Nemesis

by L. J. Martin

  The sage and brush surrounding the house and barn on three sides was beginning to dry out as Spring was done sprung, and Summer coming on. Reverend McGregor kept a hogshead of kerosene in the barn and I filled three buckets and Angel and I took them out into the brush on three sides, strategically hiding them, after I’d hidden the Yellow Boy near the hogshead along with a box of 44 shells. The brush was far back from the house and barns, so a fire started there would be little danger to the structures.

  I made sure both of us had a few lucifers to strike up and use to light up things if need be.

  As dusk was about upon us, I returned to the house and revealed my plan to place the traps, and cautioned them should they need to escape the place. The traps would not know friend from enemy and I’d hate to be the cause of one of Maddy’s pretty legs being left in the dirt somewhere. She agreed.

  Using the three foot long pry bar that had come with the huge traps, I sat the first one on the trail coming in from the smoke trees, just fifty yards from my room, and the second between a pair of junipers, where a wide game trail led to one of the pasture’s water troughs. As if we were trapping wary animals, I covered them with light debris and dirt and sage trash, where they couldn’t be seen. I didn’t bother to chain them down, as these animals would not drag them after being caught. The sage was thick on either side, and if someone wanted to approach the place unseen, that was the only place to avoid the hayloft doors and the trap door in the roof of the barn.

  A half dozen smaller traps were set at twenty foot intervals in a semi-circle around my room on the side of the barn, leaving the space between my room and the house free of impediments. The smaller traps would serve more as a warning and surprise, as they’d only snap hock high on a man and would not break bone—still, one would hate the pain and surprise.

  When we were done, I had a straight talk with the boy. “Angel, you’ve done enough. I don’t want you here when the shooting starts.”

  “Here, or taking my chances out in the sagebrush, Señor. I will not leave.”

  “Then I want you in my room, and I want you to shoot the first som’bitch who sticks his nose in the door with that old Remington of your’n. It won’t be me, unless I yell out first, so you just fire away.”

  “I will shoot him between his eyes.”

  “You shoot him dead center between his useless tits, and that will do just fine.”

  “As you wish, Señor.”

  I walked to the house and rapped on the door.

  “Tag?” I heard the reverend call out.

  “It’s me. I’m gonna hide out now. The boy’s in my room, the safest place I could figure, so don’t let fly that way. Now, y’all leave the lights out, as if you were not home or already under the covers, and stay low.”

  “Will do,” he called through the window, and I headed for the hayloft.

  The moon was nigh to full, and only two widths over the horizon, when I heard the trap on the trail slam shut and a man scream a curdling yell that would freeze your backbone.

  It sent a chill down mine, but I couldn’t help but smile. I strained to see into the distance, but couldn’t make them out. Had the moon been higher….

  I could hear men mumbling, trying, I suppose, to get the trap open. I knew those traps and what they could do. If it closed on a man’s leg it would likely be almost knee high, and without the pry bar would take three men to get it open…and then the man who was hit would have a damn nigh severed leg if he didn’t leave the lower part on the trail for the coyotes.

  It was thirty minutes—an eternity—before there was sign of them again. I imagine they had returned to the smoke trees and got a tourniquet on the man’s stub, or had someone tie him to a saddle and head for Doc Ironsmith’s. If so, two would be out of the fight, if not, one for sure.

  I kept moving back and forth from one end of the barn to the other, studying the terrain, watching for movement. The moon now higher, the view getting better and better. I had to laugh quietly again, as this time they were coming with torches, not lamps, but torches made of sage, making fine targets of them even in the lousy light they cast.

  With their numbers, they had far too much confidence.

  And they came from both directions, from the trail from the smoke trees, where they’d already lost a man, and from out of the sage.

  I moved back and forth from one hay door to the other, finally settling on the ones coming in from the sage. They were following the game trail to the spot between the junipers where the second bear trap rested, and there were three of them. And I knew damn well they wouldn’t see our set by the light of a burning bit of sage—hell, I’d set those traps many a time where a bear didn’t see nor smell them and a man was a much easier prey.

  And although I could have dropped one easily with the Sharps, at seventy-five yards or so, I wanted at least two of the three to fall. So I bided my time, and must have missed one or more of them coming from the smoke trees, as a gunshot roared from below, from my room or nearby. I moved quickly to as close as I could get to over my room, and yelled out, “Boy, you okay.”

  “Si. Uno mas.”

  I knew enough Spanish to know that meant one more. Getting back to my position, I could see the three now running, not knowing there were two of us, probably thinking they now knew where I was, as the shot had come from my room.

  I set up with the heavy rifle resting against the jamb of the big double door. One man passed the set between the junipers, then another, and to my surprise, all three made it past safely. I zeroed on the man in the lead, and the big rifle leapt in my hands. He did a complete backward somersault. The man behind him dove for the bushes, but the third man turned and ran back the way they’d come, but only made two strides before the reverberating clang of the trap and his scream echoed across the barnyard.

  Then the jambs of the doors splintered around me, and I spun away, my own side erupting in blood. I crawled into the hay and felt for my wound, surprised that I was holed through and through, but only just below the rib cage and an inch or so in from my side. It had missed bone and if it hadn’t caught a bowel, I’d heal. I laughed to myself, even though the pain had my eyes watering and my butt puckered, as the funny part was why did I think I’d live long enough to heal.

  I gathered my wits about me, my cartridges, and ran for the front of the barn, slung the rifle across my back, and latched onto a pair of the ropes in the block and tackle and leapt into the darkness. To my surprise, I hadn’t grabbed opposing ropes, and went almost freely the twelve feet to the soft ground of the barnyard. There had been some resistance in the ropes, so I didn’t hit as hard as I might have, but still it rocked me.

  And it wasn’t a bad thing, as shots cut the air over my head. Had I come down slowly….

  I dove, rolled and ducked back inside the barn and plunged to the side and hunkered down behind some grain sacks, fighting for breath.

  Jerking my broken saber I cut a couple of pieces of shirttail and stuffed my wound, front and back. Tears filled my eyes as the pain made me gasp, but I finally contained them, knowing I had to see to shoot.

  I moved to the back of the barn again, picking up the Yellow Boy along the way and hiding the Sharps where it had been, then heard Angel. “Señor, you okay?”

  “Yes,” I called out, then snapped, “Shut up, boy.” We had to stop this yelling back and forth as it gave away our positions. Then I heard him kicking at the board wall between barn and my room, and in a moment he had a couple of boards kicked loose, and was scrambling through.

  “Whisper,” I said. And he moved close to me so he could be heard.

  “There must be ten or twelve, Señor,” he said.

  “Damned if there wasn’t a bunch of shooting.”

  “How long can we last?”

  “We got lots of shells, but they know where we are. You remember the water ditch, about twenty feet over there?” I pointed to the side of the barn, where a now unused ditch crossed the barnyard to the pasture.”


  “Si.”

  “I’m going to throw a few shots around, and I want you to run for the ditch, stay low, and dive in. Follow it until you’re close to where we hid the kerosene. Throw it around the brush, light it up, and hightail it out into the sage. Don’t stop, keep running, all the way back to Henderson’s. You’ve done enough.”

  A couple of shots cut the air through the barn and we hunkered lower.

  “Move to the back door, stay low, and wait for me to begin pouring lead out that way, then hightail it.”

  “I will, but I will hunt in the brush. You are holding your side, Señor?”

  “Just a scratch. Stay low, so you don’t get scratched. And you head for Henderson’s.”

  “Si, Señor. When this is over.”

  And he moved away. Damn hardheaded kid.

  Before he got in position, I heard another trap snap, and a man curse…one of the smaller ones set outside my room.

  I don’t believe I’d ever had a more successful trap line, I thought, smiling I levered in a shell, and let fly a half dozen shots out the back doors, seeing Angel slip through as I did so. Quickly I changed position, as my muzzle flashes had given me away.

  And a dozen shots cut the air and slammed into the barn walls, sending splinters flying.

  Then I heard Maddy scream.

  Chapter Twenty

  I ran for the front of the barn, and tried to make out what was going on in the house, but could see nothing. Again, she screamed out of the darkness of the house.

  Then the side of the house lit up and for a fleeting second I thought it was afire, but it was a reflection of the growing fire off to the side of the barn. Angel had done his work. Two quick gunshots rang out from that direction, and for a second I was torn, go see what I could do for Angel, should he be in trouble, or charge the house.

  I didn’t know that Angel had trouble, and knew from the scream that Maddy did, so my mind was made up for me, and I charged the house, shots kicking up dirt around my feet and cutting the air around us, whistles of death. I didn’t pause to turn the knob, but crashed through the door, into the two big barrels of the reverend’s shotgun staring me in the face.

  “It’s me, it’s me,” I yelled and he lowered the muzzle.

  “Maddy screamed,” I said, but I could see her, bent over Ranger, scratching his ears and talking low to him.

  “That Indian of Dillon’s tried to get in the front door, but Ranger met him and got a piece of his hide. The Indian hightailed it.”

  “So, you’re okay?”

  “Fine,” Maddy said, then asked, “Angel?”

  “Don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Is there a window out of the bedrooms?”

  “Both have windows,” she said.

  “Follow me, and close and lock it behind.”

  She nodded and I head into what turned out to be her room, with a window facing away from the barn and my room, where the fire had been concentrated. Hoping they’d figure me to come back out the door, I dropped out and ran for the sage, but now, in the light of the fire, I was in plain view.

  Again, the ground kicked up around me and I could feel a shot slap at the back of my right leg, but I didn’t slow.

  When I got in the cover of the brush, I fingered the hole in my pant leg, found a burn where the slug had slithered across my thigh, but no real damage, and, still carrying the Yellow Boy and jamming shells in as I did so, ran the hundred yards to where I’d staked Dusty.

  As I was unstaking and mounting him, I took count. Angel said there were ten to twelve of them, how he knew I had no idea, but I didn’t doubt him. Traps had taken out two for sure, my Sharps one, and Angel’s Remington one, so if only ten, I was back to that magic number of six. Damn, it seemed I just couldn’t get ahead.

  However, at least two of those down were the culprits who’d attacked the Bar M, and with any luck, some of the other four were among them. I just hoped I would live to find out.

  The fire was growing, but moving away from the barn and house. I spurred the big horse out into the darkness, slipped the Winchester out of the scabbard and the Yellow Boy in, slung the Winchester over my back, put the reins in my teeth, and palmed the two LeMats.

  I didn’t think they’d expect me to be mounted, so I circled the house and rode directly toward the trail from the smoke trees. Circling in the darkness, I charged out of the backlight of the fire, and in seconds was bearing down on four men who stood talking, probably figuring their next move. They looked up, but I imagine figured I was one of the three who’d gone to the other side of the barn, and thinking I’d rein up, but instead I gave Dusty my heels, which I seldom if ever did, and drove the big horse directly into them.

  They scattered, with me firing at least six shots from both weapons as I charged thru. I stopped when I again reached darkness, changed the pins over to the shotgun shells, and gave the horse my heels again, seeing the clearing light up with their muzzle blasts, I got off one shotgun shell, seeing a man fold, then Dusty folded under me and I pitched over his head, rolling into the sage. Even after somersaulting I ended up on my feet, LeMats still in hand, and running, shots cutting the air around me.

  I dove into the sage, and moved as quickly as I could, trying not to think about my trusty old horse, crabbing until I had them between me and the distant fire. They were backlit, but seemed too stupid to realize it, and I brought the second LeMat to bear on a man who must have been thirty yards distant. The gun bucked in my hand, and the man screamed, but he spun and ran. Too far for the shotgun shell to do much.

  Backing into the sage, I changed the pins back to cartridge, then settled down and waited in silence.

  I could see two of the four who’d been in the group, hiding low, behind a clump of sage. I unslung the Winchester, and to my surprise found the lever severely bent. My tumble had not been uneventful.

  I cast it aside and raised the LeMat in my right hand, centered it on one of the men hiding forty yards away, but before I could fire a shot rang out from my distant left and he tumbled backward out of sight. I’d caught a glimpse of the muzzle blast, and moved that way until I thought I was twenty paces from where it had come from, and called out, “Angel?”

  “Si,” came the whispered reply.

  I guess I’d yelled a little louder than I’d meant to, as firing erupted and bullets cut the air. Both of us hit the ground, and I could hear him scrambling closer, then his whisper.

  “Some of them rode away.” As he said that, I could hear more hoof beats from the other side of the house.

  “There’s at least one more near the one you shot, unless he slipped away.”

  “I will go back to the barn and the hay loft. Maybe I can see him from there.”

  “I’ll give you some covering fire. Be careful.”

  “Si.” And he was gone.

  I gave him the count of ten, then let fire in the direction of where the two had been hiding. But got no return fire.

  So I settled back, and waited.

  But didn’t have to wait long. Angel’s Remington barked from the hayloft and a man screamed, and I could see him running across the barnyard, if you can call dragging a leg running. I moved back to where Dusty had fallen, and to my great sadness, found him breathing erratically. I searched him over in the darkness and found he was shot both gut and chest, and blood flowed freely from his mouth and nostrils, and pink lung blood bubbled from the hole in his chest. With a catch in my throat and burning eyes, I lay muzzle to his head, and put him to sleep. It was a gunshot that would echo in my heart for as long as I lived. I was able to pull the Golden Boy from the scabbard, and found it in good working order.

  Laying a hand on his neck, I said a silent prayer that the good and faithful horse he was, was now in horse heaven with cool green pastures and clean clear flowing water.

  I gritted my teeth in anger and settled down in the darkness, to wait and see what transpired.

  Nothing moved for two hours, by the movement of the moon, so
I finally rose, stretched, and walked to the barn, just as if I was out on a Sunday stroll.

  I almost tripped across a man laying outside my door, but it was obvious he was to be no more trouble, so I called out to Angel as I bent to stare into the open dilated eyes of Willy Stark, the scar on his face clear in the moonlight.

  And another filthy killer bites the dust.

  “You okay, boy?”

  “Si. Are they gone?”

  “No one tried to blow me in half as I came over this way, so I’d say yes, they are gone.”

  “Then I will come down.”

  “I’m going to check on the McGregor’s,” I said, and headed for the house.

  The fire had burned itself out, stopping on the edge of a distant sandy ravine, so I had nothing to worry about there. The view from the McGregor place would stink for a while, but nature had a way of greening things up in a hurry, particularly in the high desert.

  I whistled as I reached the back door, and shouted out as I entered.

  Silence.

  It was empty, except for my dying dog, again shot, but this time through the chest. He lasted only minutes, his head in my lap, his breath ragged until it stopped altogether.

  This time the tears were not from the pain of a wound in my side, but from a deep wrenching wound in my heart.

  But I didn’t have time to mourn as the reverend and Maddy were nowhere to be found.

  I did have time to grow insatiably angry.

  And I wasn’t the only one. I returned to the barnyard to find Angel urinating in Willy Starks staring, unmoving, face.

  I guess Angel’s better at showing his anger than am I. He is well my junior, and I should be one to teach the whelp some manners, but in this instance, I can’t bring myself to correct him.

  Chapter Twenty-One