Confessions of a Gunfighter (The Landon Saga Book 1)

by Tell Cotten

  “Are you Steve Hardin?” He asked.

  “Yes.”

  Lieutenant Porter nodded.

  “I’m here on official business, so I’ll get right to the point. According to our records, you haven’t paid your taxes since before the war. Consider this a notice. If you don’t pay ’em soon you’ll lose this place.”

  “You got anything else to say?” Mr. Hardin scowled.

  “No, that’s everything for now.”

  “Then get off my land,” Mr. Hardin declared.

  Lieutenant Porter’s face stiffened, but he kept calm as he eyed Mr. Hardin.

  “Sure, we’ll leave. But we’ll be back.”

  Lieutenant Porter turned to me.

  “And as for you; I don’t like you following us around. I strongly suggest you get your supplies and clear out.”

  I narrowed my eyes, and I felt the feeling start to build up inside me. But, I managed to stay calm.

  “You sure did get rid of all those horses in a hurry,” I replied. “What’d you do with them?”

  Lieutenant Porter looked as if he’d been slapped.

  He started to say something, but then changed his mind.

  “You’ve been warned,” he said in a low, somber voice.

  Lieutenant Porter raised his hand and signaled the troops to pull out, and we stood there and watched them leave.

  “Well!” Mr. Hardin grunted. “Lieutenant Porter sure ain’t a very likeable feller, is he?”

  “Can’t say that he is,” I agreed, and to myself I added, Kinrich and I should have taken care of him a long time ago.

  “Well, unless you need me to stay, I reckon I’ll be leaving,” I said.

  “Don’t worry ’bout us,” Mr. Hardin replied. “We can take care of ourselves.”

  I wasn’t so sure, but I still went down to the barn and led Slim out. I shook their hands, and then I took out.

  A feller can cover twelve miles in only half a day if he moves on, so I kept Slim in a brisk trot. But Slim didn’t mind, for he was feeling good and wanting to travel.

  An hour later I rode into a deep little valley. The sides were steep and mostly made out of big slabs of rock.

  There wasn’t a breeze at all down in the sandy bottom, and Slim started sweating.

  I was eager to reach the Tomlin’s headquarters, and that’s all that was on my mind. I should have been stopping every once in a while to look around like I always did, but the thought of getting that ranch job made me lose all sense of caution.

  But the loud thump of a bullet hitting flesh snapped me out of it, and a split second later I heard the loud boom of a rifle shot from somewheres up above.

  I felt my horse stumble. And then, before I could recover, Slim fell.

  Chapter forty-four

  I tried to get out of the saddle. But, before I could, Slim hit the ground hard, and my leg was pinned underneath him.

  Slim started kicking and lunging, but I leaned up next to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  “Easy boy, lie still now,” I whispered in his ear.

  Slim nickered in protest, but he still put his head down and stayed still. He was breathing hard in short, labored breaths.

  I put my shoulder against Slim and tried desperately to pull my leg out. But Slim’s weight was crushing down so heavily that I couldn’t budge it.

  Suddenly, another bullet came flying in. I felt a sharp tug on my shoulder, and I was violently knocked over backwards. I hit the ground on my side and stayed still.

  There were all sorts of thoughts running through my mind, but I knew my best bet would be to stay still and hope that the shooter would think I was dead.

  Every nerve in me was drawn tight as I expected at any moment another slam of a bullet. But no such shot came, and after a while I slowly turned my head so I could see.

  My rifle was also pinned underneath Slim.

  I moved my hands real slow and grabbed the butt of the gun. I tried to pull my rifle out, and I was careful not to make any sudden movements. But, to my disappointment the rifle held firm.

  I could get to my six-shooter, so I pulled it out of my holster and held it firmly.

  By now my shoulder was throbbing a bit, but that was all. I had no idea how bad I was hit, and I didn’t dare move to look.

  It was then that I heard the distant chipping sound of a horse’s hoofs on rock. As I had hoped, the shooter was coming down to inspect his kill.

  “Keep on a-coming, mister,” I breathed softly.

  The shooter was coming up behind me. That made me even more tense, because at any moment he could decide to shoot again without me knowing.

  But I had to draw him in closer, that way I could get a good shot.

  I stayed still as he rode closer. But then, the chipping sounds suddenly stopped.

  My ears listened frantically for any sound.

  I didn’t hear anything, and that’s when I jumped into action. All at once I flipped over, and in the same movement I brought up my six-shooter.

  I spotted the rider right away.

  He was about two hundred yards away, and he was riding a light colored dun horse. I couldn’t make out his face, but there was no doubt in my mind that the man was Ryan Palmer.

  Palmer was surprised, and he started to raise his rifle. But I fired two wild shots at him, and that made Palmer panic.

  He spun his horse around and headed out in a dead run. I fired a couple more shots at him, but he was too far out for a six-shooter.

  I hoped Palmer would keep on going, but I couldn’t count on it. He could come back at any moment, or he might go back up to the top of the ridge and finish me off from there.

  I needed some cover.

  I looked down at Slim. He was still breathing long, labored breaths, and he was lathered all over with sweat.

  I reloaded and holstered my six-shooter. Then, I leaned down next to Slim and spoke softly:

  “Come on, ol’ boy, you’ve got to help me out here.”

  Slim seemed to understand. Suddenly he kicked forward, and for a split second his weight shifted off my leg.

  That was all the time I needed.

  I dragged myself out from underneath him, and in the same motion I also grabbed my rifle. Then, I ran over and got behind a big boulder of rocks.

  I took a quick look at my shoulder. To my relief I found that it was only a scratch, and it was barely even bleeding now.

  I stayed behind those rocks until midafternoon.

  During that time my eyes went over every nook and cranny of the ridge above me, and I was finally satisfied that Palmer had ridden on.

  I walked back over to Slim, knelt beside him, and examined the wound.

  Slim lifted his head and nickered at me, and then he put his head back down.

  “There just ain’t much I can do for you, ol’ boy,” I said softly as I rubbed his side. “You rest easy now.”

  It was plain to see that he was dying. So, I pulled my six-shooter out and put him out of his misery. It was mighty hard to do, but it had to be done.

  It took me a bit, but I finally managed to pull my saddle off. Then, I slung my saddle up on one shoulder, grabbed my rifle, and took out.

  It was hard to leave good ol’ Slim like that. Slim was one of my last links to Pa, and I almost got choked up.

  It was then that I remembered what Lee had said, about it being personal with Palmer.

  Well, this little game we’d been playing had suddenly become a personal thing with me too. To shoot a man’s horse out from under him was a very low thing to do, and Palmer was going to pay for that, one way or the other.

  Chapter forty-five

  I figured I’d ridden about four or five miles, so that meant I still had seven or eight miles to go. That was sure a long distance to walk, but I had no choice.

  I went three, maybe four miles, and that’s when I walked up to a little cabin. The cabin was nestled down in a little valley, and with me being a-foot I almost missed it.
r />   I looked the layout over, and I figured that it must be a line cabin for Mr. Tomlin’s ranch.

  It was getting dark, so I decided I’d sleep here for the night. I walked on down and went inside.

  There was dust and cobwebs covering everything, so I figured that this cabin had been empty for some time. But I did find some canned goods on the shelves, and my stomach growled.

  I went back outside and looked around some more before it got dark.

  There was a small saddle-house, and there was also a small set of pole corrals.

  I noticed a dirt tank that was fenced in, and the tank was about half full with rainwater.

  I was curious, so I walked over and looked for tracks.

  I found just what I was hoping for. There, in the dirt by the tank, were fresh horse tracks made earlier in the day. That meant there were horses nearby, and to get water they had to come into the corrals!

  That instantly improved my mood. All I had to do now was wait for the horses to come to water, and then I could catch a horse to ride.

  But I wouldn’t be stealing him. No sir, all I wanted was to reach the Tomlin's headquarters. If I didn’t get a job, then I would see if I could possibly buy whatever horse I was riding.

  Money was the one thing I did have. Altogether I had over two thousand dollars, and that was a lot of cash for a feller to be carrying around in Texas.

  I went back to the cabin and rustled up some grub. I ate, and then I turned in. I was tuckered out after all that walking, and I slept hard.

  It was still dark when I woke up. I made some coffee, and as the sun was coming up I went outside and hid in the bushes.

  That sunlight felt real good, and I stretched out.

  As soon as I did I fell asleep. But then, a few hours later, something startled me awake.

  I sat up abruptly, and I startled a big bunch of horses that had come in to water.

  The horses made a run for it while I bounded up and over the fence. I reached the gate, and I was just about to swing it shut when the horses reached the opening.

  The horses raced on through towards freedom. However, I did manage to swing the gate shut just before the last horse got through.

  He was a tall, high headed sorrel, and he snorted and tore around the inside of the corral in protest.

  I climbed up onto the top of the corrals and took a closer look.

  There had been some older, broke horses that had gotten away, but I could tell that this horse wasn’t broke at all.

  I didn’t have any time to waste, so I got to work.

  The round pen joined up to the dirt tank, so I opened the gate and crowded him in. The sorrel didn’t like that, and he snorted and kicked out.

  I closed the gate, and then I went over to my saddle and pulled my rope and hobbles off.

  As I shook out a loop I looked the round pen over thoughtfully.

  There wasn’t any snubbing post like I’d had back home, and that was going to make things more difficult. So instead of necking him, I decided to forefoot him.

  I walked out into the middle of the round pen, and the horse snorted and started running circles around me. I swung my rope and took a shot at his front legs.

  I caught on my first loop. He fought like a wild cat, but I finally managed to get him down. Then, while he was still down, I slipped my hobbles onto his feet.

  After that I let him get back up, but he couldn’t move much on account of the hobbles. He didn’t like it, and he snorted and kicked out as he tried to free himself.

  I left him there to figure it out while I went over to the gate and got my saddle and bridle.

  By the time I got back he had quit fighting. He had no choice but to stand there while I rubbed and patted him all over.

  After that I slipped my bridle on. Next, I threw my saddle blanket on his back, and he jumped a bit, but that was all. Then, I quietly and quickly threw my saddle on, and after he settled back down I tightened my cinch and flank cinch.

  I kept ahold of the reins as I bent over and took the hobbles off.

  The big sorrel just stood there, not knowing that his legs were free, and before he found out I stepped up on him.

  All this was new to the sorrel, and he just stood there in confusion while I got myself settled in the saddle. But then, he suddenly broke in two with me.

  I knew right after he took that first jump that this was the roughest bucking bronc I had ever tried to ride before. His jumps were high and big, and each time he came down he rattled my insides.

  Most broncs I’d ridden bucked nice and straight, but this horse sure didn’t. He bucked so crooked I couldn’t even see the ground, and when I did see the ground it was only for a split second, and then we would be off again on another huge jump.

  At first I just tried to stay in the saddle. But then I started spurring him some, and I tried real hard to show him who was boss.

  After a while his jumps finally started getting lighter. Now he was still real mad, but he was also wearing himself out. And none too quick, for I was just about done in myself.

  I was finally able to pull his head up, and we trotted roughly around the corral.

  I had broken his free spirit, and while I had the best of him I figured I had best wear him out so he wouldn’t be forgetting it.

  I started spurring him again, and he put his head back down and bucked some more. But these jumps weren’t nearly as hard. After a while I pulled his head back up, and he stopped bucking.

  I made him lope, and we didn’t stop for at least twenty minutes. We went round and round the inside of the round pen, and by the time I pulled him up he was breathing hard.

  I got off and walked over to the fence. I’d let him cool down, but then I’d have to get back on.

  Suddenly, I heard a faint noise from behind.

  Palmer was the first thing that came to mind, and I spun around with my six-shooter in hand.

  Chapter forty-six

  It wasn’t Palmer.

  Instead, it was a cowboy looking feller. He was beside the cabin sitting a-horseback, and he had a puzzled look on his face.

  The cowboy rode on over when he saw that I had spotted him.

  I looked him over.

  He was young, about my age. He had a tall and lanky frame, with dark, tanned skin and brown hair. He rode with ease, and I noticed that he wore his six-shooter low and tied down.

  “Howdy,” he said with a deep southern drawl as he rested one hand on the top of the corral. “That there was one of the best bronc rides I’ve ever seen.”

  “You saw that?” I asked with a sheepish grin.

  “Uh-huh,” he replied. “I saw it, all right. But, that’s not what I’m finding so interesting. What’s interesting is finding out why you would break somebody else’s hoss without asking him first.”

  “I’ve got good reason for riding this horse,” I replied.

  “I’d sure like to hear it,” the cowboy said.

  I told him about losing Slim, but I left out the part about Slim being shot and the shootout I’d had with Palmer.

  The cowboy listened closely, and afterwards he seemed satisfied.

  “I reckon that seems reasonable,” he said. “I’m sorry I had to doubt you, but lately we’ve been having some trouble with hoss thieves and such.”

  Lieutenant Porter came to mind soon as he said that.

  “Oh?” I said thoughtfully, and then I added, “Well don’t worry, I’m no horse thief.”

  As I said it I felt guilty, because a year back Kinrich and I had stolen some horses up north. But, I figured this feller didn’t need to know that.

  The cowboy nodded and continued.

  “Matter of fact, one of our neighbors to the west just lost about thirty hosses. I was just helping them look for ’em.”

  “Any luck?”

  “Nope.”

  I was now certain that Lieutenant Porter was a horse thief. But, I decided not to say anything. Now was not the time.

  “My name’s
Ross Stewart,” the cowboy commented as he reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled out a plug of tobacco. “As you’ve probably already figured out, I ride for Craig Tomlin, and he’s the one who owns that hoss you just rode.”

  “Any chance I might land a job with him?” I asked hopefully.

  Ross frowned thoughtfully as he eyed his plug of tobacco.

  “You just might be in luck. Feller named Buster usually breaks all the hosses, but a few days ago a hoss bucked him off and broke his leg. Now, Mr. Tomlin is sorta picky on who he hires, but if you come riding into headquarters on that there hoss he would sure be impressed. That hoss has bucked everybody off in the outfit, including me.”

  “Are you going there now?” I asked.

  Ross nodded as he bit off a big wad of tobacco.

  “Just as soon as I get the remuda rounded up. With all this hoss thieving going on, Mr. Tomlin wants our remuda closer to headquarters.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. “Mind if I ride along?”

  “Sure, come on. I could use the help,” Ross commented as he returned what was left of his tobacco to his shirt pocket. “By the way, I didn’t catch your name.”

  I still wasn’t used to my new name, and it took me a second to remember it.

  “Uh, my name’s Joe Lenders,” I replied awkwardly.

  Ross raised an eyebrow.

  “Joe Lenders? Well now, that’s a name you’d remember. Where are you from, Joe?”

  I shrugged.

  “Nowhere in particular. I’ve been lots of places.”

  “Say, what happened to your shoulder?” Ross asked suddenly.

  There was some dried blood on my shirt where Palmer had nicked me, and I had forgot all about it.

  “It’s nothing. Just a little scratch I got while riding through some brush,” I replied quickly, and then I changed the subject. “Well, let me get this bronc lined out again and then I’ll join you.”

  I felt Ross’s curious eyes on me as I walked back over to the sorrel.

  Maybe he had seen my hesitation when I told him my name, or maybe it was the way I wore my gun. Either way he was curious, and I could tell that he hadn’t made up his mind about me yet.