by Len Levinson
“Okay, okay,” Owsley said, getting to his feet. “Some fellers can’t take a joke, I guess.”
One of Owsley’s henchmen spoke. He had a gray beard and wore a black hat with the front brim turned up. “What about the money?” he asked Owsley.
“What about it?”
“Don’t you think you’d better leave it with us—fer safekeeping Otherwise they got you, they got the money, and we let them go through the pass. Sounds to me like there’s somethin’ wrong with that deal.”
Owsley turned to Stone. “How do I know you’ll turn me loose after we get through the pass?”
“You’ve got my word, and I don’t change my mind like you.”
“So now I gotta trust you.”
“We’ve got to trust each other is the way I see it.”
Owsley gave the money to the gray-bearded outlaw. “Let’s get this thing over with,” he said to Stone.
“Hand over your gun, handle first,” Stone said. “And do it real slow.”
Owsley spat tobacco juice onto the ground, and an evil glint came to his eye. He hesitated for a moment, then drew his pistol and handed it to Stone handle first.
“You’re lucky today,” Owsley said. “Another day maybe you won’t be so lucky.”
“Ride back to those wagons, and don’t make any funny moves.”
“You’re makin’ me mad, cowboy.”
“Ride on, and shut up.”
Owsley spurred his horse. Stone and Taggart followed him, leaving the four outlaws behind.
“By the way,” Stone hollered over his shoulder at them, “you boys try anything at all, and Hank Owsley’s a dead man!”
Stone, Taggart, and Owsley rode back to the wagons, and Stone kept his pistol pointed at Owsley’s back. Owsley was affecting a nonchalant attitude.
“Looks like a Confederate campaign hat yer wearin’,” Owsley told Stone. “I rode for the Confederacy myself.”
“The Confederacy I rode for didn’t kill women and children and steal everything that wasn’t nailed down.”
They returned to the wagon train, and the settlers were waiting, their rifles in their hands.
“Who the hell’s that?” asked Georgie Saulnier.
“Don’t matter who he is,” Taggart replied. “Mount up your wagons. We’re a-goin’ through the pass.”
“He one of them outlaws?” Saulnier said.
“He is.”
Saulnier aimed his rifle at Owsley. “Why don’t we shoot him and git it over with?”
“Because if we shoot him, we won’t get through the pass, and on top of that, we’ll have a war on our hands, so put down yer rifle and get on yer damned wagon.”
Saulnier lowered his rifle. They all trudged back to the wagons.
“Keep the wimmin and children out of sight!” Taggart shouted. “You men—git ready for anythin’!”
Stone, Taggart, and Owsley tied their horses to the back of the wagon, then climbed onto the front seat. Owsley sat between Stone and Taggart, and Stone pointed his pistol at Owsley’s head. “You’d better not try anything.”
“I ain’t a-gonna try anythin’, cowboy. Just make sure you don’t fire that thing by mistake.”
Stone recoiled from Owsley’s fetid breath. Owsley chewed his tobacco and spit a wad between the rumps of the horses. Taggart turned around and looked at the wagon train. Everybody was ready to go. He moved his arm forward.
“Wagons ho!”
He flicked the reins in his hands, and the horses moved forward. The wagon rocked from side to side as it traversed the prairie, and Stone kept his pistol pointed at Owsley’s head. The rest of the wagon train followed behind Taggart, and they all headed for the narrow pass in the mountains.
The outlaws at the front of the pass were out of sight now. Stone guessed they’d taken their positions in the mountains. The path was clear, and the wagon train rolled inexorably toward the pass.
Stone looked up to the cliffs and ridges and saw the glint of sun on gunmetal. Owsley’s men were up there, watching the wagon train pass through. They held the best terrain, and they’d earn five hundred dollars without firing a shot.
Taggart’s wagon entered the narrow, winding pass. Stone recalled from his map that the pass continued for about a half mile, then opened onto a vast basin. Stone hoped they made it to the basin without any trouble. The outlaws in the mountains could pick them off easily with rifles if they wanted to.
Stone realized Owsley wasn’t as dumb as he looked. If he and his men had simply massacred the wagon train, they’d bring the law or the cavalry down on them. A little extortion was less likely to draw attention from the authorities.
The wagon train made its way through the narrow pass. In some sections, there wasn’t enough room for two wagons to move side by side. The travelers looked up fearfully at the rocky crags and saw rifle barrels and the outlines of cowboy hats against the clear blue sky.
The confining dimensions of the pass caused sound to echo off the rock. Equipment rattled in the wagons, wheels ground against stone, and the shod hooves of horses pounded on the ground. All the travelers expected shots to ring out at any moment. Anxiety mounted with every passing minute.
Taggart led the wagon train through the twists and turns of the mountain pass, while Stone continued to point his gun at Owsley, who appeared unconcerned by what was going on. As they neared the end of the pass, Owsley turned toward Stone. “I can pay you more than them nesters,” he said. “Why don’t you throw in with me?”
“I’m not a crook.”
Owsley laughed. “You want to be a good feller, huh? Well, you know where good fellers wind up. They die broke and get thrown into Boot Hill. Is that what you want?”
“I don’t care what happens to me,” Stone said.
The pass widened ahead, and Stone could see the immense basin spread out beyond it. Taggart urged his horses on, and they pulled the wagon out of the pass.
“We made it!” Taggart said.
The lead wagon rolled on, and the rest of the wagon train followed it onto the basin. They continued for a few hundred yards, and then Taggart raised his hand to stop the wagon train. The horses slowed down and the wagons creaked to a halt.
A faint breeze blew. Stone continued to point his pistol at Owsley’s head.
“Jump down,” Stone said.
Owsley climbed down from the wagon, and Stone followed him, maintaining his aim at Owsley’s head.
“Untie your horse,” Stone told him.
They walked to the rear of the wagon, and Owsley untied his horse. Some of the travelers appeared, carrying their rifles. Tad Holton and Sam Drake, the two gamblers, were leading them. Taggart joined Stone at the rear of the wagon.
“You ain’t gonna let him go, are you?” Holton asked Stone.
‘That was the deal,” Stone said.
“To hell with the deal. We oughta hold him for ransom until his pals give us our money back.”
Owsley scowled. “Now jest a minute!”
Holton tucked his rifle barrel under Owsley’s chin. “No, you wait jest a minute.” Holton’s pencil-thin mustache quivered with emotion. “We’ll do with him what we damn well please.”
Owsley looked at Stone and Taggart. “We had a deal,” he reminded them.
“Get on yer horse,” Taggart said.
“Hold on,” said Sam Drake, the other gambler, pointing his rifle at Taggart.
Taggart’s face turned red. “Point that rifle the other way!” he commanded.
Drake saw the fire in Taggart’s eyes and backed off. He aimed his rifle to the ground. “I don’t think we should let him go,” he said weakly. “He stole five hundred dollars of our money.”
“I know what he did,” Taggart replied, “but he ain’t alone. He’s got men back there, and we don’t know how many they are. If we kill him, we’ll have to contend with them. They ain’t gonna just walk away if we kill him. So we’re lettin’ him go. A deal’s a deal.”
Owsley climbed onto hi
s horse. “My gun,” he said to Stone.
Stone threw it at him, and Owsley caught it in the air.
“Put it in your holster real slow,” Stone said. “You don’t want to make me nervous, because I might pull this trigger.”
Owsley grinned as he holstered his piece. “That good enough?” he asked.
“Start riding, and don’t look back.”
Owsley stared at Stone. “We’re gonna meet again someday, cowboy, and when we do, I’ll even up the score.”
“I said start riding.”
Owsley spurred his horse, and the travelers watched him head back toward the mountains.
“You shouldn’t’ve let him go,” Tad Holton said to Taggart.
“He kept his side of the deal, and we kept our side.”
“But we’re out five hundred dollars.”
“You coulda been out your life.”
Holton narrowed his eyes. “There’s something fishy about this. I hate to bring it up again, but somebody’s got to. How do we know you’re not in on the deal with the outlaws?”
There was silence for a few moments. The travelers were gathered around, holding their rifles, and some looked confused. Stone kept his eyes on Owsley to make sure the outlaw wasn’t going to try something foolish, like taking a shot at them with his rifle, but Owsley still rode toward the mountains.
Taggart said, “This is the second time somebody accused me of bein’ in cahoots with them outlaws. The next time somebody says it, I’m a-gonna kill him.”
Nobody said anything. A few of the travelers shifted their feet nervously. Tad Holton went pale, and Taggart looked him in the eye. Holton couldn’t take it and turned in another direction.
The travelers glanced at each other and grumbled. They didn’t like the idea of losing five hundred dollars but didn’t know what to do about it.
Stone was irritated by the way Owsley and his gang had stolen five hundred dollars from innocent people, most of them poor. He remembered Owsley’s rotted teeth and stinking breath. He didn’t like him.
“We might as well git movin’ along,” Taggart said. “No use cryin’ over spilt milk. Mount up yer wagons and let’s move out. Captain Stone—take the point.”
Stone climbed onto his horse. He took out his map, and there was a lake straight ahead about five miles away. That’s where they were scheduled to camp for the night. He spurred his horse and it moved along the old wagon trail. He wondered how many other wagon trains had been held up by Owsley and his men.
Stone looked behind him and saw the wagon train following the trail. A few clouds drifted across the sky, and buzzards circled lazily overhead. Owsley and his gang earned five hundred dollars in a day, and Stone’d be lucky if he earned sixty dollars for his entire trip to Texas.
He imagined the outlaws in their camp in the mountains. They’d get drunk, sing songs, and go to bed. He wondered how many men Owsley had. Stone didn’t think it’d be difficult to track Owsley back to his camp.
Owsley’s kind never hesitated to kill when it suited their purposes. If he and his men had ridden with Bloody Bill Anderson’s guerrilla cavalry, they’d probably massacred men, women, and children.
In the distance, Stone saw the lake shimmering in the sun. His horse pricked up his ears; he could smell the water. Walking more quickly, he was anxious to get his snout into it. Stone patted him on the mane and wondered if he should go back and try to retrieve the money.
Was it worth risking his life for five hundred dollars of other people’s money? Maybe he could plan a raid and bring it off like a military operation in the old days. It’d be a pleasure to give a bunch of thieves a taste of their own medicine.
I’ll talk it over with Taggart.
The trail angled downward toward the lake. Stone stopped at the bottom, dismounted, and watered his horse. Then he rolled a cigarette and lit it, looking back toward the wagon train and the mountain range in the distance. The frontier was a living hell because of outlaws like Owsley.
The wagons rumbled toward the lake, circled around, and formed a circle. Stone removed the saddle from his horse and threw it down next to Taggart’s wagon. He pulled his spyglass out of his saddlebag and walked up the incline, focusing on the mountains.
That’s where Owsley and his men were, not more than five or six miles away. Stone could ride there at night, pick up Owsley’s trail, find the hideout, and take back the money while they were asleep.
The crackle of fires and the clanging of pots and pans came to Stone’s ears. He walked to Taggart’s wagon and sat on the ground. “I want to ride back and get that money.”
Taggart chuckled. “Figgered you been thinkin’ about that money. So’ve I. Hate to see a bunch of damn crooks get away with a boodle that size. Reckon you’ll need somebody with you, to cover yer back.”
“Wouldn’t mind some help.”
“I’ll call a meetin’ after supper to talk it over.”
They ate beans and biscuits; there was no more fresh meat. After dinner, Stone rounded up the travelers and brought them to Taggart’s wagon. The travelers gathered around the campfire, and their faces were drawn and haggard over the loss of money.
“Captain Stone and I’ve decided to go back and git yer money back,” Taggart told them. “It won’t be easy, but we know you’ll need every cent for when you git to Texas. You just sit tight here and wait for us. Post yer guards and keep yer eyes open. We’ll move out after dark. Mister Fenwick will be in charge till we git back.”
“What if you don’t get back?” Fenwick asked.
“If we don’t git back, you’ll have to go to Texas without us, but we’ll be back. It’ll take more’n a bunch of outlaws to stop two old soldiers like me and Captain Stone.”
Chapter Eight
Night came to the plains. A full moon shone in the sky, and stars sparkled everywhere. Stone and Taggart rode across the grass, their hats low over their eyes, heading for the mountain range in the distance.
It wasn’t hard to find Owsley’s trail, because the outlaw hadn’t bothered to cover it up. Owsley had ridden right in the middle of the wagon train trail, and it was easy to see his hoof prints going the other way. Every few hundred yards, Stone or Taggart climbed down from their horses to make sure they were still on Owsley’s trail.
They didn’t talk much. Stone was glad Taggart had come along. Two men were always better than one.
They drew close to the mountain, dismounted, and walked along the trail, pulling their horses by the reins as they studied Owsley’s tracks. Stone thought of Owsley’s bearded face and tobacco-stained lips. He wanted to see the expression on Owsley’s face when he and Taggart took the money back.
“Here it is,” said Taggart.
Stone looked at where Taggart was pointing. A set of hoof prints veered to the left, heading for the higher elevations. Stone and Taggart mounted up and followed the tracks. They found themselves on a narrow defile that wound through the foothills and led to the heights.
Stone figured Owsley and his gang never stayed in one spot long, because sooner or later a posse or the cavalry would come after him. He’d hold up a few wagon trains at one pass, then find another pass and hold up other wagon trains there. Probably he was ranging over a wide area, robbing travelers with impunity, always staying on the move so the law couldn’t pin him down.
They were moving higher onto the mountain, and Stone thought they were getting close to Owsley’s hideout.
“Think we’d better dismount,” he said to Taggart.
They climbed down from their horses and led them into the thick brush where they couldn’t be seen from the trail. Stone and Taggart tethered the horses to saplings but didn’t loosen the cinch straps on the saddles because they might need to mount the horses in a hurry.
They took their rifles and moved back to the trail, following Owsley’s tracks on foot. The trail inclined past huge boulders and tall trees, and the breeze rustled the leaves. Then the trail became rocky, and it was difficult to see
Owsley’s tracks. Stone and Taggart got lost, and it took a half hour before they picked up the tracks again. Stone kept glancing behind him so he could see how the back trail appeared from the opposite direction. They’d have to return this way, and it was important to keep major landmarks in mind.
It reminded Stone of a night in ‘63 when he and some of his men from the old Troop C blew up a Yankee ammunition dump in Virginia. They’d sneaked up on it at night just like this, killed the guards, and set fire to the dump. When it blew, it was like an earthquake. The sky filled with fire and the ground had shaken violently.
It had been a successful operation. Stone and his men had felt great afterward, as though they’d accomplished something significant, but it hadn’t made any difference. The factories of the North continued to manufacture ammunition by the ton, and the Union won the war.
A horse whinnied ahead, and Taggart and Stone dropped silently to the ground, pulling out their guns. They turned and looked at each other in the darkness. Owsley’s camp was straight ahead.
They got down on their bellies and crawled forward like the two old soldiers that they were, cradling their rifles in their arms. They came to a small clearing and saw men sleeping around a smoldering fire pit. The men were wrapped in blankets and looked like immense caterpillars. Some had their hats covering their faces. The horses were in a small corral at the edge of the clearing. Stone counted the men, and they were twelve.
Stone turned to Taggart. “Find Owsley.”
They roved silently through the campsite, looking for the outlaw leader, gazing into the faces of the sleeping men. The odor of rancid whiskey rose to Stone’s nostrils; the outlaws had gone on a bender before falling asleep. Taggart raised his hand and waved to Stone then pointed to the man lying at his feet.
Stone moved silently toward Taggart, stepping over the bodies of sleeping men. Finally he drew near Taggart and looked down. Owsley was sleeping there, lying on his back, snoring, a terrible stench rising from his body.
“You cover the others,” Stone said to Taggart.
Taggart nodded, turning around and leveling his rifle at the rest of the outlaws. Stone looked down and pressed the barrel of his rifle against Owsley’s nose, bending the nose over to the side. Owsley awakened with a start, saw the rifle, and his eyes opened wide.