by Paul Bedford
When the two men reached the riverbank, Decker kicked out sharply at the back of Taggart’s right leg. That man groaned and dropped to his knees as intended.
‘Mark. You still with us?’ the outlaw bellowed out. The jarring response was a volley of gunshots crashing out from behind the cabin. A gunfight was only to be expected but not what he had hoped for and served to highlight just how perilous their situation had quickly become.
‘God damn it, answer me,’ he persisted. ‘I ain’t got all day.’
Over on the ferry, Jacob crouched down in front of the lifeless body. The unexpected outbreak of gunfire had only added to the pressure on his already troubled mind. He had passed a thoroughly uncomfortable night, looking on helplessly as his victim died a lingering and painful death. The experience had brought back vivid memories of the seemingly all too recent war. He felt scarred and troubled. If John Taggart’s survival hadn’t been at stake, he would have swum ashore and simply left. On foot. Anywhere. As it was, he couldn’t indulge in such futile luxury.
Keeping low, Jacob reached over and slowly lifted Lansing’s left arm. Raising it enough to be noticed on the far bank, he then let it drop and partially showed himself.
‘That’s the best you’re going to get,’ he replied. ‘Your friend is in a bad way. He’ll need a doctor and some good vittles if he’s ever going to ride with you again.’
Decker sighed unhappily. The firing behind him showed no sign of lessening and his patience was wearing thin. ‘Never mind all that. I’ve dusted your compadre down and brought him out to try again. I’m a reasonable man, but you’ve tested my tolerance. I want that ferry brought back here, now. Otherwise, I’ll cripple this son of a bitch for life. I reckon you’ll know how that feels,’ he added gratuitously.
Considering that he was surrounded by fresh water, Jacob’s mouth began to grow uncomfortably dry. It was years since he had felt so terrified and helpless in equal measure. And yet, that damned war had taught him a thing or two. Most battles at some point rely on bluff. Drawing his revolver, he cocked it and then pointed it directly at Lansing’s lifeless skull.
‘You harm John in any way and I’ll shoot your friend,’ Jacob called back, somehow managing to sound far more threatening than he actually felt. ‘I’ve killed before, so you’d better believe I’ll do it.’
Sadly, his enemy’s response was not at all what he had expected.
‘You do what you have to do,’ Decker bellowed across the fast-flowing water. As he spoke, he holstered the revolver and readied his long gun. ‘He knew the risks when he signed up for this, so let’s stop pissing about. You can hear that war going on behind me. Without that poxy ferry we’re finished, but if we are then so’s your amigo here. Which’ll it be?’
Jacob felt his guts begin to churn. A lethal cocktail of fear and uncertainty was infusing his body. He well knew that if he heaved the ferry back to the north bank, both he and his friend were dead meat. And yet his frenzied mind could not produce any solution to the problem. With literally no idea what to do, panic began to take hold of him.
Raoul had watched as the lone sentry dropped out of sight. Some men would have rushed off in pursuit, but not this one. He preferred to linger a while and observe. He was aware that Mister Exley and the others would be seething with impatience behind him, but that only brought a sardonic smile to his cruel, thin lips. Let the gringos wait on his word. He well knew what they thought of his kind, but out in the wild, hunting fugitives, they needed him. What he did do was use the time to ensure that his own mount was led back to the horse holder.
After a few moments there was movement at the top of the rise and this time two men stealthily came into view. It was time to unleash Exley’s gun thugs.
‘I’ve smoked them, Mister Exley,’ he hissed back. ‘Two of them with long guns, just as the trail dips down to the river.’
Ben Exley smiled with satisfaction. This was going to be easy. Glancing around at his waiting men, he nodded and gestured them forward. They needed no further urging. This was what they got well paid to do. Crawling on all fours and well spaced out, the five detectives closed in.
It was Brett who opened fire first. His Henry blasted out in a show of defiance, but in his eagerness he had jerked the trigger and the bullet went wide. He was answered by a volley of shots that just kept coming, as their assailants worked well-oiled lever actions with practised speed.
‘Jesus,’ he exclaimed, as a torrent of hot lead forced him to duck. ‘Who’ve they got over there, Wild Bill Hickok his self?’
‘That ain’t likely,’ responded Josh with studied seriousness. ‘I heard tell he took a bullet in the head up north.’
Brett groaned dispairingly, before rolling to one side and loosing off another shot. Josh also stood his ground and began to return fire. For a few moments there was a stand off. The Pinkertons might have been hardened professionals, but they were not suicidal. It was then that the bank robbers gained a temporary advantage. Huey Soble finally joined his cronies on their left flank. His position allowed him enfilade fire over the nearest detective. Unseen by his target, he took careful aim at an almost prone torso with his revolver and fired. Soble was still troubled by the pain from his wound and so the bullet went slightly wide, but that actually worked out in his favour.
The projectile slammed into his victim’s skull, snuffing out that man’s life in an instant. As the Pinkerton agent’s body lay twitching in the grass, his comrades gradually realized what had happened and their fire petered out. It had been some time since one of their number had been so swiftly dispatched in a gunfight and it unnerved them. The odds seemed suddenly not so favourable.
Exley bellowed out, ‘Nobody told you to stop shooting, God damn it,’ but his words fell on deaf ears.
It was Raoul who got the situation back on track. He had deliberately kept clear of the others and so had remained unobserved by the outlaws. Remaining prone, he calmly and deliberately sighted down the barrel of his Sharps carbine. Not for him the rapid firing Winchesters. He preferred the deadly power and long-range accuracy of his single shot breechloader. As he squeezed the second of the double set triggers, there was not the slightest doubt in his mind about the outcome.
The heavy bullet struck Huey Soble straight through his heart and finally finished what US Marshal Torrance had started. As the broken body collapsed to the ground, Raoul rapidly shifted position and then hollered over to his comrades.
‘He’s gone straight down to the hot place. Now pour it on, boys. There’s only the two of them.’
As the Pinkertons renewed their fire, Brett glanced fearfully at his buddy. ‘If Decker don’t get a move on, he won’t have anyone left to share all that gold with!’ It was only after he’d uttered it that he realized the implications of his remark.
As the two riders drew ever closer to the south bank of the Arkansas, the noise of the conflict intensified. ‘Sounds like someone’s having themselves quite a shindig,’ Brad remarked drolly.
‘Could be that big bastard’s bitten off more than he can chew this time,’ Klee responded gleefully. ‘What say we take a closer look see?’
Brad suddenly reined in and as his gaze locked on to the countryside to the north, his expression darkened. Both the river and ferry crossing remained out of sight, but what he could hear told him plenty. ‘A gunfight like that could mean the law’s involved and I know for a fact there’s paper out on the both of us. We don’t want to blunder into the middle of it. I say we ground tether all the animals here and move in on foot.’
His diminutive companion grimaced. ‘What if some stray Indian happens by and steals them? We still owe cash money on some of what’s on those mules. If we lose everything, we’d be in Shit Street then, for sure.’
Brad groaned and shook his head. ‘Bitch, bitch, bitch! I tell you what. You watch our backs with that fine rifle you stole and I’ll see to business. My pa told me you’ve got to speculate to accumulate and there might be some pickings for us u
p ahead.’
Klee regarded him warily. ‘There were too many four-dollar words in that for my liking. Why can’t you just speak American like everyone else? And besides,’ he added huffily, patting the Winchester’s stock, ‘I didn’t steal this. Its owner just up and died, is all!’
With stolen US Army picket pins securing all the animals, the two men cautiously advanced towards the riverbank. A deeper report sounded off across the water and both men paused. They recognized the sound of a Sharps when they heard it and were now close enough to observe Soble as he collapsed to the ground. Glancing meaningfully at each other, they dropped first into a crouch and then soon after onto all fours. They arrived at the crest of the bank just in time to observe Jacob, as he agonized over what to do; strangely, the one-armed man appeared to be threatening a corpse.
Jacob Stuckey had reached the end of his tether. Across the river, his only friend in the world was bound and in mortal danger and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. His mind was seething with anxiety and a host of bad memories. It was as though the late war had returned to haunt him. Sweat pored from his face and his only hand began to shake. It was another ill-chosen remark from Russ Decker that finally broke him.
‘Act like a man, you lily-livered piece of piss and get that craft back here!’
Wailing like a tortured banshee, Jacob squeezed the trigger and then, dropping the smoking revolver, turned and leaped into the river. Manically, he struck out towards the nearby south bank.
Decker could hardly believe his eyes. Mark Lansing’s apparent demise barely registered with him. It was the suddenly unattended ferry that claimed all his attention. Quickly glancing down at his captive, the outlaw recognized that he too was stunned by the turn of events.
‘Some people just can’t stand the heat,’ Decker muttered. ‘And now it looks like it’s my turn to get wet. Which means, however you look at it, your time is past,’ he added darkly. So saying, he aimed his Winchester at the now superfluous prisoner. Just on the point of squeezing the trigger, his peripheral vision unexpectedly registered movement on the crest of the opposite bank. Taken by surprise, he switched his attention to the two men who had seemingly appeared from nowhere.
‘Is it always like this here?’ he queried with bewildered frustration.
‘Pretty much,’ Taggart responded quietly, as he followed his captor’s stare. He immediately recognized the newcomers and shook his head in amazement at their uncanny timing. It remained to be seen whether their appearance at such a crucial moment was a good or bad thing. He was soon to find out.
Jacob quickly reached the bank and clawed his way out of the water. The possibility of a bullet in the back never even occurred to him. His only thought was to run and run from his troubles. Those, both past and present, had somehow seamlessly merged, so that he was back in Gettysburg again. John Taggart’s current predicament simply no longer figured in his tormented soul. So it transpired, that on looking up, he suddenly spotted two strangers wearing the hated Union blue peering down at him. Then it abruptly dawned on his afflicted mind that they weren’t strangers at all and that they weren’t even clad in blue.
‘Well bless my soul,’ Klee remarked ominously. ‘This Johnny Reb’s just taken a swim. Couldn’t have been easy with only the one arm. You reckon he needs some more practice, Brad?’
That man nodded encouragingly. He well knew what was about to happen. ‘Yeah, I reckon so.’
Almost casually, Klee lowered the barrel of his newly acquired Winchester until it was pointing directly at Jacob’s chest and fired. At almost point blank range, the bullet tore into him with enough velocity to tip him away from the banking and back into the river. With blood pumping from his shattered chest, he hit the water with a great splash.
The current took hold of his broken and helpless body and swept it off to the east. Strangely, in the final seconds before he died, a broad smile spread over Jacob Stuckey’s abruptly tranquil features. Whether it was because he had finally escaped his troubled past, or because he knew what John Taggart would do to his killer would never be known.
Chapter Nine
As a horrified John Taggart watched his friend’s lifeless body being swept away in the Arkansas River, everything altered. Suddenly his own survival was all that mattered . . . if only because he had a deadly score to settle. Jacob had meant everything to him. But for that fine man, he definitely wouldn’t have survived the War Between the States. Their continuing closeness was the main reason that Taggart had established the ferry crossing, because otherwise a one-armed ex-soldier would have found precious little employment in a rapidly changing and uncaring world. And now, after all that they had experienced together, Jacob Stuckey was gone! Killed by a piece of nameless trash.
Even as Russ Decker’s scheming mind adjusted to the altered circumstances, Taggart knew what had to be done. Continuing gunfire indicated that the bank robbers were still resisting and so his trying to reach the posse was not yet likely. Although his hands were still bound, the ever-unpredictable river was the only alternative, but he would have to be quick about it. Because now more than ever he was surplus to requirements, a fact that the outlaw boss had already recognized.
As Decker again swung his Winchester over to cover the prisoner, Taggart flung caution to the winds and launched himself at him. Caught unawares, the outlaw desperately attempted to force the muzzle down, but he was just too late. Taggart got his massive right shoulder under his opponent’s arms and heaved. As the two men tumbled heavily onto compacted earth, the rifle discharged harmlessly into the heavens.
With the huge man on top, the outcome of the fight should not have been in doubt, but for the fact that Taggart’s wrists were still tightly bound and he was completely unarmed. Coming to an instinctive decision, he viciously headbutted the man beneath him and rolled clear. Decker howled with pain, but he was used to taking hard knocks. Even as his eyes swam with tears, he rapidly worked the lever-action and then struggled to his feet. He was just in time to see his assailant plunge head first into the river. Despite the dangers of that action, it did not escape his notice that such an occurrence was becoming all too commonplace!
As Taggart pitched into the chill depths, he knew that he had to remain submerged and put as much distance between himself and the crossing as possible. Even with his hands tied, that proved remarkably easy with the strong current behind him. It was only when his head began to pound from lack of oxygen that he allowed his powerful legs to take him to the surface. As his head bobbed above the water, he twisted around and peered back upriver. Thankfully, he was already out of effective rifle range and in any case his former captor wasn’t even looking his way. It occurred to him that the poxy outlaw quite probably had other things on his mind!
Drawing in deep draughts of air, the ferryman kicked out strongly towards the south bank. It was on that side of the river that Jacob had met his end and where retribution was likely to be meted out. Abruptly, his feet hit solid ground and the current relinquished its dominating hold on him. Remaining in the water and therefore mostly out of sight, he searched for a sharp rock. Once he had one, he acquired a sure footing and began to saw through the rope that secured his wrists. Throughout the whole of that repetitive process, all Taggart could see in his mind’s eye was Jacob’s bleeding corpse as it plunged helplessly into the Arkansas’s depths.
Russ Decker kept his Winchester at the ready, but with the muzzle conspicuously clear of the two new arrivals. He had no idea who or what they were, but one thing was abundantly clear . . . they sure as hell weren’t badged up. It was then that he commenced a loud verbal exchange with the larger of the two men both of whom he could well have done without.
‘Howdy, friend,’ he yelled with forced amiability. ‘You can probably tell from the gunplay back here that I would welcome that ferry on this side of the river.’
The other man nodded, but his bearded features were unreadable under the wide brim of his hat. ‘I could see how you mi
ght think that. You outlawed up or just plain unlucky?’
‘Unlucky in my choice of enemies, I guess. I reckon those fellas behind me are either Pinkertons or federal law. Either way, time is short. Which is why I’ve agreed with myself to make it worth your while.’
Brad spat a stream of evil looking black liquid into the river. His teeth were irreparably stained by tobacco juice. ‘Oh, you’ll be doing that all right and then some,’ he called back. ‘The dollar ferry ride disappeared forever with that one-armed son of a bitch. We’re the new operators and we take a percentage of everything carried. And I mean everything!’
Beneath his apparently calm demeanour, Decker was seething with anger and frustration. Behind him there had been a short silence followed by a flurry of shots. Sensing that time was running out, he briefly contemplated gunning the two ‘land pirates’ down, but that was fraught with risk. He had heard the deep report of the smaller man’s rifle and recognized that he was probably outgunned. If one of them should survive, he would be effectively marooned and at the mercy of the posse. Bitterly, he accepted that he would have to bite the bullet.
‘I guess I’ll just have to work with you on that,’ he very reluctantly replied.
‘I kind of thought you would,’ Brad responded in his deadpan fashion. ‘So here’s what’s gonna happen. My amigo with the buffalo gun will stand watch while I heave the ferry over. Anything you do that he doesn’t like, any little thing at all and you’re a dead man. Savvy?’
Decker stared at him intently, all the while gnawing on his bottom lip.
‘Say it!’ Brad barked. ‘Or we just sit here and enjoy the show.’
The bank robber coloured. He wasn’t used to taking such treatment and it took much self-discipline to respond in an even tone. ‘I understand.’