Raining Trouble

by Randall Sawka

  “That's just fine. Now undo those gun belts and toss them aside,” added Ward.

  The cowboys hesitated briefly before releasing the buckles and throwing them onto the ground ten feet away.

  Ward smiled broadly. “Drop on your knees to pay respect to the young runner.”

  The two men snarled as they dropped to their knees.

  Bart saw the two men holding the Scrum hands at gunpoint. As he dashed past he nodded at the men. Ward and Dunn waved back.

  Anger towards Scrum grew in Bart, but he remained focused on the race. He heard the laboured breath of Gutter grow nearer. Bart channeled his anger into energy for the last third of the race.

  Gutter dashed past the two men on the ground outside the cave. The cowboys had been introduced to Gutter at the Scrum ranch. Gutter eyes then locked on the two strangers holding rifles on the Scrum men.

  The clear lack of faith by Scrum crushed and angered Gutter. While he ran races aggressively, he built his foundation on honour and pride.

  The racers moved through the winding, tree-lined, downhill section of the highest hill. Ward and Dunn kept their rifles trained on the two men.

  Ward stood tall on the edge of the cliff. “You two get to your feet and head down that old Indian trail just past the cliff edge. Toss your guns in the caves. Come back for them in a couple hours. If we ever see you in the territory again be ready to use them. Now get.”

  The two Scrum hands got to their feet and threw their weapons in the cave. The shorter of the two stopped near the edge of the cliff. “Mr. Scrum won't be happy that you messed in his business.”

  “I don't fear cowards and cheaters like your boss. You tell him we'll meet soon,” replied Ward.

  The two Scrum hands trudged toward the Indian trail and disappeared into the trees.

  Chuck picked up the pace once they were out of site. “We best get far away, and quick.”

  “I know those two. They are Ward and Dunn.”

  “You sure?”

  “Saw them in a saloon down south. They mean what they say. We best get out of here, now.”

  “I suppose you're right. If that boy beat's Mr. Scrum's man our lives won't we worth a dime.”

  The other man nodded. They hid away in some thick trees and waited for the race to end and Ron Ward and Once Dunn to leave.

  Once Dunn joined his friend on the other side of the trail. They stood on a small plateau that afforded a good view of the last part of the race.

  The runners sprinted over the crest of the third hill. They picked up speed as they moved down the slope.

  The cigar in Scrum’s smiling face fell to the ground when he saw Bart Sheridan with a good lead on Gutter.

  The smaller group gathered around the Sheridan’s chatted excitedly. Lynn Sheridan grabbed her husband's arm and their hearts pounded with joy. “He's ahead, he's ahead.”

  On the level ground Gutter took advantage of his longer stride and pulled even with Sheridan. He drew in a large breath. “Bart, you're good, very good.”

  “And a little sore.” Bart wore a small smile and rubbed the side of his head.

  “I've received as many elbows as I've thrown.” Gutter strained to keep up to the younger legs. “But I had nothing to do with those two men intending to clobber you on the hill. I win my own races.”

  Bart had never ran the trail at such a pace. His head ached and cramps came and went on his legs. “I've beaten dozens of locals much older that threw a few elbows my way. I've tossed a few myself.”

  “Why don't we give these people a show, Bart. May the best man win.” Gutter stretched his legs and pulled twelve feet ahead. Bart pushed with his last few breaths to keep up.

  “He's got him now,” shouted an elated Scrum. “I want you off my land in two days, Sheridan.”

  The finish line stood two-hundred yards in front of Bart and Carl, but seemed a hundred miles away. Bart dug deep and found enough energy to close the gap to within two feet of Gutter.

  “It's not over yet,” replied Tom Sheridan.

  Bart and Gutter fed off each other's drive to win. The roaring crowd closed on the finish line as the runners, now neck-and-neck approached.

  Gutter's legs continued pumping. Thirty yards from the finish his face turned as red as blood. Fifteen yards from the line he collapsed to the ground in a quivering heap.

  Bart glanced back over his shoulder as he crossed the line. Moments later he fell into the arms of his parents. His father handed him a canteen and Bart took a long pull. He splashed soothing water over his face and his sweat-soaked shirt.

  The supporters of the Sheridan's, including the Cochran's, moved closer to the exhausted young man.

  Scrum and his men walked up to the sprawled-out Gutter. Scrum whispered to a tall man on his right. The tall man bent down and slapped Gutter on the face. Gutter continued to hold his swollen leg as he absorbed the blow.

  “Do it,” shouted Scrum to his man.

  The tall man gripped the Colt in his holster and slowly lifted it.

  “That's far enough with that six-shooter, mister,” said Ward from behind some trees at the edge of the plateau. Dunn watch his friend, his rifle at his shoulder.

  Scrum and his other men looked at two rifles pointed at them.

  The tall man stopped lifting his gun and looked at his boss. Scrum squinted into the trees and finally shook his head. His hired hand returned the pistol to the holster and stood beside his boss.

  Scrum forced a smile. “You two best leave here. This is no business of yours.”

  “We've made it our business. We're not moving an inch until you pay your debt to these good folks. Any trouble and you get the first bullet.” Ward kept his Winchester trained on Scrum.

  “I'm an honourable man and I pay my debts, don't you worry. Now get.” Scrum took two steps to his right where a hard-faced man dressed in black leaned against a wheel of a wagon. Scrum whispered something to the man who then smoothly mounted his horse and disappeared on the north trail out of the valley.

  Ward flashed his famous smile and laughed. “From what I hear you're nothing more than a mangy coyote who steals food from a starving man. Besides, I'm on the safer end of this rifle.”

  “The last man who laughed at me is thinking about his mistake six feet underground.”

  “Talking's done. Pay the winners.”

  Scrum pulled out a large wad of bills. A line formed in front of him. He handed over the money, never saying a word. As he settled the last of the smaller wagers his roll of money grew thin. Scrum glanced at a small, skinny man sitting in one of his wagons. He nodded at the bespectacled man.

  The thin man removed a key from a vest pocket and opened a strongbox on the floor of the wagon. He pulled out a bag of coins and carried it to Scrum.

  The heavy-set rancher lugged the weighted bag to the last group to be paid, the Sheridans. He handed the bag to Tom Sheridan but also continued his grip on the bag. “Don't think this is over, Sheridan, not for one minute.”

  Sheridan locked eyes with the wealthy rancher but resisted the temptation to start trouble. His family stood beside him and his first thought was for their safety.

  Ron Ward and Once Dunn eased their rifles back into the safety of the shadows as Scrum climbed onto his wagon and his men mounted their horses. The riders had scabbards on their mounts, each holding a rifle. Scrum glanced briefly in the direction of Ward and Dunn. His wagon and the riders disappeared behind trees.

  Dunn sat twenty feet to Ward's right. The trees stretched thirty feet back and fifty feet in the opposite direction of Dunn. Once moved quietly through the trees and set his rifle against a tree beside his friend. “Don't much like the attitude of that Scrum fellow.”

  “I agree, in fact...” A crack of a branch behind them interrupted Ward's reply. Both men reached for their six-shooters.

  “Too late.” The raspy voice came from behind them. “Raise those hands and turn around.”

  Ward and Dunn reversed direction and faced
the tough-looking man wearing black.

  The man in black spoke slowly, confidently. “Drop those gun belts and step forward a bit.”

  Both Ward and Dunn did as the man said. Ward shook his head and grinned. “You're mighty quiet on your feet. Haven't been in this much trouble since Stilt Murray had us pinned down in the hills east of here.”

  “That was quite a mess, Ron.” Dunn nodded slightly at his close friend.

  “Enough about the past,” said the man in black. “You climb back up here to the trail. We're going to the Scrum ranch. He wants to have a talk with you.”

  “All right, all right,” replied Once Dunn with a grimace on his face. “But I have to take it slow. I twisted my knee badly climbing down here.” Dunn limped as he moved cautiously up the steep hill.

  The man in black took one step back for each step taken by Ward and Dunn. Half way up the hill Dunn grunted and winced. He fell into a patch of moss. The man in black turned his rifle in Dunn's direction. Ron Ward ducked behind a thick stump to his right. Ward reached into his boot and pulled out a small six-shooter. The man in black hesitated, not sure of which man to cover. That gave Ward enough time to lean out the other side of the stump and fire two shots.

  The first bullet flew over the head of the man in black. The second caught the man on his right arm. His gun fell to the ground and he gripped the bleeding wound.

  Ward stood up and walked towards the injured man. “You're finished, stranger. Get yourself out of here. If I see you again you won't be walking away with just a grazed arm.”

  A buzz of anticipation filled the crowd in the valley. They could not see what happened. The Scrum group had stopped a quarter mile away. Only when the man in black walked around the corner and approached them with a hand over his wound did they see who got shot.

  Scrum glared down from his seat on the wagon. “What kind of men have I hired? You had a chance to get them clean-like and end up taking a bullet. Get on your horse. We're leaving.”

  The injured man climbed onto his bay, turned the horse, and rode with the Scrum gang away from the hills.

  The friends of the Sheridan family helped lift Carl Gutter into the Sheridan wagon. The group stayed together as they left the valley in the opposite direction of Scrum and his followers.

  Once the valley had cleared of people Ward and Dunn hiked back to their horses. With tree branches they wiped away their tracks. Trusting a powerful, vengeful man like Scrum never crossed their mind. As an additional precaution they took a circuitous route around several hills to the Cochran ranch.

  Chapter Four

  Two hours later they reached the crest of a low hill overlooking the ranch. All looked quiet. Several horses cropped grass in a pasture near the barn. The two friends rode slowly side-by-side towards the house. The curtain moved and promptly the door opened and Jed Cochran met the two riders at the barn.

  “I have a couple stalls free in the back,” said Cochran. “then you're ready join us in the house for some grub.”

  “Obliged,” replied Ward.

  Ward and Dunn wiped down their horses. The horses ate from the bucket of oats and drank the cool water in the small troughs.

  The aroma of roast beef welcomed Ron and Once into the house.

  Cochran had three glasses of whiskey on the table in front of him. “Thought you might like a drink.”

  Dunn smiled. “You read my mind, Jed.” The big man drained the glass and set it on the table with a contented sigh. “Mighty fine whiskey.”

  Hills surrounded the Cochran ranch. Behind the southeastern hill Barry Scrum and his tall cousin Sam Scrum sat behind a clump of bushes watching the ranch house. Sam was eight years younger than Barry. He had little interest in ranching or accumulating wealth. He found pleasure and reward in fist and gun fighting, and usually won. His powerful frame made it difficult for opponents to get near him without absorbing several lightning-fast punches. On his waist hung two polished Colts, loaded and ready. The brothers had watched the Cochran's, Sheridan's, and Carl Gutter go into the house. Two hours later two strangers joined the others in the house. One thought filled Barry’s mind, revenge.

  Sam sat quietly beside his cousin. The fat man still fumed with anger at losing a large sum of money on the race. The gunman knew never to disturb Scrum when he was deep in thought.

  Scrum's eyes were locked on the house containing the two strangers who caused such grief over the last few hours. He pulled a cigar out of a silver case and stuck it in his mouth. He put the cigar back in the silver case. Enough things had gone wrong today. Risking someone from the house seeing the flame or smelling the smoke might ruin his plan.

  He turned his eyes towards Sam. “All right, I've got an idea.”

  Sam, a man of few words, nodded.

  “First thing I want you to do is find your way down to that house through the trees. Then quietly hunker down beneath the window. Find me some information to use. I’m heading home. Meet me there.”

  Barry Scrum trudged down the hill and climbed onto his horse. He pointed the animal towards his ranch and rode away.

  Sam circled around the hill and into the trees. Twenty minutes later he found himself on all-fours at the back of the small house. With careful movements that avoided dry twigs or leaves he crawled around the building and sat below the window. He pulled out one of his six-shooters in case someone slipped out the door before he could move around the corner.

  Dishes rattled inside the house as Lynn Cochran set the table for the meal. The table sat beside the window. The inaudible conversation across the room grew crystal-clear as everyone but Bart Sheridan and his mother gathered at the table.

  Ron Ward spread butter on a thick slice of bread. Dunn built a large mound of potatoes on his plate.

  An exhausted Bart Sheridan slept soundly on a cot across the room. His mother dropped a blanket on him and joined the others at the table. “Thanks so much for inviting us over. Poor Bart was exhausted and he would have struggled with the extra distance to get home.”

  Jed Cochran replied. “With a coyote like Scrum out all that money it’s best you stick around here.”

  “Scrum seems like nothing but trouble,” interjected Once Dunn.

  Sam stirred with anger at hearing the insult of his family member. He moved his ear a little closer to the window.

  “Best we stick together for a bit,” said Cochran. “I don't trust that skunk Scrum one bit.”

  Carl Gutter sat at the far end of the table. His sore leg stretched out and tightly wrapped.

  Ron Ward looked up from his plate of food. “Carl, you ran a heck of a race. I have a great deal of respect for someone who doesn't give up easily.”

  “Thanks to all of you for taking me in,” replied Gutter shyly. “I hate to think of what Barry Scrum would have done to me after losing that race for him. He was friendly enough when he thought the race couldn't be lost but got mighty upset when he was out all that money.”

  “Our pleasure,” said Cochran. “We'll keep you here until you're well enough to travel.” Cochran turned to face Ward and Dunn. “What's next for you two?”

  Ward replied, “We're expected in Tucker City tomorrow. A man named Nabor has some racing horses he wants to sell.”

  Cochran swallowed the last of a piece of bread. “Nabor raises good stock and he can be trusted.”

  The conversation turned to horses. A chair scrapped along the floor. Sam feared one of them may stand close to the window and see him. He backed around the corner of the house and slipped away the same way he had arrived. He climbed onto his horse and rode at pace to the Scrum spread. He passed several ranch hands that never said a word and knew why. When Barry Scrum had bad news on his mind he took his frustrations out on his men.

  Sam looped the reigns of his horse to a post beside a water trough and the horse drank deeply.

  Barry Scrum seethed at the thought of losing all that money. Money he needed to expand his land and stock. The only news that interested the big ranch
er was learning the plans of Ward and Dunn, the two men who cost him a fortune.

  Sam walked into Barry’s sitting room and poured himself a drink. While Scrum paced he told him of Ward and Dunn’s plans for the next day.

  Barry Scrum smiled broadly for the first time since before the race. “From the Cochran spread there's only one obvious trail to Tucker City, Eagle Pass.” Only aggressively dispensed revenge pleased Scrum as much as making money. He refilled his cousin’s glass. “Yup, now we got something to sink our teeth into.”

  Barry and Sam sat on thick leather chairs, drinks in hand.

  “If memory serves, we have a herd grazing just this side of Eagle Pass,” said Barry Scrum.

  “Sure do, over eight-hundred head.”

  “I don't expect Ward or Dunn would last a minute after running into a stampede of that size in that tight pass.”

  “I'll head out first thing in the morning and get things ready.”

  “Good, very good.” Scrum downed his drink and slammed the glass down on the table. “Those two will regret challenging me.”

  ***

  Ward and Dunn enjoyed a big breakfast at the Cochran house. Both men instinctively checked their guns.

  Ward slid his six-shooter into his holster as he walked outside. “Much obliged for everything,” he said to the Cochran's. “We'll be on our way now.”

  They shook hands with everyone. Bart Sheridan and Carl Gutter, both still sore, hobbled outside and said goodbye.

  Ward and Dunn found their horses rested and eager to move. They saddled up and climbed onto their mounts. The group at the ranch watched the two riders ride across the ranch land.

  Carl Gutter walked over to a corral and eyed a tall roan.

  Jed Cochran and Bart Sheridan sauntered up to him.

  “Looks like you have something on your mind,” Jed spoke to Carl.

  “I do at that, “my mind is stuck on the family business. My pa runs a well-respected import business on the east coast. He’s been after me to take it over, but I’ve refused to give up racing.”