by R. B. Conroy
Certain they were dead, Buck ran quickly to the stable, unhitched the gate, rushed in and snatched a yoke from a fencepost. An anxious mare pranced nearby. Buck tossed the yoke on the horse’s neck, led her through the gate and strapped her to a nearby wagon. He moved to the side of the wagon, untied a canvas roll and spread it on the bed. Horse and wagon in tow, he rushed back to the dead men. His stomach sickened as he lifted the bloody men and laid them on the canvas. He led the horse and wagon to the cabin, pushed the cabin door open, hurried inside and draped his arms around the limp body of Delgado. He was shaking horribly as he struggled to drag the stocky man out of the cabin and put him in the back of the wagon.
My God what have I done? he thought as he pushed the gate closed and snapped the swivel hook into the eyelet. His shirt dripped sweat as he gathered up the men’s horses and tied them to the back of the wagon. He stopped for a moment to listen—he could hear sobbing coming from Jim’s room. He hurried inside and rushed to his bedroom. He knelt down next to the bed and laid his shaking hand on his son’s fractured body. “It’s okay, son. I was just takin’ a little target practice. Everything’s okay now. Just try and rest.”
The young man garbled out a few words. “Ya…ya okay, dad?”
“I’m fine, son. Now go to sleep.” He squeezed his son’s hand tenderly. The boy fell quiet; his chest heaved as tears rolled down his face, horribly disfigured by Delgado’s torture.
Buck patted the boy’s arm, jumped up, carefully closed the door behind him, hurried outside and jumped aboard the wagon. He cracked the leather whip, and the wagon jerked forward.
Buck bounced in the wood seat as he wound deeper and deeper into the thick woods. After several miles, he reined up and surveyed the scene ahead. A large rocky knoll jutted up from the forest floor. “We’re here,” he whispered as he rode forward.
Buck ducked and pushed the brush aside as wove his way around the knoll. He pulled up in a small wash area on the backside of the rocky hill. He covered his eyes from the sun as he looked up the steep incline. He smiled when he saw the heart-shaped rock at the top. He hopped down. The wood gate rattled as he pulled it open and yanked Paco’s body out of the wagon. The muscles on his forearms bulged as he fought to drag the stocky body of Delgado up the rocky incline. The brush is thicker than I expected, he thought as he paused and scanned the rocks. He peered over a round boulder nearby and there it was—a small opening in the middle of a group of rocks. He grabbed the shirt collar of the dead man and dragged him around the rock and into the hole. After crawling several feet, his hand could feel an opening ahead. He reached inside the familiar opening and grabbed a kerosene lantern from a ledge. He reached in his jean pocket and pulled out a match. He struck the match along a rock; it exploded into flame as he reached forward and lit the lantern. The yellow light illuminated the walls of the cavern. He jumped down to the cavern floor and dragged the body across to another small opening. He crawled inside the passageway, lugging Paco behind. After a few minutes, cool air from a dark hole struck his face. This was what he was looking for. He struggled to pull Paco’s body past him in the narrow passageway and push it into the eerie hole. It seemed like forever before he heard the thud of the body hitting the bottom of the deep, dark crevice.
Arms weary, Buck pushed back through the passageway and into the cavern. He hurried across the cavern and crawled through the narrow entryway and down the rocky hill to the wagon. Exhausted, he forced himself to go on. “Two more,” he murmured. The ritual repeated itself until all three bodies, saddles, blankets and the bloody canvas had been carried up the rocky hill, dragged through the cavern and dropped into the deep hole at the end of the narrow opening on the other side.
“Ain’t nobody gonna find them,” he whispered. Totally exhausted, Buck rolled a small round rock into the hole in the wall and then stacked several more on top. He quickly wiped the dirt from the bottom side of the rocks so they didn’t look freshly moved. He brushed his hands together, climbed down the rocky incline and struggled up to the wagon seat.
“Hiya,” he said weakly. The wagon and trailing horses meandered back around the rocky, tree-covered knoll, traveling on until open prairie showed ahead. Once in the clearing, Buck hopped down, yanked off his hat and untied the bandits’ ponies.
“Get! Get!” he shouted as he smacked their behinds with the hat. The frightened steeds raced out to the open prairie, their manes flowing in the breeze. Off in the distance, Buck could hear a thundering herd of wild horses.
A hard breeze from the prairie cooled Buck’s hot, sweaty face as he stood watching the horses gallop across the beautiful grassland. His heart was heavy as he stood shaking in the dimming sunlight. He had gotten revenge for his son’s torture all right, but at what price? Not a violent man by nature, he had not killed since his fighting days against Santa Anna in Texas. Yet today he had violently strangled a Mexican legend to death and had blasted his two unsuspecting accomplices to the heavens. It sickened him. He was distraught. His tired body began to shake violently, cold chills rushed through his body, his gut pushed up to his throat. He grabbed desperately for the side of the wagon as his head flew down. Bits of bacon and yellow bile blasted on the dirt trail as he heaved violently again and again. His body shook uncontrollably as he continued to extricate the remnants of the day. After several minutes of sobbing, with the smelly bile dripping from his chin, he dropped to his knees, his red, watery eyes pointing to the heavens. “Forgive me God, please forgive me!” he wailed.
Chapter 22
“Well, that’s enough fun for one night, boys. We have a lot of work to do in the morning,” Stanton ordered. The bargirl on his lap giggled. He playfully pulled the top of her cotton dress down and peered at her well-shaped bosom. He dropped a ten dollar gold piece into the bodice; it bounced off of her breast and fell into the blouse.
“Thank you, George.” She pinched his cheek and giggled as she jumped off of his lap. George smacked her round fanny as she wiggled away.
“Naughty boy!” she squealed, digging in her blouse for the gold piece.
“It too early, señor. The girls don’t want us to go,” Pedro hollered, bearing a grin on his rouge-covered face.
“I know, Pedro, but we must go see how your guests are doing. It’s the polite thing to do.”
Pedro frowned. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. Sulking, the whore planted another big kiss on his forehead and jumped off of his lap.
“See you next time, Pedro.” She batted her eyes flirtatiously at the frustrated vaquero. “You’re the best.”
Pedro beamed at the shapely, dark-haired lady.
The other men grumbled at the shortened evening. George tossed several bills on the table as they stood to leave. The music blared; their spurs jingled as George and his rough men pushed their way through the crowd to the front door.
“Stoudenmire should be dead by now,” George whispered to Pedro as he bumped through the batwing door.
“I think so,” the drunken Pedro replied. “Mi amigo Paco play rough when he want to.”
George mounted up quickly and rode toward the edge of town. Pedro and the boys were close behind.
“Look, George,” Pedro shouted over the galloping hooves. “That’s Jon’s horse in front of Doc’s place. Maybe he’s still alive!”
Stanton roared in delight. “Don’t worry, my friend—the doc’s the coroner also.”
“Oh good! He’s the coroner also,” Pedro howled.
The riders charged into the dark moonless night. The dimly lit street turned black as they reached the edge of town. An excellent horseman, Stanton rode confidently along the dark pathway; soon the lanterns that adorned either side of the big iron gate in front of his compound were in view.
As the men approached, the gate began to open. The always dependable Estela leaned back and pulled hard on the heavy gate as the men rushed in. As usual, she had waited patiently by the entrance for the men to return, opening it at just the right moment.
&nbs
p; “Thank you, Estela,” Stanton shouted as his quarter horse pranced nervously in the courtyard. “Any news?”
“I heard lots of gunshots earlier, señor. That’s all.”
“That’s enough!” Stanton smiled.
All of a sudden Pedro raised his hand. “Quiet, everyone. I hear a rider.”
Stanton calmed his steed as the hoof beats of a single rider came closer.
Pedro drew his gun and leaned toward the open gate. “Who goes there?” he shouted.
“It’s Buck,” came the reply. Pedro slid his six gun back in its holster at the sound of the familiar voice. Lantern light reflected off of the face of a bedraggled Buck as he rode through the gate.
Surprised to see Johnson alone at this time of night, Stanton started asking questions. “What are you doing here? What the hell happened out there today? Where’s Paco and his gang?”
Out of breath from the hard ride, Buck tried to speak. “Well…when we…”
An impatient Stanton interrupted. “Speak up, man. I can’t hear you!”
Buck shot a hard stare at George, grimaced and spoke. “We hid in the trees like we planned today. A short time later Jon came gallopin’ over the rise just like we thought he would. We got him in our sights and started blastin’ away. He dropped down hard behind some rocks, and a few seconds later he dropped out to the trail. He looked plenty dead to me, but Paco wanted to be sure, so he took aim and blasted him again. Paco still wasn’t happy, so we jumped cover and ran down to plug him a couple more times when the riders appeared on the ridge.”
“Riders! What the hell are you talking about?” George screamed.
“Some of the boys followed Jon. They must have smelled a rat or something.” Sickened by the day’s events, Buck glared at the pompous Stanton.
“How many were there?” Stanton demanded.
“Three. I recognized Cliff Stone and Ned Sloan—not sure about the third one.”
“What happened?”
“They opened fire on us. We were sittin’ ducks out on that trail, so we hightailed it for cover.”
“They were firing from horseback, for God’s sake, and you headed back for cover?” George bawled.
Buck’s eyes narrowed. “I saw Cliff Stone and Ned Sloan, two of the best shots in the county comin’ at us with rifles drawn. You bet we headed for cover—those two could shoot a walnut off a goat’s ass from a hundred yards,” a fuming Buck retorted. The other men nodded in agreement.
Aware of the shooting prowess of Stone and Sloan, Stanton backed off. “Okay, go ahead.”
Buck’s angry eyes glanced toward the other men. “What ya say we go inside, George—just the two of us?”
“Oh yes, yes. No use everyone hearing all of this,” Stanton replied. “You boys go out back to the bunk-houses.”
“Okay, boss,” Pedro replied as he led the men away.
Stanton and Buck dismounted and hurried inside. Buck followed Stanton to his study and sat down in a small leather chair in front of his desk.
“Well go ahead, Buck,” George ordered as he plopped into his swivel chair.
Exhausted and angry, Buck stared at the shiny oak desk top, never making eye contact with the pompous Stanton. “Like I said, we were damned surprised when Stone and Sloan rode over that hill. We were all out in the open, and we were pretty sure they recognized us, so we headed for the stream. They hit one of Paco’s men before we got to the stream. Then Stone and the other guy backed off, Sloan gave chase for a short time and then gave up. A little while later, we ducked into the stream and headed for my place. When we got there, Paco ordered his men to bury his two dead compadres out in the woods so they wouldn’t be bothered. When they finished, Paco shoved the barrel of his Peacemaker in my neck and demanded five hundred dollars for killin’ Stoudenmire.”
“What’d you do?”
“I told him to go to hell. He crammed the barrel harder into my neck and pulled the hammer back. He meant business—he said he was gonna kill me. So I dug my money bag up out behind the cabin and gave him five hundred dollars. He said he wanted it all. He laughed a real nasty kind of laugh and snatched the bag right outta my hand and cleaned it out. It had my life savings in there, over a thousand dollars. Then he and Arturo rode off. They had their money—they were headin’ home.”
“Why that rotten—”
Buck interrupted. “Hell, George, what’d ya expect from a man like Delgado?”
George’s brow furrowed as he bent over and unlocked a desk drawer. He pulled out a metal box, popped the lid up and began rustling around inside. He pulled out a stack of cash and peeled off a thousand dollars, tossing it on the desk in front of Buck. “Here’s your money. Now head on out to your place and lay low for a few days. I’ll have Sheriff Cook clear things up.”
Buck pushed up from the chair, grabbed the cash from the desktop and headed for the door.
“Hold on a second, Buck.”
Edgy, Buck stopped by the large oak door with his back to Stanton. His hand hung over his six gun.
“I saw Stoudenmire’s horse at the doc’s tonight. Sure he’s dead?”
“Hell yes! We filled ‘im full a lead. He has to be dead!” Buck pushed through the door and hurried out.
- - - - -
“We thought something was wrong. We shoulda warned him,” Cliff lamented as he paced back and forth in Doc Harper’s waiting room.
“Quit beatin’ yourself up, Cliff. He was on that palomino before we had a chance to do anything,” Malone barked.
“Jack’s right, Cliff,” Ned said. “Jon heard a friend was in trouble and hightailed it out of there before we knew what was going on.”
“They been in there forever,” Cliff said anxiously as he plopped down in a small leather chair. He smiled and looked over at the other boys. “This is the first time I ever slept all night in a doctor’s office.”
“Same here,” a heavily-bearded Sloan replied.
Just then the door to Doc’s office creaked open. His stethoscope dangled on his chest as he stepped out to address the men. He was somber as the door clicked shut behind him; he seemed distracted.
Glad to see the doc, Cliff spoke up. “What the hell’s goin’ on, Doc? Tell us something!” he barked at the quiet man.
“Sorry, Cliff. I was deep in thought.”
Cliff squirmed in his chair.
The doc’s eyes, dark from exhaustion, looked over at the miner. “They hit him three times. One nicked his left arm, and I dug one outta his rib cage, and he took one in the back of his leg. And he’s got a gash on his head from the fall into the rocks, and—”
“Okay, okay, Doc, but is he gonna make it?” Cliff blinked nervously, waiting for Doc’s reply.
“Well, I got all the lead out of him, and none of the bullets hit any vital organs, but he’s lost a lot of blood. And then there’s that bump on his head. I’ll have to keep an eye on him for a possible concussion. There’s always the chance of infection, and—”
Suddenly, the door to Doc’s office fell open. Jon stepped out and gently closed the door behind him. “Howdy, boys. Fancy meetin’ you here.”
“Now Jon, you’re in no—”
The big gunman interrupted. “Doc, you dug a bucket full of lead outta me, and I truly appreciate it, but I haven’t got time to lay around here. Me and the boys here got us some business to take care of. I hope you don’t mind, Doc, but I helped myself to one of those shirts you said you keep in your closet for folks like me. I’m surprised you had my size.” Jon grinned at the incredulous doctor. “I left twenty dollars on the table. Hope it’s enough.”
“Why....uh, yes....uh, that should be plenty, but you just listen to me, Jon Stoudenmire! I’m not going to be responsible for—”
Jon patted the doctor on the back. “Don’t worry, Doc—I won’t hold ya liable if I die,” Jon laughed as he glanced around the room at the other men. “Let’s go, boys.”
Jon fanned his hat toward the door as the men rushed out. Trailing the othe
rs, Jon turned and grinned at the doc. “Thanks again.” He ignored Doc’s pleadings as the door clicked shut.
Spurs jingled as the boys jumped down from the boardwalk.
“You sure you’re okay?” Cliff asked.
“I’m a little weak all right, but I’ll be fine. Like I told the doc, I don’t have the luxury of laying around for a couple of days—we got us some men to kill.”
“Glad you’re up and around, partner. We all been worried about ya, especially Cliff,” Malone exclaimed.
Jon grinned at his embarrassed cousin. “Thanks,” he said quietly. His expression changed. “Any of ya have an idea on where Delgado and the boys went?”
Ned spoke up. “When they saw us come over that hill, they turned tail and ran. They were duckin’ bullets as they rode into the stream. I gave chase for a while and then gave up. I think we hit one or two of ‘em.”
“What’s out that way?”
“There’s one whale of a woods on the west side of the stream. It goes on and on,” Sloan replied. “They probably ducked in that—”
Coming out of deep thought, Cliff interrupted his friend. “Sorry, Ned, but I think I know something that would help us.”
“Is that so? Well, let’s have it,” Jon said.
“One day me and a couple of the boys decided to take a day off from mining and do a little bobcat huntin’. The cats had been killin’ chickens and other small livestock, so we decided to try and take out a couple of ’em. We stopped by the hardware, stocked up on cartridges and headed out west of town. It wasn’t long before we reached the stream near where Jon got bushwhacked. It had been a little dry, so we thought the cats might be hanging out near the water. After ridin’ the stream for a while, we hadn’t seen anything, so we decided to look for the nasty varmints deeper in the woods. We found a path out of the creek and rode further into the forest. There was evidence of prints, so we rode a while longer. After a while, a clearing appeared up ahead. When I looked down in the valley, I saw Buck Johnson choppin’ wood up next to a log cabin. I figured he must have a lady friend that lived there or somethin’—I never gave it much thought til now. I’ll bet ya that’s where they were headin’.”