by Ben Bridges
He nodded bitterly. ‘Yes,’ he replied, reaching up slowly to push his wet hair back off his face. ‘Yes, I guess I did. It’s always been a fear, but not so much for me, for Ella.’ He looked up at me again, one eye closed against the building sunlight. ‘Is that why you’re here, then, Colter? To … take me back?’
I shook my head. ‘Not to take you back, no.’
‘Then … what … ?’
The blood drained from his face and his mouth dropped open as he supplied his own answer. He brought his hands up as though to ward me off, and he opened his mouth to make some sort of protest, but before he could say anything a gunshot crashed through the dawn and, startled, my horse reared up on to its hind legs and I fell backwards and slammed against the packed dirt of the yard with sufficient force to knock the wind from my sails.
My horse and the pack mule danced sideways.
Another gunshot rang out. Dirt sprayed into my face and got into my eyes. I rolled sideways, came up, drew my gun from leather and yelled, ‘All right, that’s enough?’ I focused on the newcomer then. It was Ella Morris — Ella Kidd or Childs as she now was — standing on the porch of the house, a smoking Winchester in her hands, a look of indescribable anguish on her face as she struggled to fetch the long gun up on me again.
I shouted, ‘Put it down, Ella! Put — the — gun — down!’
And Kidd, who had turned at the waist, as surprised as I, added his own encouragement. ‘Do it, Ella! For God’s sake, put the gun down.’
She held back for a moment, not sure what to do. She whispered, ‘B-but he s-said … I heard him … he’s going to kill you, John ’
Kidd went over to her, took the rifle away and threw it into the dust with an air of finality. I noticed then that Ella was pregnant, that she was about midway through her confinement. ‘All right!’ Kidd snapped. ‘So he’s going to kill me! Better that than carry on the way we have, always looking over our shoulders, just waiting for them to catch up with us!’
‘J-John … ’
‘Better I should die here and have done with it,’ he went on, unable to stem his sour flow now, ‘than go back home and face his idea of justice!’ He turned to me then, and his blue eyes were alight with hatred. ‘Still, I’m surprised that you should be the one, Colter. I always felt there was some kinship between us, that you were different to all the rest, that you understood.’
I went a couple of paces forward, my gun hanging loosely at my side. The worry and desperation on each of their faces was a pitiful thing to see. I said, ‘They’re out for your blood back home, John. One way or the other, you have to die.’
He looked me right in the eye. ‘Best you get on with it, then,’ he grunted. ‘Damn you.’
I raised my gun, thumbed back the hammer, took aim. Ella whispered tremulously, ‘N-no … ’
I fired the gun, sending a shot into the sky that made them both flinch.
‘There,’ I said, pouching the weapon again. ‘It’s done.’
Kidd, holding Ella now, frowned at me. ‘Wh … what … what k-kind of a game is it you’re playing here, Colter?’
I said, ‘I came out here to arrest John Kidd. I wanted to do it peaceably, but he made a fight of it. We exchanged shots. I got lucky. He died.’
There was a long silence then, as they both sifted all the implications of what my lie was offering them. No more pursuit. No more watching and waiting, no more uncertainty, no more dread. Ever.
Licking his lips, almost afraid to believe it, Kidd looked me in the eye, his brows lowered in a frown. ‘You … came all this way,’ he said in a soft, slightly baffled voice. ‘To do this for me?
I nodded.
‘Why?’
Hoof beats rolled across the pampas before I could answer. Kidd’s vaqueros were coming back in, alerted by all the gunfire. Ella came down off the porch and shuffled out to meet them and tell them that everything was fine. Kidd came down with her, let her go and stood before me, his eyes searching and unsure.
‘Do you think it will work?’ he asked. ‘That they’ll believe you when you get back to Chicago?’
I had thought long and hard about that. Now I nodded. Of course it would work. I was Ash Colter. The Ash Colter. I would give them my word on the truth of it, and they would accept it without question, because in those days a man’s word carried a lot more weight than it does now.
‘They’ll believe,’ I said.
His relief was obvious in the sudden slump of his shoulders.
We shook hands.
Ella came back over then, ungainly in her pregnancy. Behind us, the vaqueros turned their horses and rode back out to tend the cattle.
I looked down at her. She was looking back up at me in that strangely direct way she had. After a while, convinced of my sincerity, she allowed a smile to brush at the corners of her mouth and impulsively reached out to take one of my arms and squeeze it.
‘Thank you,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Thank you for letting my child keep his father.’
I shuffled my feet.
‘You’ll stay for a while,’ Kidd said.
‘Well, I’ll stay for breakfast.’
‘That’s not what I mean,’ he replied. ‘You’d be more than welcome, for there’s still plenty to do here before this place is completely up and running, and I can use the help of a good, reliable man.’
I held back from committing myself.
‘Think about it,’ he said. ‘Go put your animals up in the barn while Ella sets another place for breakfast and I go put on a shirt.’
I went and gathered up the reins and dragged my horse and mule into the cool shadows of the barn. For the first time in my life, I felt good about who I was and what life had made of me. I had come to terms with myself here today, and I had settled my debts. For in the end I had owed John Kidd far more than I had ever thought it possible to repay.
When he had thrown down the gauntlet to me that night in The Mother Lode, I had been aching with the guilt of Dick Mills’ death. Kidd’s challenge had given me a purpose, had made me pull myself together.
Then, as time wore on, he had made me realize that there was good and bad in everyone, that no one man or woman was all one thing or the other, but rather a mixture of the two.
I owed him because he had saved my life that night when I had felt sure that the smallpox was going to kill me.
And most of all, I owed him a debt of thanks because today he had given me a chance to use my gun to give a life, instead of take it.
I off-saddled the animals and turned them out into the corral, listening to the gentle sounds of the ranch at work, and thinking about Kidd’s invitation.
I was facing a long journey home. I could use a reviving week or two here, before I began my return to America.
I unbuckled my gun, coiled the belt around the holster and tucked the whole into my saddlebag.
There was no need of the weapon here now. And perhaps never again.
I stepped back out into the strong Argentinean sunshine and went to get some breakfast.
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WESTERNS (Writing as ‘Ben Bridges’):
APACHERIA SERIES:
Apacheria
Lockwood’s Law
ASH COLTER SERIES:
Gunsmoke Legend
Ride the High Lines
Storm in the Saddle
HELLER SERIES
Heller
Heller in the Rockies
JIM ALLISON SERIES:
Rattler Creek
Blood Canyon
Thunder Gorge
JUDGE AND DURY SERIES:
Hang ‘em All
Riding for Justice
Law of the Gun
Trial by Fire
Barbed Wire Noose
Judgment Day
O’BRIEN SERIES:
The Silver Trail
Hard as Nails
Mexico Breakout
Hangman’s Noose
The Deadly Dollars
Squaw Man
North of the Border
Shoot to Kill
Hell for Leather
Marked for Death
Gunsmoke is Gray
Cold Steel
Mean as Hell
Draw Down the Lightning
THE WILDE BOYS SERIES:
The Wilde Boys
Wilde Fire
Wilde’s Law
Aces Wilde
STAND-ALONE WESTERNS:
Ride for the Rio!
Back With a Vengeance
Blaze of Glory
Tanner’s Guns
Coffin Creek
The Spurlock Gun
All Guns Blazing
Cannon for Hire
Montana Gunsmoke
Starpacker
Cougar Valley
SHORT STORIES:
Three for the Trail
HORROR (Writing as David Whitehead):
The Fluttering
Scare Tactics
Hell on Earth
SCIENCE-FICTION (Writing with Alfred Wallon):
Earth-Shattering
THRILLERS (Writing with Steve Hayes):
House of the Dead
Vampire Wars
Women Kill Me
Another Dame, Another Dollar
The Doomsday Conspiracy
The Trail to Death Mountain
Under the Knife
Night of the Demons
Blackout!
SHERLOCK HOLMES (writing with Steve Hayes):
Sherlock Holmes and the Queen of Diamonds
Sherlock Holmes and the Knave of Hearts
Sherlock Holmes and the King of Clubs
ROMANCES (as ‘Janet Whitehead’):
Yours for Eternity
Patterns in the Snow
Far Eastern Promise
A Time to Run
Winterhaven
Hold Me Forever
Yesterday’s Child
Light of My Life
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
By the same author