by Paul Green
‘So Douglas got away and nobody was harmed. What about Rachel?’
‘She seemed more than willing to go with him. He didn’t force her in any way.’ The marshal met Wallace’s gaze. ‘She’s a headstrong girl, that young ward of yours. I wouldn’t want her in my charge.’
‘Well, she’s in mine and I don’t want her hurt’ retorted the governor. ‘You’re to go after them by yourself, no posses or vigilante citizens. Is that understood?’
‘Douglas is a very resourceful young man’ protested Calvert. ‘How about a few well disciplined soldiers, just to make sure he doesn’t get away from us?’
Wallace shook his head. ‘That’s out of the question, I’m afraid. I don’t want to risk any shootouts.’ Then he took out his pocket watch and glanced at it before snapping the lid shut. ‘Well, their trail will be getting cold. Hadn’t you better be going?’
Calvert nodded and rose to his feet. On days like these, he wondered why on earth he had ever become a lawman.
Meanwhile, less than a day’s ride from El Paso, Colonel Edward Starr stood in his suite on the top floor of the Southern Cross Hotel and looked out over the town of Johnston. It was an unprepossessing place, consisting of clapboard and adobe houses strung along a few dusty, narrow streets, a hardware store, livery and sheriff’s office with a small jail. For his purposes, however, it was perfect. The remaining inhabitants were confederate diehards to a man, apart from their former slaves of course. Once the federal troops had withdrawn after reconstruction, the Johnston branch of the White Citizen’s Party, founded by Starr himself, had quickly taken control. Republican candidates for the town council elections had been intimidated, blacks burned out of their homes or lynched if they dared to vote and ballot boxes checked to ensure the ‘correct’ result.
Starr was not ashamed of what he had done. Some of the measures had been regrettable, no doubt but necessary to ensure that the southern way of life could be maintained and a noble cause kept alive. He had seen the same thing done before in his home town of Marshall, over a hundred miles to the east where his friend, Walter Lane made sure that the blacks were kept in their proper place. Starr’s aim was to go much further but his election as mayor was a good start.
The colonel’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening and he turned stiffly, using the two sticks he required for walking, to reprove the man who entered.
‘Don’t you ever knock, Gunter?’
‘I guess I was just in a hurry’ replied his visitor with an apologetic shrug. He reached out to help the colonel into a chair but Starr shrugged off his assistance.
‘I can manage’ he told him irritably before lowering his bony frame into a leather chair. Both the colonel’s legs had been riddled with bullets as he retreated from New Mexico with General Sibley’s forces during the war. The surgeon had done his best at the makeshift field hospital where Starr had lain for several days but too much damage had been done for him to ever walk unaided again.
Gunter took a seat opposite the colonel without having been invited to do so. It was the sort of gesture that irritated Starr but he tolerated his associate’s lack of courtesy, as he had done many times in the past. The former cavalry sergeant and newly appointed sheriff of Johnston might be uncouth but he was also a useful man to have around. Gunter was a ruthless and efficient killer, totally without scruple but also completely dedicated to the ultimate victory of the south. More importantly, he was prepared to dirty his hands with tasks the educated and well born Starr considered distasteful.
‘What do you want?’ he asked, stroking a pair of long grey side whiskers as he leaned back in his chair.
‘We now have the money to raise an army the size you want, Colonel. I’ve been kept in the dark long enough so what comes next?’ Gunter leaned forward as he spoke and helped himself to a Cuban cigar from the box on Starr’s desk. He then lit it and puffed out a smoke ring as he awaited a reply.
‘I’ll tell you when I’m good and ready’ said Starr gruffly, snapping the box’s lid shut.
‘I don’t reckon that’s such a good idea, Colonel’ replied the sheriff, continuing to puff on his cigar. ‘You see, I’ve been watching you and you’re gonna need my help more and more as time goes on. Each day, you get just a little bit slower on those sticks of yours but I can’t help if I don’t know what the deal is.’
‘You’re an insolent man, Gunter and I don’t trust you. What makes you so sure I’d pick you to be my right hand man, assuming I need one of course?’
To his surprise, Gunter merely laughed, stood up and walked over to the window, clapping the colonel on the shoulder as he passed by. The sheriff then removed the cigar from his mouth and pointed towards the street with it.
‘Who do you think keeps order out there for you? Who drove out the nigger lovers and troublemakers so you didn’t have to soil those lily white hands of yours? Me and the men I hired, that’s who. So the way I see it, you don’t have a whole lotta choice.’
Gunter now leaned over the colonel’s chair and blew another smoke ring. Starr shifted uncomfortably as the realisation sank in that this was entirely correct. His dependence on the sheriff was now such that his subordinate had become the more powerful of the two.
‘I’m not denying you’ve been very useful to me. I just like to be treated with a little respect, that’s all.’
Gunter returned to his seat and flashed him a smile. ‘Sure, Colonel, anything you say. Now, may I respectfully request that you tell me what the hell is going on?’
Starr sighed and withdrew a large map from a drawer which he then unfolded on the desk between them.
‘You’ll see here that I’ve marked the towns in the south west where we’ve managed to undo all this so-called reconstruction. I’ve also noted their distance from certain strategic locations, mainly forts.’
Gunter nodded thoughtfully. ‘What do these groups of figures mean?’
‘The first set in each group refers to the size of the militia force I hope to raise in that area. The second is the sum of money needed to provide it, including artillery and supplies.’
Gunter did a quick series of calculations. ‘Well, there ought to be around fifty thousand dollars left over from the money I’ve collected. We’d best call that my bonus don’t you think?’
‘You’ve already been amply rewarded, you and your men!’ protested Starr.
The sheriff then turned the colonel’s chair around and leaned over him so their noses almost touched.
‘Maybe you’d like to think about that, a little.’
‘I could be wrong. Those figures are just approximations, you know. Aren’t we getting just a little ahead of ourselves here?’
‘Sure, I’m a reasonable man’ replied Gunter, adopting a mock tone of conciliation. ‘If what you’ve planned costs a little more, me and the boys will take a little less. After all, we’ll be raising the troops and getting the guns for you, won’t we?’
Starr nodded dumbly, realising he had no choice. For the first time, however, he was seriously regretting the selection of Brad Gunter to carry out the tasks he could not perform himself. Should the opportunity to replace him arise, the colonel would not hesitate to take it.
Chapter Three
Bill took a swig from the canteen Rachel handed him as they paused to rest for a moment. He looked anxiously behind them but saw no signs of any posse.
‘It looks like we’re safe for the moment but let’s keep moving’ he told her.
The cool shade of a canyon provided some relief from the oppressive heat of the day as they pressed on further. Then they both froze suddenly as their path was blocked by a stranger wearing a dustcoat. Unruly strands of hair poked out from beneath his battered Stetson, matching the straggly beard that hung over his chest. He held a Remington in one bony hand which was pointed straight at them.
‘That don’t look too friendly, mister’ Bill told him as his right hand inched towards his holster.
‘I ain’t a
imin’ to be friendly’ the stranger replied, shaking his head. ‘I wouldn’t think about goin’ for that gun neither if I were you.’
At that moment, the stranger’s two companions emerged from their hiding places at each side of the canyon, their revolvers drawn and ready to fire. Both favoured Rachel with leering, gap toothed grins but their weapons were aimed at Bill.
‘We’ve got money in this bag here’ said Rachel. ‘Why don’t you just take that and let us go.’
The stranger’s two companions moved in closer, greedily eyeing both the bag and Rachel’s firm figure.
‘Let’s see what you got first’ the stranger told her as he glanced irritably at his subordinates. ‘Toss it over here.’
The stranger had made his first mistake. The bag was swung in an arc and thrown with enough force to knock him off balance while the girl’s right foot was jerked outwards in a sharp movement that caught the man standing next to her under the chin so that he was sent sprawling backwards.
Bill made the most of the chance Rachel had given him and his first bullet caught the gang’s leader between the eyes. He swung to his left and shot the second outlaw through the throat so that he fell back with blood gurgling from between his lips. The man’s own shot was directed harmlessly up into the air. The third outlaw was still scrabbling for the gun which Rachel’s kick had knocked from his hand. As he rolled over on his back and prepared to fire, Rachel shot him with her Derringer but the bullet hit him in the shoulder. Bill grabbed Rachel and forced her down over the saddle so that he had a good view of the injured man and fired several times into his side. The outlaw’s body contorted in a series of violent twitches and then lay still.
Bill dismounted and checked to ensure that all three outlaws were dead. He had known for years that he was fast with a gun but this was the first time he had shot anything other than a rabbit or a lame horse, let alone a man. He felt no remorse for he had no doubt that they would have killed him and done worse to his companion. Nevertheless, the sight of their sightless eyes and gaping wounds was enough to make him violently sick. Rachel handed him the canteen and he rinsed out his mouth. Then he straightened up and recovered himself. After all, there might be worse to come yet.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked him.
Bill nodded and picked up the dead gang leader’s Remington and handed it to her.
‘If you have to shoot at close range, this is better than that toy you were using.’
‘Is that all you’ve got to say? A thank you for my help wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘Okay, you were brave and smart today but that won’t be enough to keep us alive. This isn’t a game, Rachel. We’re on the run, both of us and being able to shoot first and shoot straight could make all the difference. That last man there had a chance to kill us both.’
‘But he didn’t!’ she protested.
‘No, but the next one might.’ Then he got back on his horse. ‘Come on. Let’s see how far we can get before nightfall.’
They continued their journey in uncomfortable silence, Rachel silently fuming at what she regarded as Bill’s ingratitude while he was preoccupied by thoughts of the dangers that lay ahead. He had turned both himself and a respectable young woman into a pair of fugitives. Bill just hoped that they would not end up like the three men he had just killed.
Meanwhile, Troy Calvert had picked up their trail, remaining several hours behind his quarry. However, riding hard in an effort to catch them would only result in his having to walk. The bodies of the three outlaws were already swarming with flies and starting to smell in the heat by the time he reached them. Calvert clutched a bandana over his nose and mouth in an effort to fight down the bile that rose in his throat as he examined the scene. It was easy to see what must have happened. The kid was faster with a gun than he had expected and he would have to be wary. Nevertheless, Douglas was no killer so those men must have had it coming. What were his plans though? He would need to get out of the territory and Calvert knew that the young fugitive planned to track down his accomplice. The girl’s behaviour was something of a mystery, for she had seemed so respectable, not at all the type to run off with a criminal. Still, she had clearly fallen for Douglas and would have to take the consequences when he caught them both and Troy Calvert was determined to do just that.
Night fell and the temperature dropped sharply. Surprisingly, Rachel had blankets, coffee and tins of beans in her travel bag.
‘Those aren’t the sort of things I’d expect a young lady to be taking with her on a trip to Kansas’ commented Bill as he threw more brushwood on their fire.
‘Oh we always go out on a hunting trip out to the Midwest but my cousin’s hopeless when it comes to making preparations so I take along whatever we might need.’
‘I’m sorry about what I said before, after I had to shoot those men. I guess I’d be in a heap of trouble without your help.’
‘Forget it’ she replied, waving her hand dismissively. ‘I could never have handled those three outlaws on my own so I owe you my life, anyway. That makes us even.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t have even been there if it wasn’t for me. When we track down Brad Gunter, I’ll be sure to get you your money back and lots more if you want it.’
‘I just want what’s mine’ she told him as she stirred the beans over the fire.
‘What will you do then?’ he asked idly.
‘Probably go to Mexico. I’ll be a disgrace to the family now I’m a fugitive from justice so I can hardly go on to Kansas now, can I?’
‘I guess not. Maybe we could go to Mexico together’ suggested Bill tentatively.
She shook her head. ‘Not if you’re intent on keeping all that money.’
Bill was puzzled. ‘I can’t figure you out, Rachel. If that’s how you feel, why did you help me in the first place?’
‘I told you before. I just want back what’s mine.’
‘Is that the only reason?’
Rachel looked at him more tenderly now. ‘Okay, I don’t want you to go to prison for thirty years. I think you’re better than that, not an outlaw in the way most people understand the term. It’s just that you happen to be maddeningly stubborn. Now, let’s eat up and get some sleep.’
Troy Calvert was still some distance away but could see their fire nonetheless. Douglas had made his first mistake and one that was going to cost him and his companion. He settled down to sleep as best he could for a few hours, relying on an extra blanket for warmth. The marshal knew better than to advertise his presence with a cheery blaze.
Bill awoke to find himself staring down the barrel of rifle. He squirmed backwards and looked up at the sallow, pockmarked features of a man who appeared to be a bandit.
‘Good morning. You’re not such a smart gringo, lighting a fire for everyone to see, eh?’ The Mexican chuckled, displaying a mouth full of chipped and broken teeth. He hardly cut an impressive figure but Bill reckoned that a man holding a rifle did not need to do that. He looked to his left and saw that the place where Rachel had been sleeping was empty.
‘I see you look for your woman. She’s very nice indeed, for a gringo anyway.’
At that moment Rachel emerged from a clump of rocks and trees nearby, stumbling as the three men behind pushed her forward. She dropped the firewood she had been carrying and the men with her laughed.
‘Pick up that wood and get a fire going. Then make us some coffee’ ordered the man holding the rifle but without turning around. Rachel obeyed hurriedly under the watchful gaze of her captors.
‘We’ll have some fun with her later’ said the pockmarked leader. ‘If you’re lucky, maybe you can live long enough to watch.’
Bill moved his feet nearer to the bandit’s legs but he spotted the movement and stepped back quickly, shaking his head in mock disapproval.
‘Don’t be such a dumb gringo or I’ll kill you more slowly’ he warned.
By now Rachel had got the fire going and was handing out coffee to the leering men who surro
unded her. It would not be long before they started having their fun but there was nothing Bill could do for the moment. Sensing his discomfort, their leader let out a low chuckle but this was suddenly broken off by the rifle shot that blew away the left side of his head. Blood spurted from the wound and the man’s body crumpled like a broken marionette. The remaining bandits were momentarily frozen in shock which gave Bill time to reach his gun. He fired as the bandit to Rachel’s right reached his holster, the bullet going straight through the Mexican’s heart. A second rifle shot took out the one standing furthest away but the remaining bandit seized Rachel and held her in front of him as a shield, his knife at her throat. Bill stood up, pointing his gun at the man’s head.
‘Let her go and I won’t shoot’ he told him.
The bandit hesitated but he had not noticed the cup of steaming coffee Rachel held which she now poured down poured down the front of his leg. He leaped back with a yelp and Bill fired before the man had time to recover and go for his gun. She ran to him and they embraced warmly. Their eyes met and Bill brought his lips down warmly upon hers, their bodies pressing firmly together.
‘It’s always very touching to see two young people in love.’
The words were uttered in a sarcastic tone and they broke apart as the man with the rifle stepped into view. It was none other than Troy Calvert. He glanced down at the dead bandit leader and kicked dirt over the fire.
‘Like the man said, not such a smart gringo’ continued the marshal with a grin. Then he gestured for them both to raise their hands.
‘What happens now?’ asked Bill.
‘I’m taking you both back to Santa Fe.’
‘Couldn’t you just let Rachel go? She hasn’t robbed any banks’ pleaded Bill.
Calvert shook his head. ‘She broke the law, same as you. Your guardian won’t be best pleased with you, Miss Adams. This is the sort of thing folks are bound to remember come election time.’
‘I understand that and I won’t give you any trouble. Can I gather up my things before we go please?’ she asked.