Webb's Posse

by Ralph Cotton

A ripple of laughter rose and fell among the Federales. But then they settled into tense silence, awaiting Dahl’s words.

  “Your lives,” Dahl said flatly. His thumb cocked the hammer back on his rifle as if for emphasis.

  From within a cover of brush, Will Summers tightened his grip on the Gatling gun and said under his breath, “You have to admit, the schoolmaster doesn’t beat around the bush.”

  The corporal’s face turned ashen at Dahl’s words. But then he tried to keep calm, not let his men see the consternation running through his mind. He forced a stiff smile and waved his hand slowly at his men, signaling them to spread out. “You damn crazy Americano! Why do you play around like this? You know we spent the night looking for that big gun! Who do you people think you are, that you come here, keep my men up all night, then tell me you trade this man to me for my life!” He gave his men a quick glance, making sure they were ready as he cocked his hand slightly and prepared to make a grab for his holstered pistol. “You make me laugh! Ha ha! See how I laugh, gringo?”

  “Yep, I see,” Sherman Dahl said grimly, seeing the corporal’s hand make the slightest twitch toward his pistol. Dahl’s rifle bucked across his lap. The shot lifted Corporal Luna from his saddle and slammed him sidelong into the man sitting next to him. Before the men could grasp what had just happened to the corporal, Dahl’s pistol streaked upward in his right hand, firing as his left hand slung his rifle forward, levering up a fresh round.

  “Get down, Webb!” Dahl shouted. His rifle fired a second behind his pistol. Two Federales flew from their saddles. Abner Webb caught a glint of morning sunlight on the Gatling gun barrels sticking out of a dry stand of brush. He flattened against the ground as the big gun began its deadly song.

  Monk Dupre was too stunned to even dive for cover. He stood frozen in place, his hands bound in front of him, his shoulders scrunched up as if to make him a smaller target. He stood wild-eyed on one foot, his other foot raised knee-high like some strange, frightened waterfowl. Shots screamed past him from both directions at once. His face formed a tortured scream, but the sound of it went unheard amid the solid pounding of gunfire.

  As the last of the Federales fell and their spooked horses scattered, Abner Webb managed to leap up and catch a set of loose reins with his tied hands and run along, checking the horse down. By the time the horse stopped struggling, the Gatling gun had fallen silent. Will Summers turned loose of the smoking gun and leaped out from behind the brush in time to slow down a fleeing horse and divert it right into Sergeant Teasdale’s hands. “Good Lord!” said Abner Webb, keeping the spooked horse under control as he looked around at men lying dead on the ground.

  “Get armed and ready to ride,” said Sherman Dahl, punching spent shells from his Colt and replacing them. “Everybody between here and the hill country must be looking for the machine rifle.” He stepped down from his saddle and lifted a knife from his boot well. Abner Webb held his hands out. Dahl sliced through the rawhide strips binding the deputy’s wrists together.

  As Webb stepped away, rubbing his raw wrists, Monk Dupre held his hands out to Dahl, saying quickly, “Thank God you showed up when you did. They would have slit our throats before the day was over.”

  “Get out of here,” said Dahl, shoving Dupre away.

  “Are you three all that’s left?” asked Abner Webb, stepping over to the bodies on the ground. He picked up a loose pistol and checked it over, then tossed it aside and picked up another.

  “So far,” said Sherman Dahl. “Hargrove died in the night. We haven’t seen Cherokee Rhodes or Hayes or Daniels.” Dahl stooped down and picked up a bandoleer of ammunition, looked at it and dropped it to the ground.

  “Edmund Daniels is dead,” Abner Webb said, wincing at the memory of it. “He died last night when this bunch come upon us. He was wounded bad…took a stand against them and gave his life to save mine.”

  “Saved your life?” Sherman Dahl gave him a surprised look, then looked him up and down, noting the dried black blood down Webb’s side, his lap and his left leg.

  “That’s right,” said Webb. “I couldn’t believe it myself at first. But me and him did some talking before he died.” Webb hesitated for a second, then added, “I’m glad we got to.”

  “I bet you are,” said Will Summers, stepping up beside him, leading the horse he’d just caught. “If I was you, I’d be careful how I told that story to people. It’s going to be hard to believe you didn’t kill him.”

  Abner Webb bristled. “Don’t say that even joking, Will! Daniels and I made peace. That’s the truth, so help me!”

  “All right then. Settle down, Deputy,” said Summers. “Speaking of killing—” He nodded at the knife still in Dahl’s hand. “While you’ve got your knife out, go ahead and stick this one before we leave.” He turned a cold stare at Monk Dupre.

  “Whoa now, hang on!” said Dupre, taking a shaky step backward. “There’s no need in that. Where will all this violence end? It sickens me, all the killing I’ve seen lately. Men who have no more regard for life than to—”

  “Shut up, Dupre,” said Abner Webb, cutting him off. “The fact is, he rides with the Peltrys…says he knows where they hide out in the high country.”

  “Dupre?” said Summers. “Monk Dupre? There’s some money on your head…a few hundred dollars, as I recall.”

  “No, you’ve mistaken me for another Monk Dupre,” said the worried outlaw. “I admit I’ve done some things I shouldn’t have done, riding with the Peltrys, but no, huh-uh.” He shook his scraggly head. “There’s no money on me. Believe me, I’d know it if there was.”

  “I still think your head would look better in that bag with those two scalp hunters, Duckbill Grear and Andy Merkel,” said Will Summers, nodding toward the feed sack hanging from his saddle horn as Teasdale led their horses forward.

  “Oh Jesus, no,” said Monk Dupre, looking at the outlines of the heads in the bag. “Is that them? Grear and Merkel?” His voice trembled.

  “Yep,” said Summers. “They’re a lot shorter than the last time you saw them.”

  “I’m getting sick.” Dupre looked away from the bag, his face taking on a sour expression. “I—I can’t hardly breathe here.” He turned his bound hands to his side. “Please cut me loose. Send me on my way. I swear you’ll never see me again! I won’t tell a soul I saw you out here.”

  “He might be some use to us,” said Abner Webb. “It wouldn’t hurt to keep him alive a while. If he crosses us, you can always bag him any time you feel like it.”

  “That’s right,” said Monk Dupre, talking fast. “Only that won’t happen. So help me God, I won’t cross yas. I’ll lead you straight to the Peltry hideout. I’ll ambush them with you…. Hell, I’ll kill them both myself! Just say the word!”

  “Can you keep him quiet?” Will Summers asked Abner Webb.

  “I’ll try,” said Webb.

  “Then he’s with us, schoolmaster,” Summers said to Sherman Dahl, “but keep his hands tied for a while.” He took his horse’s reins from Teasdale and walked away with Abner Webb.

  “You men won’t be sorry,” said Monk Dupre.

  Summers and Webb stepped in among the bodies of the Federales, searching for any canteens of water, weapons or ammunition they could use. “So you and Daniels got things straight between you before he died, huh?” asked Summers.

  “Yeah, we did, Will. It was strange. He—he made me promise something before he died. I still don’t know what to make of it.”

  Summers stood up, lifting a belt full of .45 caliber pistol cartridges from around a dead man’s shoulder and slinging it over his own. “Men say strange things before they die…. I never felt bound by anything a dead man asked of me,” said Summers.

  “I do,” said Webb. He stopped and looked at Will Summers and said, “In case something happens to me, I want you to tell Ren—I mean her…his wife, that is—that there’s a bank account in Cheyenne that belongs to her.”

  “What’s wrong, Deputy? Can’
t you say the woman’s name?” Summers asked. “As close as the two of you’s been? You can’t say her name? That must have really been some talk you and Edmund Daniels had….”

  “Cut it out, Summers,” Webb demanded. “I can say her name. It’s Renee Marie, so there.” He looked embarrassed. “Anyway, there’s a sizable amount of money I’m supposed to tell her about. So in case I don’t make it back, I want you to tell her.”

  “But you are going to make it back, Deputy, so don’t even start talking about dying. I won’t have it,” said Will Summers.

  “But if it happens, you tell her, all right?”

  “All right,” said Summers, “but it won’t happen.” He mused over the conversation for a second, then said, “And that’s it? That’s the promise you made him?”

  “No, there was something else,” said Webb. “I promised him that no matter what, I’d never see her again or have anything more to do with her.”

  He started to walk away, but Will Summers grabbed his arm. “Hold it. You promised him something like that?”

  “That’s right, I did,” Webb lied, seeing Edmund Daniels’ eyes in the flicker of firelight from the night before, feeling the man’s lifeblood warm on his chest.

  “But you don’t have to keep that promise,” said Summers. “I thought you was crazy about her!”

  “I was…. I mean, I still am, Will,” said Webb, avoiding Summers’ eyes. “But a promise is a promise. I’ve got to keep my word.” He raised his face to Will Summers, and Summers saw something deep at work, some remnant of the past night and what it had left in its wake.

  “I understand,” said Summers as if reading some revelation in the deputy’s caged eyes.

  “Good,” said Webb. “I don’t ever want to talk about it again.”

  “Then we won’t,” said Summers.

  They both looked over to where Sherman Dahl had reached down and pulled a rolled-up blanket from around the shoulder of a dead Federale. Dahl unrolled the blanket, shook it out and stuck his knife blade in its center, making a ten-inch slit. “I mean it, Will,” said Abner Webb. “It’s not something I ever want to be reminded of.”

  “I said I understand,” Summers responded quietly, “and I meant it.”

  Sherman Dahl pulled the faded wool blanket down over his head, adjusted it over his gun holster, then put his hat on his head and looked around at the others. “Let’s get moving before every gunman in this hellhole shows up wanting to kill us.”

  “Right you are, schoolmaster,” said Will Summers, taking a step forward and leading his horse from amid the dead.

  At the sound of the Gatling gun in the distance, Goose Peltry had spun his horse toward it and let out a long string of profanities. Moses, Doc Murdock and the rest of the men also turned their horses and looked back, but they remained calm. “Looks like somebody came out ahead of us on the machine rifle,” said Doc Murdock. “I reckon we can’t win every time.”

  “Says you,” Goose sneered. “Give me three men, Moses! Just three men! I’ll go back and get that gun and drop it on the ground at your feet. I swear an oath to it!” He raised his weathered right hand to the sky. “Turn me loose on them!”

  “Turn you loose on who?” said Moses. “We don’t even know for sure who has the gun. We’ve got Mexican Federales and a law posse back there on the desert floor. That’s a bad mix, brother, and you know it. Doc’s right; we lost this time. It’s time we took this as a loss and went on about our business.”

  “I can’t stand knowing somebody has something that belongs to me, even if we did steal it in the first place.” Goose clenched his fists in rage. “Just imagining some sonsabitch’s hands on that machine rifle sends fire through me!”

  Doc Murdock gave him a bemused look. “Damn, Goose,” he chuckled aloud, “you better start sleeping with your head up off the cold ground.”

  “What the hell is that suppose to mean, Murdock?” Goose Peltry hissed.

  “It means you’re starting to sound too strange to be trusted around firearms and livestock, you crazy-acting bastard,” Doc Murdock growled in return. He turned his horse and started to heel it away.

  But Goose Peltry had sidled his horse closer to Doc Murdock as they spoke. Now, having heard all the insults he could stand, Goose let out an insane yell and hurled himself from his saddle onto Doc Murdock’s back. The two hit the ground rolling, punching and gouging, raising dust. Horses and riders jockeyed back and forth, the animals stepping high-hoofed, trying to keep from stepping on the pair. Moses Peltry shouted at the other men, scalp hunters and guerilla fighters alike. “Get down there, some of you! Break these damn fools up before they kill one another!”

  The men jumped down from their saddles and pulled Murdock and Goose Peltry apart. Moses Peltry stepped his horse over close to Goose, grabbed him by his hair and kicked him soundly in the back of his head. Then he turned his brother loose, and Goose sank to his knees with a dazed groan. Doc Murdock struggled against the men holding him. “Turn me loose! I’ll eat that rotten sonsabitch’s heart!” He managed to free his gun hand and slapped his palm around his pistol butt.

  But then Murdock froze at the sound of Moses Peltry’s big Walker Colt cocking. Looking up, Murdock saw the big open pistol bore staring down at his face from three feet away. “You ain’t really drawing that pistol on my brother, are you?” Moses asked in a low, steady voice.

  Doc Murdock thought better of it and drew his hand away from the pistol butt. He shook himself free of the men holding him and said to Moses, “The man’s a complete lunatic! You saw what he just did! Only my respect for you keeps me from killing him like the mad dog he is! You shoulda taken up my offer to put him to sleep the other day! He’s nothing but trouble!”

  “Hush up, Murdock, before you and me go to shooting chunks off one another,” Moses warned. His left hand gripped his beard at chest level. His right hand extended the cocked Walker Colt out at arm’s length.

  Murdock saw Moses’ knuckles turn white and bloodless on the trigger. He took a step back. “Easy, Moses. There’s no trouble between you and me.”

  Moses relaxed his gun hand a little, letting the Walker barrel slump. “We’re all tired and getting edgy,” said Moses. “We need to get over to Punta Del Sol and rest some before we start splattering one another.”

  “You’re right, Moses.” Doc Murdock eased back and took a deep breath. He ran a hand across his upper lip, wiping away a trickle of blood. “No harm done. I reckon I mighta brought some of that on myself.”

  Moses uncocked his Walker Colt and backed his horse a step. As Doc Murdock turned and took his horse’s reins from one of the men, Moses backed his horse over, holstered his pistol and bent down in his saddle. Goose had struggled halfway to his feet. Moses grabbed his shoulder and helped him up the rest of the way. “What was he talking about, Moses,” Goose asked in a dazed voice, “saying you shoulda took him up on his offer to put me to sleep?”

  “Nothing, Goose. It was just loose talk. Forget you even heard it,” said Moses.

  “Nothing? He’s talking about putting me to sleep like I’m a sick dog or something. You say forget it?”

  “Yeah, Goose, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Moses spit in exasperation. “You’re my brother. Nobody is going to do you harm so long as I can help it. Don’t you have enough sense to know that? Now shut up and put it out of your mind. We’ve got more pressing things to concern us.”

  “All right then. It’s forgotten.” Goose rubbed the back of his head and watched his brother turn his horse and ride away a few feet.

  “The fight’s over, men,” said Moses. “Get mounted and get moving. To hell with the Gatling gun and the Federales. It’s time we ride on to Punta Del Sol, take a few days of drinking and whoring.”

  “It’s a three-day ride from here to Punta Del Sol,” said a voice among the men.

  “So what? It’s a three-day ride from here to anywhere,” Moses laughed. “We can hole up under a hot rock out here if everybody prefer
s.” He looked around at the sunburnt, haggard faces. “But if it’s drinking and whoring you want, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  The men hooted and cheered. As they turned away from Doc Murdock and Goose Peltry, Brayton “Comanche Killer” Cane picked up Murdock’s hat from the ground, slapped it against his leg and handed it to him. “Don’t worry, Doc,” he said between the two of them. “When you get ready to kill that wild-eyed rat’s ass, I’ve got you covered.”

  “Keep it in mind, Comanche Killer,” said Murdock. “It’s coming most any time. Nobody jumps me from behind that way. First chance I get, I’ll kill him quicker than a fly can lick its snout.”

  “That sounds good to me, Doc.” Cane looked over at Goose Peltry with a strange smile and tipped his ragged hat as he continued speaking to Murdock. “You kill him, and I’ll lift his scalp for you before his dead ass hits the ground.”

  PART 3

  Chapter 19

  Before riding into Punta Del Sol, Moses Peltry had sent two men upward into the high rocky cliffs lining either side of the trail. When the men waved their rifles back and forth slowly, Moses Peltry looked at Doc Murdock and said, “Now that we’ve made it through that little stretch of adventure, how do you feel about our partnership so far?”

  Doc Murdock returned Moses’ flat smile. “All’s well that ends well, I suppose. But to tell the truth, I can’t see where me or my men made a dime traipsing across those flats and badlands.”

  “Don’t worry about the money, Doc,” said Moses. “We’ll soon be making it hand over fist. I’ve got plans that will cross your eyes once you hear them.”

  “I’m all ears,” said Murdock.

  “In good time, Doc,” said Moses, heeling his horse forward.

  “I’d kind of like to know now,” Doc said, raising his voice a bit as Goose and Moses Peltry rode forward side by side, leaving him sitting.

  “You’ll know when we’re damn good and ready to tell you,” Goose said, turning slightly in his saddle and giving Murdock a hard stare.