Taggart's Crossing

by Paul Bedford

  Leaving their badly wounded associate to bleed out, the three men moved outside and over towards the landing stage. It was then that the Pinkerton boss suddenly glimpsed an unknown horseman heading towards the south bank.

  ‘Who are all these people?’ he muttered.

  Russ Decker heard the report of a revolver up on the nearest riverbank and instinctively ducked down behind the gunwale. Two more shots crashed out and then he glimpsed a body tumble down the banking and into the water.

  ‘There sure is some blood-letting going on around here today,’ he remarked, only half to himself. Turning his attention back to the stranded boat, he was just in time to see the man with the bleeding mouth disappear around the side of the central cabin. His temporary isolation only seemed to highlight his own particular problem. He was still in possession of the stolen gold, but he had nowhere to go with it. The God damn boat was almost high and dry. Pinkertons controlled the north bank and whoever was left to the south would doubtless want to steal it from him.

  Sighing, the bank robber quickly collected up the fallen coins and secured them in the saddle-bag. Then, with the germ of an idea forming, he decided to see just who else there was on the boat. Making his way cautiously towards the rear, he went along the other side to that taken by Naylor, so as to keep the bulk of the cabin between himself and the remaining Pinkertons.

  That man was unsuccessfully trying to describe the presence of some glorious gold coins to his only remaining companion. Rio had sensibly kept to the back of the boat during and after the collision. He hadn’t realized that the shot that killed Teach had actually been triggered on board. Now he was trying to make sense of a man with no tongue and whose features were dripping with blood and snot. Then a big son of a bitch, whom he had never clapped eyes on before, came around the side of the cabin holding a cocked revolver. Belatedly, Rio made a move for his own gun.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ hissed Decker. ‘You’d be already dead if I didn’t need you for something. Do what I tell you and I might let both of you live.’

  The knife-fighter regarded him curiously, before demonstrating just how sharp he really was. ‘If you’re by chance wanting this boat back in the water, then you’re wasting your time, mister.’

  Decker was impressed, but did his best to hide the fact. ‘And why might that be?’

  ‘Because when we stole it in Colorado, it was full of silver ore and we haven’t yet found anyone fool enough to buy it. All of which means this is one heavy sucker!’

  Decker considered that response for a moment, before proving that he too was no dullard. ‘This thing’s known as a poleboat, yeah? Which means it’s got poles on board. Get one apiece and mosey on down to the sharp end. Oh and drop that gunbelt, so’s you don’t get tempted.’ Clicking his fingers, he added, ‘And make it snappy. Everybody seems to want a piece of what I’m packing.’

  With air back in his lungs, John Taggart began to feel his immense strength returning. Both men still gripped the heavy Winchester. Whoever got control of that would without doubt be the victor. Although his adversary was still on top of him, legs straddling his body, the massive ferryman had the ground beneath him to use for leverage. With a tremendous surge of power, he suddenly extended his arms and twisted the weapon to one side. As Brad began to lose his dominant position, Taggart redoubled his efforts to retain the advantage. Sweat pored from his bearded face, but he just couldn’t stop the inevitable. It was like fighting a man mountain.

  Taggart grunted with satisfaction as he rolled the other man onto his side. Now all he needed was to yank the rifle from his grasp, but that was easier said than done. Brad clung on with the strength of desperation, before suddenly doing the unexpected. Releasing one hand, he bunched it into a fist and planted a vicious blow onto Taggart’s nose. The outlaw was rewarded with the agreeable crunch of breaking bone. His opponent had been in fights before, but nothing could have prepared the ferryman for the shocking pain that spread over his face. Tears unavoidably welled up in his eyes, completely clouding his sight.

  Sensing victory, Brad unleashed another brutal clout that only compounded Taggart’s misery, before returning his full attention to the rifle. With two hands again holding it, he gave a tremendous heave and abruptly it was back in his possession. What he should really have done then was clamber back out of reach and open fire, but he was consumed by an overwhelming bloodlust. His only desire was to bludgeon his troublesome opponent to death with the gun butt. Drawing his arms back, he lined up a tremendous swing at Taggart’s defenceless skull.

  The blow, when it landed, struck with the dreadful force of a sledgehammer, shattering bone and unleashing a mess of blood and brain matter. Death was instantaneous and the lifeless body lay slumped on the sun-baked ground, fit only for carrion birds.

  John Taggart’s vision finally began to clear. The pain in and around his nose was intolerable, but there was also no denying the amazing fact that he was still alive. Screwing his eyes up against the bright light, he gazed up at the strange shape looming over him.

  ‘Never thought I’d see that lovely rifle again,’ Sam Torrance muttered, his voice laced with exhaustion, ‘Or my horse. This bull turd must have had a run in with my prisoner. I guess that means I won’t be seeing Jonas Bills again.’ There was a thump, as the US Marshal dropped something heavy and then, very slowly, he sank down onto the grass next to the man whose life he had just saved. ‘I’ve brought your hammer back. Thought you might have missed it!’

  Chapter Twelve

  As the Pinkerton Detective Agency’s tracker laboriously heaved his way, arm over arm, across the Arkansas River, he roundly cursed Ben Exley. Raoul’s water-logged clothes were acting as a drag on him and he was cold and angry. All his life, he’d had to eat dirt from the likes of the Pinkerton boss, but it was going to be different after this job. His stash of twenty-dollar bills would see to that. Yet for the present, he still had to finish the job in hand.

  He paused for a moment to catch his breath and check on the situation. Because the ferry was now mostly under water, the cable that he clung to was taut and completely submerged. Which in turn resulted in his being barely visible above the surface and as yet undiscovered. There had been shooting up on the crest of the south bank and now there was nobody in sight, which was possibly a good thing. Reliance on others did not come easily to Raoul, but he knew that he would just have to trust Exley and his men to protect him from any threat over there. Then he witnessed a strange thing.

  Two men clutching long poles gingerly lowered themselves over the side of the keelboat, so that they were soon standing with their feet awash on the ferry. Another fellow with a gun appeared to be threatening them. They then wedged their poles under the bow of the boat and began to heave on them. Raoul scoffed at their efforts. With the current flowing against the stern, he reckoned that they had little chance of success.

  Decker peered over the side and swore. He had scant knowledge of riverboats, but common sense now told him that the weight of the silver combined with the current meant that his prisoners’ efforts were doomed to failure. So, if he couldn’t go back, then he might as well go forward. It didn’t matter a damn where the craft took him, so long as it was out of reach of the tarnal Pinkertons!

  ‘You’re wasting your time with them poles,’ Decker hollered. ‘You with the big knife. Cut through that cable pronto and you’re a free man.’

  Rio, up to his ankles in water and thoroughly unhappy, was horrified. ‘If I cut through the rope, this whole God damn thing’ll go sideways. I might be crushed to death!’

  Decker regarded him bleakly. ‘Well yeah, I’ll allow that might happen, but if you don’t do it you’re a dead man for sure!’

  Rio stared up at the muzzle of the revolver pointing directly at him and briefly weighed his options. Naylor, blood-soaked and miserable, had immediately ceased work and was just staring numbly at the encroaching water. He would be no help at all in any standoff. It seemed that the reluctan
t river pirate had no choice.

  Drawing his broad-bladed Bowie Knife, Rio moved over to the edge of the submerged ferry nearest the south bank. Once the cable was cut, he would then with luck be able to use the remains of it to get to dry land. If he didn’t get shot in the back first! Shaking his head with distaste, he crouched down and slipped into the water. Gripping the massive rope with his left hand, he began to cut into the strands.

  Raoul watched as the man drew his knife and reluctantly entered the river. He knew exactly what that signified and couldn’t let it stand. Drawing his own knife, he wedged it between his teeth and then rapidly began closing on the conjoined craft. His almost submerged approach remained unseen by the two men left aboard. Naylor was in a world of his own, whilst Decker continued to train his revolver on the man doing the work.

  Reaching the north facing side of the ferry, the Pinkerton man took in a deep breath and then launched himself under the solid framework. Gripping the timbers, he pulled his way across until he was able to see the legs of his target. His instinct was to strike a mortal blow, but then Exley’s words came back to him. ‘We can’t just kill everyone that we come across’.

  Raoul paused momentarily, before deciding, ‘The hell with it. It’s my life!’

  Kicking out strongly, he aimed directly at his prey’s belly, only to be thwarted as Rio abruptly shifted position to get a better grip. Nevertheless, the blade penetrated deep into that man’s left thigh. Suddenly assailed by shocking pain, he still had sufficient presence of mind to know exactly what had happened. In his home state, Rio had gained a fearsome reputation as a knife-fighter and so reacted with lightning speed. Relinquishing his hold on the cable, he ducked underwater and swept his blade from side to side. Startled by the sudden defence, Raoul swam to his right, hoping for an opening that he could exploit.

  Up in the keelboat, Decker simultaneously spotted both the bloodstains in the water and the would-be assassin. ‘Sweet Jesus,’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s just one thing after another!’

  Taking rapid aim, he fired down into the river. His hurried shot missed, but it had the effect of bringing a hornet’s nest down on him. On the north bank, Exley bellowed out, ‘He must be shooting at Raoul. Open fire!’

  His two men opened up with their Winchesters, sending a fusillade of hot lead towards the boat. Their firing was enthusiastic rather than accurate, but it had the effect of sending Decker down onto the deck. With that man immobilised, Rio no longer had any reason to remain, but sadly he was now quite unnecessarily fighting for his life. Aided by the water’s buoyancy, his wound was not quite the handicap that it would have been on land. With practised skill, the seasoned knife-fighter jabbed his weapon forward, all the time shifting it from hand to hand to confuse his opponent.

  Recognizing that he was up against a professional, Raoul remained on the defensive. Their blades clashed, but with his superior mobility he managed to remain just out of reach. The man-hunter well knew that whoever needed air first was finished and that was likely to be his adversary.

  With his deep wound bleeding profusely, Rio could feel himself weakening. His head was pounding and he desperately needed air. If only he could make a kill first. Abruptly tucking in both arms before him, he kicked out strongly. The pain in his left leg was sickening, but the move had succeeded in confusing the Pinkerton. Rio couldn’t be sure from which angle the next attack would come. All he could do was retreat and he only just made it.

  Rio’s left hand streaked out. The knife point sliced through Raoul’s cotton shirt and carved a shallow wound across his chest. Belatedly, he brought his own blade in to attack, but his assailant suddenly wasn’t there. Rio couldn’t remain under water any longer and had surfaced just to the south of the vessels. Frantically sucking air into his lungs, he wildly slashed around him but it was a hopeless effort. He just could not cope with any assault from underneath.

  Shaken by his narrow escape, Raoul moved in on his defenceless prey like an attacking shark. Coming from below, his blade viciously lanced up into Rio’s groin. That man howled in agony as he thrashed about. The next penetration came in his belly and then it was quite simply all over. Rio relinquished his hold on the big Bowie and surrendered to the Arkansas’s current. As yet another bleeding corpse was swept off to the south-east, Raoul gratefully filled his lungs. There was a smile on his face. Yet again he had come out on top. There seemed to be no stopping him.

  John Taggart peered cautiously over the crest of the banking. He was just in time to see Raoul’s head break the surface. The grinning stranger had a knife in each hand and one of them was a very distinctive Bowie. On the keelboat, Russ Decker had scrambled over to the south side to escape the Pinkertons’ persistent gunfire. The massive ferryman had no idea who it was in the river, but he easily recognized the bank robber and so rapidly backed off.

  ‘Mind if I borrow your fine rifle?’ he quietly asked the recumbent marshal.

  That man stared up at him sternly. ‘I reckon. But don’t forget that I carry the law. I won’t see you murder anyone, you hear?’

  Taggart nodded wearily. ‘There’s been more than enough killing on account of this river crossing.’ So saying, he returned to the crest and took aim.

  He was just in time, because Decker had decided that he didn’t like the look of the lone swimmer. Not that he ever really took to anyone. After checking that the cabin was between him and the Pinkertons, the outlaw swung his revolver over the weathered gunwale.

  Without any warning the rifle bullet smacked into timber, sending splinters into the left side of Decker’s face. He yelped with pain and surprise and then sensibly froze. Treading water below him, Raoul twisted around as he searched for the latest threat. So it was that when Taggart rose to his full height, he had both their attention.

  ‘You, felon,’ he called out. ‘You so much as twitch without my say so and you’re dead. Savvy?’

  Decker stared at him in silent disbelief, before nodding slowly.

  ‘You in the water,’ Taggart continued. ‘I don’t know who you are, so get onto the ferry and keep quiet. And don’t even think about using those toothpicks or I’ll blow you to hell!’ Without waiting for a response, he raised his voice and boomed out across the river. ‘You there. Identify yourselves!’

  He didn’t have long to wait.

  ‘We’re employed by the Pinkerton Detective Agency,’ replied Ben Exley. ‘Charged with recovering all monies stolen from the Farmers’ and Merchants’ Bank in Wichita. The man in the water works for me.’

  Despite the situation, Taggart chuckled. He held an ace in the hole that was going to make the fellows across the river mighty unhappy.

  ‘Well, Mister Pinkerton man, my name’s John Taggart. I own this crossing and I’ve got a federal officer over here who’ll vouch for me.’ In a muttered aside, he added, ‘That’s if he ever gets up again.’

  ‘I heard that, you son of a bitch,’ retorted the marshal painfully.

  ‘So he’ll be taking control of any money recovered,’ Taggart continued remorselessly.

  There was a stunned silence on the north bank as Exley digested that, but it didn’t last long. ‘I’ll need more than just your word to convince me of that. I’ve no knowledge of any federal officer working in these parts. I need proof!’

  ‘I’ll get to that,’ Taggart replied, before putting the Pinkertons firmly from his mind. Glancing over at Decker he instructed, ‘Toss that hand gun into the river, now.’

  Decker glared back at him and did nothing. The powerful Winchester crashed out again and the bullet missed him by a whisker before slamming into the cabin.

  ‘Don’t test me, mister,’ the ferryman barked. ‘I’ve got a powerful urge to kill you.’

  As the revolver dropped into the water close to Raoul, Taggart glanced down at him. ‘You really one of Allan Pinkerton’s men?’

  The other man nodded eagerly, keen to get back on dry land.

  ‘What’s with the bleeding mute over there? Who’s he
work for?’

  ‘I think he came on the keelboat,’ Raoul answered. ‘Can I get out of here now? I’m bleeding myself.’

  ‘Uhuh,’ Taggart responded with a notable lack of sympathy. ‘But I want you on the boat first. There must be a river anchor somewhere in the cabin. Get moving.’

  Despite his unfavourable situation, Raoul eyed the big man dangerously. ‘Just who do you think you are, talking to me in such a way?’

  The ferryman favoured him with a cold smile. ‘I’m a man with a big gun and an itch to use it. Don’t test me, boy.’

  Although seething with anger, Raoul swam over to the ferry and climbed on to its waterlogged decking. From there, he boarded the boat and disappeared into the cabin. Bare moments passed before he returned holding a long coil of rope and dragging a heavy anchor. In all their time on the craft, Teach and his associates hadn’t even thought to look for such a thing.

  ‘So what do I do with this, man with a big gun?’ he queried.

  Completely ignoring the sarcasm, Taggart was quick to respond. ‘Wedge it behind the gunwale. That’s the side of the boat to you. And then take a short swim over here with the rope.’

  Raoul glared at him, but again did as he was instructed. In spite of his instinctive resentment of all authority, he was beginning to develop a grudging admiration for the big man, who seemed to know exactly what he was about.

  A short while later, Raoul arrived on the south bank holding the rope end. Taggart was quick to utilize it. There were six animals grazing near the river. Ignoring the heavily laden mules, he picked the two sturdiest horses and fastened the rope around their saddle horns. Glancing down at the marshal, he asked, ‘You able to ride one of these?’

  That man slowly got to his feet. ‘I reckon so.’

  The ferryman smiled at him with genuine warmth, before moving back to the crest. ‘Decker,’ he called out. ‘Best gather up those saddle bags and hold tight. You ain’t going far, but it’ll be bumpy.’ Then his eyes settled on Naylor’s pathetic figure. ‘You’d best get clear, fella,’ he hollered.