“Sean Daugherty, I gotta warrant fer yer arrest.”
“You’re Mike McGhan,” he said. “They sent one ov me own kind tuh bring me back. Ain’t that fittin’.”
“They wanted somebody thet knew yer face,” said Mike, explaining their logic. They both turned when they heard Butch ride in at a full gallop and slid to a stop. The spirited filly snorted and reared slightly on its back legs. It was flecked with lather from the chase. “That was awful simple for a jasper you chased more than a thousand miles. You’d better stay in Chicago, ‘cause the outlaws out here don’t give up this easy.”
“I was tired ov runnin’,” Sean declared. “I should ah never left duh Cook County jail. It just happened so fast. I wakes up with this gun under me pillow and before I knows what’s doin’, Red Alvins has it and we’re bustin’ out. I didn’t even want to go, but he mustah thought me tuh be some criminal mastermind with a gun under me pillow and he pushed me out the door.”
“Yer sayin’ yuh dun’t know how duh gun got there?”
“Fer uh fact, I dun’t, Sar.”
“I know how you feel,” chimed in Butch. “They set me up on this horse thievin’ charge. I should have known that jasper was too eager to sell that horse cheap. They were settin’ me up for buying stolen goods.”
The protests of innocence were cut short when Sundance and Elzy reined in beside them.
“Damn, that was easy,” declared Elzy.
“Wore out our horses for nothing,” said Sundance, walking the sorrel mare he was riding in a circle to cool her down. “You didn’t even need us.”
“That will be the day when I need the likes of you two,” said Butch. “How are Jack and Luke doing?”
They both looked at him blankly.
“Jez, we don’t know,” said Sundance finally.
“We came to help you, Butch. You know what they say in the cavalry: ride to the sound of the guns.”
“Daugherty surrendered without a shot, Elzy.”
“Well, his lack of spirit is not our fault.”
“You’re the one that insisted on bringing that crazy Texan along in the first place,” said Sundance defensively. “If we’d ah just killed him where he laid like I wanted to, those two boys would be just fine.”
The faultfinding was interrupted by the cannon-like report of a distant rifle. A massive slug passed under the belly of Butch’s horse and tossed up turf as it hit the ground, spooking the horses. Sean’s horse reared up and Butch caught him before he was thrown from the saddle.
“Where’d thet come from?” shouted Mike.
“Musta been the regulators in that makeshift fort up on the knoll,” said Elzy pointing to the elevated position.
“That’s quite a ways,” said Butch. “You’d think they’d find some easier targets.”
“There’s men in rifle pits right below them,” said Mike angrily. “Why dun’t they shoot at them?”
“Maybe they need a challenge,” said Sundance. “They’re probably bettin’ on whether they can hit us from there.”
“That sounds like something you would do, Sunshine Kid,” taunted Elzy.
“Let’s move down the valley so we’re not a temptation,” said Butch. He nudged his filly into a trot for a ways and then dismounted to give the lathered animal a breather. The others followed his example and walked their horses.
“We’ll lettem drink after they cooled down some,” said Butch.
“You think you’re the only one knows anything about horses,” said Sundance, “just because you were born in this God-forsaken part of the country.”
A second shot ended the conversation. It thundered down the narrow valley and struck Butch’s horse in the neck. The force of the impact knocked the buckskin filly to her knees. The animal screamed and writhed in pain. The massive wound sent a stream of blood squirting from an artery that bathed Butch in gore. The shot sent the others hurrying to the creek for protection. Butch just stood there dripping with blood, helpless as he watched his horse die.
“Butch, get down here with us on the bank,” yelled Elzy. “Don’t get yourself shot over a horse.”
“But I really liked that horse,” he said as he ran for cover. He dove down the shallow bank just as another shot whizzed past where his head had been a moment before. The impact of his landing had jarred the Derby loose. He retrieved it and jammed the pot-like hat back on his head.
“I got him spotted now,” said Sundance. “He’s up on that hill. The one we came over. I can see the gunsmoke.”
“Damn, we moved into his range,” said Mike. “We should ov been goin’ duh other way.”
“Did you see what that gun did to my horse?” asked Butch. “I think that’s gotta be Luke’s old buffalo rifle.”
“Well, who’s got it and why’s he shooting at us?”asked Elzy.
“I don’t know.”
“Damn, I wish I had some binoculars so I could get a better look at that bushwacker,” Sundance said. “I’ll bet it’s that crazy Texan. I told you we should of finished him.”
“Yep, you sure have told me that a couple of times now,” said Butch, agitated, “but that still don’t make any sense. When he got away from Jack and Luke, he would hightail it. Why would he come after us?”
Sundance just shrugged.
“Whoever he is, we can’t be stayin’ here,” said Mike. The meandering creek had not cut a deep channel through this part of the valley. It was one of those minor tributaries that water flowed through in the springtime when the snowmelt was heavy. Even now it was less than a foot deep. The banks were only a few feet high with little vegetation growing on them. They provided slim protection. They were exposed to the assassin’s elevated position on the hill.
“We can flank him easy enough,” said Butch. “He’s only one man. Mike and me will go back towards the fort and cut up the hill. Elzy and Sundance, you can go the other way and circle behind him.”
“Then whose tuh watch me prisoner?” asked Mike.
“Dun’t worry, I’m not gonna be goin’ anywhere,” Sean assured him. “I’ve had me fill of runnin’.”
“Butch, you should watch the prisoner,” said Elzy.
“Me? Why me?”
“Well, maybe it’s just a coincidence but those shots are coming real close to you. You think you got no enemies, but maybe you accidentally slept with this guy’s wife.”
“I ain’t playing wet nurse again while you ride off and be the hero.”
“Butch, you ain’t got a horse and besides you ain’t gonna shoot the sonavabitch anyhow,” said Sundance. “Just stay here and keep your head low.”
Everyone saw the sense in Sundance’s reasoning, but Butch wasn’t too pleased about it. Before he could protest being left behind, another huge chuck of lead came rattling down the hill. The slug creased the top of Butch’s borrowed Derby and hit the stirrup of Sundance’s horse. The frightened animal reared and pulled the Sundance Kid backward as it tried to escape. He had to step into the water to regain control of the mare and his suit was muddied in the process. The Kid cursed the terrified horse unrepentantly.
Butch pulled off the pot shaped hat and examined the track the slug had torn through the felt. He looked at Mike apologetically and handed it to him.
“Yuh could return it in a little better condition,” Mike said as he took his genuine name-brand Bowler hat back and jammed it on his head.
“It will make for good conversation back in Chicago,” Butch assured him with a smile.
Mike tossed Butch’s broad-brimmed cattleman’s hat back to him.
“We got to go now or we’ll all be on foot,” said Elzy.
This wisdom was wasted on no one. They all mounted and scattered, leaving Butch and Sean hunched down behind the shallow bank of Crazy Woman creek.
CHAPTER 34
DEATH FROM A DISTANCE
Kid Del Rio stared intently at the valley below him as he cranked down the lever action of the single shot buffalo gun and cleared the smoking
breech. His right hand fumbled around inside Luke’s dirty canvas bag for another long brass encased cartridge. Shooting at this distance was not his strong suit. That’s why he had picked Little Jake’s buddy Slim to come along with him. Slim had been a decorated sharpshooter in the army. Windage and elevation, he would say. That was the secret. That’s where he messed up on the first shot. Billy had not allowed enough for the drop of the huge 50-caliber slug as it traveled over five hundred yards. Luckily for him, the riders had obligingly decided to move closer for some reason. His second shot had the range. He was off just slightly to the left and the horse of the Derby-hatted man was killed instead. At least that would keep him put. He almost had him on the third shot but his target made it to the creek.
Now they were all hidden from view by the bank of the shallow creek. Their horses weren’t hidden though. He could tell where each man was by the position of his horse. They were all clinging very tightly to the reins. All, of course, except for his target who had no horse. If he could get a glimpse of that Derby hat, he could pick off the Chicago detective and claim the rest of his money. Then a head came up, only for an instant, but it had the hat on it. He knew if he placed the shot right from this height, the low creek bank would give little protection. It was the scruffy grass and reeds that grew on the edge that obstructed his view. He fired where the head had disappeared a moment ago. Did he get him? He couldn’t tell.
And then a surprise.
“Sonavabitch,” the Kid swore emphatically. “Look at’em scatter.”
He had missed. The detective was riding away. They had all jumped on their horses as soon as the last shot hit. Smart, thought the Kid. They had been waiting. Now they were trying to move before he had a chance to reload. But whose horse was the police lieutenant on? It was probably that kid’s that they arrested. He would put a bullet in that tenderfoot too if he had the chance. Didn’t the big man say the boys in Chicago didn’t want him to come back either? Maybe he could pick up a little bonus.
“That’s it, you chicken-shits,” said Billy Fayre out loud. “Try and outrun me.”
But the detective wasn’t riding away. He rode about a hundred yards down the valley towards the embattled regulators and then turned up the hill towards him. Billy cocked the big buffalo gun and prepared to take his best shot. It had better be. Two of the other cowboys were moving up the valley on his right. His guess was they were trying to circle around him. That would take them awhile, because they were trying to first move out of his range. They had better keep riding, he thought. In the skilled hands of a buffalo hunter, the massive weapon he held was known to be deadly at a thousand yards. Of course, he was no buffalo hunter. They must have known the gun’s potential for they were cutting a wide swath. By the time they came up behind him, he would be gone. There would just be a pile of long brass shell casings on the ground for them to examine. He would outdistance them easily. He had the two-gunned cowboy’s black Stallion. He had loaded the gold on his big mare so she would be riderless and able to keep up. Their horses would be played out by the time they climbed that hill at a gallop. He was holding the high cards, but he had to fill an inside straight first to win. He had to hit the detective on the next shot.
Kid Del Rio lay prone again and propped the long octagon barrel up with his left arm. All the numbers on the elevation sight irritated the Kid. He slapped it down. He was getting a feel for the Sharps. He would not have to lead the horse much, he thought as he sighted down the barrel. It was barely moving coming up the hill. The rest was applying what he had learned about the big gun. Windage and elevation. He carefully pulled back the rear set trigger, then let his forefinger caress the front firing trigger. He squeezed it gently and the big gun belched smoke and fire into the valley, the recoil smashing against his shoulder. Below him, the detective and his horse appeared to have been slammed to the earth by a giant hand from the sky. He knew by the scream the horse emitted that it had been hit. But what about its rider? He did not get up. If he wasn’t hit, he must be hiding behind the horse. Or trapped beneath it. The Kid jumped to his feet leaving the heavy Sharps where it lay. That was enough long distance marksmanship. Now for something more to his fancy. The Kid jumped on the black stallion and gathered in the reins of the mare with the golden saddlebags to coax her along. He would use his two newly acquired ivory-handled revolvers to finish the detective at close range.
CHAPTER 35
A VIOLENT END
Mike smacked the horse’s rump with his free hand trying to coax it out of the valley. No use providing a stationary target for the man on the hill. If it was the crazy Texan with Luke’s old buffalo gun, he was not an expert marksman with it. Why he was so set on killing them would be another question. The assassin, whoever he was, did seem to be focusing on Butch. He had heard there was a fifty dollar bounty for every rustler a regulator killed whose name was on the list. It did not seem the risk here was worth it. Maybe the Sundance Kid was right. Maybe Butch had slept with the wrong man’s wife.
His speculations were cut short by a huge slug of lead that bore into his horse right in front of Mike’s knee. It ripped the heart out of the animal causing it to flop over dead in midstride. Mike was unable to get his foot out of the stirrup fast enough to keep his leg from being trapped under the dead horse. He held up his hands to shield himself from a shower of blood that rose from the animal’s side like a fountain. He pushed up on the saddle horn but could produce no leverage with his right leg underneath the body. He tried pushing with his left foot on the saddle and dragging the pinned leg out. If he were wearing his police shoes, he might have been able to slip his foot out, but the work boots Mary had given him would not allow it. After a few more minutes of struggling, he laid back on the ground, exhausted.
He heard a rider approaching and tried to hold himself up to see over the body of the dead horse. He could only get glimpses of the man as he came at him from the west with the sun at his back. All he could make out was two horses. One was big and black. It moved like Jack’s stallion. When the identity of the rider occurred to him, it was too late.
“I been lookin’ for you for a long time,” announced Kid Del Rio, as he shoved one of Jack’s fancy revolvers in Mike’s face.
“I think yuh got the wrong fella,” said Mike, raising his left hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The holster that held his .38 service revolver had shifted out of reach and was pressing against the small of his back. He knew he was in a very bad spot. This man was going to kill him. What he didn’t know was why. He had to keep his mind working and not freeze up. Police training. Keep them talking. The Texan looked very proud. Very satisfied. He probably really wanted to tell him about it before he killed him.
“Why would yuh want to be shootin’ me? Yuh shouldn’t be wastin’ your bullets shooting the wrong man.”
“Oh, I got the right man alright,” smiled the Kid. “Big time Chicago police detective. You don’t look so big now.”
“I got no fight with yuh. Hell, I dun’t even know yuh. How did yuh know I was uh police detective?”
“Oh, Mr. Simms from Chicago filled me in about you. If your gonna kill a man for money, it’s best ta know what your up against.”
“Who would put uh bounty on my head?”
“Some very important folks in Chicago have paid a lot of money to make sure you don’t ever come back. They’ll get you wrote off as another unfortunate victim of the invasion.”
“Well, just dun’t leave me hangin’,” pleaded Mike. “Who are they? You can tell me that before I die, can’t yuh?”
The Kid started to reply but became aware he had talked too much already. He glanced up the hill to his right to see the whereabouts of the two cowboys who were cutting behind him.
“Enough talk, lawman,” said the Kid, cocking the single action Colt. “Prepare to meet your maker.”
Mike was amazed at the number of details of his life that flashed through his mind in his last seconds: his childhood, his mother, and Mary, wit
h her raven black hair and mysterious dark eyes, looked at him for the last time.
In the valley below, Butch Cassidy worked the lever action of his Winchester and swung into position to take one desperate shot at Kid Del Rio. He had been keeping his head buried, expecting the next shot to come in his direction again. When he heard the report of the big gun and no lead came his way, he and Sean warily poked their heads up from the protection of the creek bank. By that time, Kid Del Rio was standing over the fallen Mike with a gun in his hand that sparkled in the bright sunlight. As Butch stared down the barrel of his Winchester, he pondered the irony of this situation. He had been an outlaw for several years and had always avoided killing anyone. Admittedly, it had not been easy. On a few occasions, it had taken all the bullshit and bravado he could muster to get out of gunfights. Now he was on the right side of the law and he had to kill a man. He had to or Mike would be dead. He quickly judged the effect of the westerly breeze and the elevation of the hill. He aimed high and slightly to the right. It was a shot of over three hundred yards. It was an improbable shot with a Winchester. He had hit a deer from this distance once. Only once. It was a lucky shot. This time it was for a man’s life. Butch slid his forefinger down and pulled the trigger, hoping Lady Luck would be with him again. Unexpectedly, Kid Del Rio pitched forward in a heap onto the body of the dead horse.
CHAPTER 36
UNEXPECTED HELP
“Yep, me and my pardoner Slim here, we been trackin’ this varmint for quite a spell now,” said the short, energetic cowboy as he looked down from his saddle at the prostrate body of Kid Del Rio.
“He was a murderer and a thief,” chimed in the laconic Slim, the smoking Sharps rifle still cradled in his arm.
“We got papers on him and everything,” Little Jake assured them as he waved around a white piece of paper for an instant and quickly returned it to his pocket. “He stole that horse for sure. The whole rig, the saddle and saddle bags too.”
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