.”
“I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d help these men out, Dick,” said Will Summers. “Goose and Moses left Rileyville in pretty bad shape.”
“I’ve come to expect that from the Peltrys,” said Dick Vertrees, looking past Will Summers and across the creek at the faces of the townsmen again. “I don’t mind telling you there’s little love lost between me and old Goose and Moses.” As he looked the townsmen over, he called out to the grove of trees. “What do you say in there, Tunley? Baumgartner? Want to do some business with the good folks of Rileyville?”
“The good people of Rileyville don’t mean squat to me,” said a voice on one side of the grove. “Far as I’m concerned, we can drop them right where they stand.”
Another voice called out from the other side of the grove. “Why not sell them what they want? Their money is as good as the next.”
Dick Vertrees grinned at Will Summers. “See what a job it is being in charge? I now have what you call two conflicting opinions here.” He lowered his rifle barrel an inch but kept his thumb across the cocked hammer. “What’s your stake in this, Summers, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I just want to see the right thing done,” Summers lied. “If I can help out by getting these men some firearms, then I feel like I’ve done my part.”
“I see.” Dick Vertrees nodded, not falling for his spiel. “So they’re paying you, huh?”
A short silence passed. “Well…we do have sort of an arrangement,” said Summers, “but nothing that would interest you. What about those guns, Dick? Daylight’s getting away from us.”
“We’re talking about cash money, ain’t we, Summers?” asked Vertrees.
“You know me, Dick. It’s the only way I deal.” Will Summers offered a thin smile.
“All right, boys, lower them shooters,” Dick Vertrees called out to the trees. He uncocked his rifle and let it hang over his forearm. “Summers, you and your friends wait where you are. We’ll bring out what guns we’ve got and let you look them over.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Will Summers said, looking around and giving Abner Webb a nod as he slipped down from his saddle.
By dark, the posse had purchased six Winchester repeating rifles, eight army Colts and enough ammunition to allow each man close to two hundred rounds each. In addition to the arms and ammunition, Will Summers talked Vertrees into selling them coffee, flour and a full quarter of smoked elk meat. When the posse left the shack, Summers and Webb led them upward alongside the stream until they reached a high clearing in the light of a half-moon. Bobby Dewitt built a low fire and fixed a pot of coffee while the men carved cold elk meat and ate it by itself, all of them too tired to fix any biscuits to go with it.
Will Summers sat with a blanket wrapped around him, leaning against the trunk of a tall pine near the horses. He watched the men settle in for the night, their faces dropping out of the firelight one and two at a time and forming a circle of blankets and saddles around the flickering flames. They hugged their new rifles and pistols to their chests. At length only Sherman Dahl remained awake. He sat staring into the glowing embers. On the other side of the camp, Abner Webb walked in from the cover of darkness with his rifle cradled in his arm. Summers watched him stop at the fire long enough to rub his hands together above the low flames. Then Webb walked toward the line of horses.
“Summers, where are you?” Abner Webb whispered into the blackness as he drew nearer beneath the tall pine canopy. When Summers didn’t answer, Webb ventured closer and whispered again. When Summers still didn’t answer, Webb came to a stop less than two feet from where he sat in invisible silence. “Will, answer me!” whispered Webb, his voice starting to sound concerned. “Are you all right out here?”
To quiet the deputy, Will Summers reached out with his rifle barrel, tapped it against Abner Webb’s foot and whispered as soft as he could, “Down here, Webb.”
Abner Webb let out a startled gasp, his boot instinctively jerking away from the touch of the rifle barrel. “Jesus!” he said, letting out a tense breath as he recognized Summers’ low whisper.
Before Webb could speak again, Summers grabbed his boot and pulled down? “Keep your voice down, Deputy!” Summers said, slicing his words beneath his breath.
Abner Webb stooped down beside him in the dark and rubbed a hand across his face. “Damn it, Will,” he rasped. “You ’bout gave me heart failure! I thought those gunrunners had already hit us and gone.” He looked around in the darkness, relieved at the shadowy images of the horses along the rope line.
“If you’re that fainthearted, you’re riding the wrong trail, Deputy.” Will Summers scooted to one side, giving Webb room to sit against the trunk of the big pine. “I told you I was going to settle in out here for the night…keep an eye on the horses.”
“I know,” Webb whispered. “You really think we’ve got something to worry about from Dick Vertrees’ men?”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have brought it up a while ago, Deputy,” Summers snapped in reply. “They steal guns and horses from the army and sell them to the Federales. They steal from the Federales and sell to the Mexican rebels. Do you figure they won’t try to steal these guns and horses from us?”
“Then why didn’t they just rob us in the first place,” asked Webb, “before we got better armed?”
“Because we came upon them all of a sudden,” said Summers. “They saw we had some guns. Dick Vertrees saw how I didn’t bring everybody in close. He saw I left us a way out in case they tried anything. That’s why I told you to keep the men back across the water.” He paused for a second, then asked, “How’d they take what I said about watching out for an ambush tonight?”
“As well as you can expect,” said Webb. “They’re so dog-tired from being in the saddle all day, I reckon all they could do was get some shut-eye until something happens…if it happens.” Webb let out a breath and added, “You might have told me before you told everybody else. They’re pretty edgy over it. If we get hit in the dark, I hope they don’t shoot each other.”
“Tonight’s as good a time as any to find out who we can count on and who we can’t,” said Summers. “You’ll be surprised who sticks and who cuts and runs.”
“All I know is Sheriff Hastings will throw a wildcat fit over me consorting with that bunch of outlaws.”
“No, he won’t,” said Summers. “He’ll understand that the main thing is, we got what we came for.”
“I hope so,” Webb whispered. “Of course, now we got to worry about them stealing it all back from us. You figure there was more men there than Vertrees, Tunley and Baumgartner?”
“Not at that minute, no,” said Summers. But I know for a fact that Cherokee Rhodes, Bufford Gant and his brother Davis have been holing up there all summer. There’s others too. We happened to get there when they were all off somewhere, I reckon.”
Abner Webb shook his head in
the darkness. “Cherokee Rhodes, the Gant brothers…Lord! The list just gets worse as it goes. I swear, Will.”
“We needed guns, Deputy,” whispered Summers. “If you’re that worried about the sheriff, tell him it was all my fault…tell him I twisted your arm, made you do it.”
A silence passed as Summers trained his hearing to the surrounding darkness. In the distance, a coyote cried out long and mournful to the glittering night sky. “That ain’t what you came over here to talk about though, is it?” Summers whispered. As he spoke to Webb, he watched Sherman Dahl sip slowly from a tin cup and stare into the glowing fire.
“No, it’s not,” Webb admitted. Another silence passed as the deputy weighed his words. Then he said, “When you and Vertrees were talking, and he asked about the sheriff being gone fishing when the Peltrys raided us…?”
“Yep, what about it?” Summers asked, his voice barely audible.
“It sounded like Vertrees was saying somebody might have tipped off the Peltrys about Sheriff Hastings being out of town.”
“You have to admit, Deputy, it sure came in handy to the Peltrys: swooping down like that, and nobody there to stop them.”
“What about me, Will? Don’t forget I was there,” Webb whispered.
“You weren’t exactly on the job, Deputy—no offense,” said Summers. “Even if you had been, nobody handles things like a good sheriff. He’s the one the town has their trust in, and he’s the one can bring a town to make a stand in a second’s notice. That whole thing might’ve gone bad for the Peltrys had Sheriff Hastings been there. We both know it.”
“Then you’re thinking somebody in Rileyville is in cahoots with the Peltrys?” Webb whispered in astonishment.
“Thinking it?” Summers whispered. “Hell, I thought it the minute I heard the first shots fired. I’ve thought it ever since. I’m just glad it finally come to you.”
Webb whispered grudgingly, “I can’t say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I never brought it up because, to tell the truth, I didn’t want to start a bunch of suspicions among the men.”
“That was wise of you, Deputy,” said Summers, sounding a little skeptical as to whether or not Webb was being honest about it. “I never mentioned it because for all I know it might be you in cahoots with the Peltrys.”
“That’s a hell of a thing to say to me!” Webb rasped, barely keeping control.
“Shhh, keep it down, Deputy. You’re the one brought it up. I’m just airing it out for us. The fact is, it could be anybody in Rileyville…could be one of these men riding with us.” He nodded at Sherman Dahl. “It could even be your schoolmaster for all we know.”
“Or it could even be you,” Webb added.
“Yep…and if it was, I damn sure wouldn’t admit to it, not until we got into a pinch. Then it might just be too late for all of you.” Summers smiled to himself in the darkness. “Now, there’s an idea that’ll really give you cause for some serious thought.”
“Dang it!” Webb hissed. “I hate having to deal with this kind of stuff…especially with everything else going on.”
“Then put it out of your mind, Deputy. When the time comes, we’ll find out who it is…if it’s anybody at all. Don’t forget what I told Vertrees: Coincidence is just one more card in the deck.”
“Yeah,” said Webb. “Trouble is, it just might be a wild card. I don’t need any surprises out here, Will.”
“I know it. We’ve got plenty more to think about,” said Summers. Again, the lonesome call of a coyote resounded from within the distant ridges.
Noting the strangeness in the sound of the coyote’s voice, Abner Webb said in a hushed tone, “That ain’t no real coyote out there, is it?”
“Nope,” Will Summers whispered. “That’s Cherokee Rhodes. He’s one coyote I’d recognize anywhere.” Summers slipped his blanket off and raised up into a crouch, cocking his rifle softly across his knee. “You best get over on the other side of these horses. Careful you don’t shoot me when this all comes to a head.”
“Don’t worry about my aim; mind your own,” said Webb. He nodded at Sherman Dahl in the glow of firelight. “Think I better slip over there first, tell him and the others what’s going on out there?”
“Nope, he’s already on his toes,” said Summers. “He’s telling the others.” He studied Sherman Dahl for a second, then said, “I noticed there ain’t much that gets past that schoolmaster.” They both watched as Dahl stood up slowly and slung the last drops of coffee from his cup. The young schoolmaster drifted quietly among the sleeping men, nudging each of them with the toe of his boot until he was sure they were awake and understood his message. Then he drifted out of sight into the surrounding darkness as quiet as a ghost.
“What do you know about him?” Summers asked in a whisper.
“Not much,” said Webb. “He responded to an advertisement the town placed in the Denver newspaper last year for a schoolmaster. The kids are learning what he teaches; that’s been good enough for everybody.”
“He’s skilled at soldier-craft,” said Summers. “He didn’t learn it at no teacher’s college.”
“No, I reckon he didn’t,” said Webb, seeming to have a hard time tearing himself away from Will Summers’ side.
Finally Summers looked at him in the darkness and whispered, “Are you going or not, Deputy?”
Webb cursed under his breath without answering, then turned and moved away in a low crouch. In moments he had taken a position on the other end of the string of horses.
Forming a protective guard around the camp, Abner Webb, Will Summers and Sherman Dahl lay in tense silence, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps across the rough terrain. The awakened men had abandoned their blankets around the low campfire and crawled off to take cover in the outer circle of darkness. When Will Summers caught the faint rustle of a trouser leg against the surrounding brush, he honed onto it and followed it as it crept around his position and stopped somewhere back behind the string of horses. Summers lowered himself silently onto his belly. He turned on the ground and adjusted himself and his rifle barrel, preparing for the coming battle.
Chapter 8
Abner Webb did not see the men sneaking in through the line of horses, but he visualized them as he heard the nervous animals begin to nicker under their breath and thrash back and forth against their ropes. Not wanting to hit one of the horses, and not sure how to keep from it, Webb waited, his hand trembling a bit on his rifle stock, a trickle of cold sweat running down slowly beneath his shirt collar.
In the brush and scrub trees fifty yards beyond the far side of the camp, Dick Vertrees turned to the poncho-clad man beside him and said in a lowered voice, “Get going, Cherokee. Make sure the Gants and Tunley and Baumgartner don’t leave any live witnesses. And see to it Creek and Odell do their part. They’re both new; it’s time we see what they’re made of. I’ll get back there and keep an eye on our horses.”
“Why don’t you go in there and check things for yourself?” said Cherokee Rhodes, looking Vertrees up and down. “I can go back and watch about our riding stock.” He checked the rifle in his hands as he spoke quietly in the darkness. “Better still, why don’t we both go in there and help out with the killing? It would give our boys better odds.”
“Ha,” said Dick Vertrees. “If they need our help against that cowardly bunch of house cats, they don’t deserve to call themselves outlaws.”
“I don’t recall Will Summers ever being known as cowardly,” said Cherokee Rhodes.
“He’s not,” said Dick Vertrees. “But Summers is just along for what he can get out of them. Shooting starts, he’ll lay low or else cut and run. He ain’t putting himself in danger for that bunch. Summers only does something if it’s worth serious money to him. That’s something I can garun-damn-tee you. Now get in there and wrap this thing up. I already know where we can sell them horses for top dollar.”
“I hope you’re right about Summers,” Rhodes said quietly.
“Don’
t worry. I’m never wrong about men like us. Summers is a straight-up outlaw, no different than you and me. He just keeps it well-hidden most times.”
“Since you’re so sure of yourself, I don’t see why you don’t go on and—” Cherokee Rhodes’ words cut short as a shot exploded from the direction of the glowing campfire.
“Damn it, half-breed!” Dick Vertrees hissed, giving Rhodes a shove toward the campsite. “All hell’s breaking loose! Get in there and kill somebody!”
Gunshots blossomed in the darkness surrounding the campsite as Cherokee Rhodes ran toward the melee. He slid to the ground when he saw Bufford and Davis Gant come charging from among the line of horses and into the campfire light, firing down at the empty blankets. “They’re not here!” Davis bellowed. “Where are they?” He threw a quick glance around the abandoned campsite.
“Damn it to hell, Davis!” screamed Bufford Gant. “We’ve been tricked!” Shots caught him from all directions at once, jerking him back and forth like a rag doll as the bullets sliced through his body. Davis Gant managed to dive to the ground, grab two of the saddles lying near the campfire and pile them together for cover. Cat Creek and Lester Odell had also just charged into the campsite. But seeing Bufford die on his feet, Lester Odell dove over beside Davis Gant and began firing from behind the saddles. “Get back, Cat!” he shouted. “Take some cover!”
“I ain’t leaving you, Lester!” Cat Creek vowed. But he quickly dropped back into the darkness, fired two hasty shots, then disappeared when four possemen’s rifles concentrated their fire upon him.
Cherokee Rhodes fired shot after shot at the muzzle flashes until the rifles turned from the campsite and sent bullets whistling past his head. With a long yell, Rhodes jumped up and ran wildly zigzagging back toward the horses. Catching a glimpse of the outlaw and hearing his yell, Sherman Dahl said to Carl Margood and Louis Collingsworth, who lay firing beside him, “Pour it on the camp! I’m going after that one! If we let any of them get away, they’ll be dogging us this whole trip!”