Gunmen of the Desert Sands

by Ralph Cotton

  ’’Durango," said Shaw.

  ’’What’s there?" Tunis asked, not knowing better than to ask a man like Shaw what his purpose might be.

  Shaw only gave him a slight nod without answering.

  Caldwell still hadn’t given up. ’’Think about it, Shaw. It would be like Hell’s Gate all over if you were there, waiting inside for us when we make our move."

  Instead of answering, Shaw touched the brim of his battered sombrero, looked from one to the other and said, ’’Take care of yourselves, amigos."

  ’’Adios, Shaw," said Dawson, staring into the fire, lying leaned against his saddle on the ground.

  When Shaw had taken the buckskin’s reins and walked out of sight, Caldwell sighed and said, ’’Well, there went our best chance of putting an end to all the border raiders in Zarco for once and for all."

  ’’I don’t think so," Dawson said quietly without looking up from the fire.

  Caldwell and Tunis looked at each other. Clearing his throat, Tunis said, ’’Did you or did you not say yourself that having Fast Larry Shaw with us would tip the scales greatly in our favor?"

  ’’I did say it," Dawson replied quietly, still gazing into the low fire. ’’I still do."

  Caldwell shook his head and stared down at the ground in front of him. ’’Three of us against the border raiders isn’t good odds, far as I’m concerned."

  ’’Not three," said Dawson, ’’four."

  ’’Four?" said Tunis. Again he and Caldwell looked at each other.

  Caldwell started to speak, but his and Tunis’ attention went to the sound of Shaw walking his buckskin back under the cliff overhang. ’’All right, here’s the deal," Shaw said as if he’d never left. ’’There’s dirt between Leeman and his two close pals and Morgan Hatch and his partner Engles. Seems Leeman ran out on them in Julimez. Hatch and Sonny said it didn’t matter, but I didn’t believe it."

  ’’There’s dirt between them, and rightly so," Dawson replied, looking up from the fire at Shaw with the same look of surprise that had come upon Caldwell’s and Tunis’ faces. ’’We saw where Leeman shot holes in some water bags instead of leaving them behind for Hatch and Engles and Wild Dick. He figured on feeding those three to us while he and Bone and Waite made their getaway."

  Shaw gave a slight grin and said, ’’Hatch didn’t even mention it. He said they took canteens off the dead posse and rode straight to Arajo." Shaw considered it, then said, ’’But just because Hatch didn’t mention it doesn’t mean he’s forgotten about it. No man jackpots his pards that way and they let it go without a fight."

  ’’Yeah, so?" Dawson said, trying to reason along with him to their advantage.

  ’’So give me two days in Zarco," said Shaw. ’’Let me see if I can stir things up before you come charging in."

  In Zarco, Filos Hewes stood watch from the roof of the cantina. But he saw nothing when Shaw circled wide of the trail and rode in through a dark alleyway two hours before dawn. At the stables behind the cantina, Shaw stepped down and walked the buckskin quietly past Sonny and the woman, who lay passed out and naked on blankets in the sand. In the pale moonlight he looked down and noted Sonny’s bruised and swollen jaw.

  Beside the passed-out gunman lay three empty mescal bottles. A snuff container of refined opium powder lay opened and half-empty on the edge of the blanket. The woman slept with a hand resting on the handle of the Colt lying near her face. Shaw heard Sonny mumble gruffly in his sleep. But then the mumbling turned into a whine as pain shot through the gunman’s cracked jawbone.

  Silently, Shaw led the buckskin into the stables, wiped him down in the dark with a handful of clean straw, grained him and watered him from a clay pot of tepid water sitting inside the sables. Finishing with his horse, Shaw wet his face and head and dried himself on his loosened shirttails. He took off his gun belt and draped it over his shoulder. Then he left the stables on foot and walked to the cantina where a dim light glowed through the open door.

  Inside the cantina, Morgan Hatch stood drinking alone at the bar. Looking around, Shaw saw men lying passed out on the dirt floor and draped over battered wooden tables where they had fallen. Shaw stood at the far end of the bar and motioned for a bleary-eyed bartender to serve him coffee from a large blackened coffeepot. The coffee had been boiled on a chemnea out back and now sat steaming behind the bar.

  While the man poured the coffee into a cup, Shaw looked down the bar at Hatch, who looked away from him and puffed on a slim green cigar. In front of Hatch sat a steaming cup of coffee, next to a half-full bottle of tequila. On the floor lay a pile of green cigar butts. ’’There’ll be no trouble between you and me, Morgan Hatch, unless it’s of your making," Shaw said quietly.

  Hatch didn’t answer.

  Shaw continued. ’’Sonny Engles got in my face. I saw what he was leading up to, so I stopped it before it got out of hand. Would you have done any different?"

  After a silent moment, Hatch said in a harsh tone, ’’Like as not he’ll kill you, Shaw."

  ’’Like as not he’ll try," Shaw replied.

  ’’Sonny’s fast, Shaw, faster than anything you’ve ever seen." Hatch took a sip of tequila and chased it with a sip of coffee. ’’Fastest gun alive? Ha! He’ll take that name right away from you." There was bitterness to Hatch’s voice that Shaw knew he hadn’t caused. Whatever dark mood Hatch was in had been there long before Shaw arrived.

  ’’If he’s that fast, he’s welcome to it," Shaw replied calmly. He sipped his coffee with a sigh. ’’Did you tell him what I said," he asked, ’’that I could have killed him if I’d wanted to?"

  ’’I told him," said Hatch. ’’He didn’t listen."

  ’’Too bad," Shaw said.

  ’’Too bad?" Hatch turned, looked him up and down, then looked away. ’’Why? Are you starting to have second thoughts about it?"

  ’’No," Shaw said. He shrugged. ’’I’ll kill him when the time comes, if that’s what it’s going to take." He sipped the coffee and asked, ’’Are you going to stand with him?"

  ’’No, it’s between the two of yas," said Hatch. ’’He’s my pard, but this is his fight. Every man has to shovel his own dirt."

  ’’Good," said Shaw. ’’I wasn’t looking forward to having to kill you too."

  ’’Kill me too ..." Hatch chuckled under his breath. ’’You’re awfully cocksure of yourself, Shaw," he said. ’’I’ll give you that."

  ’’I better be," Shaw said. He turned, facing Hatch along the bar, and said, ’’But enough about Sonny. What changed your mind out there? Leeman and I were both certain you’d ride in looking for blood."

  ’’Yeah?" Hatch said guardedly, taking a quick glance around at the sleeping drunks. ’’What’re you talking about?"

  ’’Come on, Hatch," Shaw said, ’’we all knew you and Sonny intended to ride in and kill Deacon Leeman, Waite and Bone. That’s why Leeman had me in the street with him, to back his play." He checked Hatch’s expression, seeing the rage rise in his eyes. ’’I don’t blame you, after him shooting holes in the water bags, leaving you stuck that way."

  ’’How’d you know about the water bags?" Hatch asked, his voice lowering into a tight growl.

  Shaw said calmly, ’’How do you think I knew?" He stared at Hatch closely.

  ’’That son of a bitch told you about it?" Hatch said, his voice going even lower, even more enraged.

  Shaw didn’t answer; he didn’t have to.

  ’’He must’ve thought it was a joke, leaving me and Sonny stranded . . . poor Wild Dick lying dead." He swallowed a tight bitter knot in his throat. ’’He told everybody, didn’t he?" Hatch said in dark speculation.

  Shaw only gazed coolly at him. ’’Like you said, How did I know about it?"

  Hatch thought about things, then said, ’’Shaw, are you going to run straight to Deacon Leeman, tell him what you and I talked about here?"

  Shaw gave him a flat stare and said, ’’I don’t run to anybody about anything. You sta
y out of any trouble I have with Sonny Engles, I’ll stay out of any trouble you have with Deacon Leeman."

  ’’Deal," Hatch said bitterly. He pushed his coffee cup aside and took a long drink from the bottle of tequila.

  Chapter 20

  As first light pushed its way onto the eastern horizon, Hatch walked out of the cantina with the tequila bottle hanging from his fingertips. Shaw stifled a yawn and turned back to his coffee, hearing a rooster begin to crow near the stables behind the cantina. The bartender stepped forward and shook his head as he wiped drops of spilled tequila from the bar top.

  ’’He is boiling mad inside, that one," the bartender said, nodding in the direction of Morgan Hatch. ’’I hope he does not go somewhere and start trouble—"

  His words stopped as a single shot exploded out back by the stables and the rooster’s crowing ceased abruptly.

  Shaw only nodded and sipped his coffee.

  Before he’d finished his coffee, Deacon Leeman and Charlie Bone walked into the cantina. ’’Well, well, Charlie," said Leeman, with a wide but unpleasant grin, ’’it looks like I’m not the only early riser around here." He looked Shaw up and down, seeing his gun belt hanging from his shoulder, his shirttails out.

  ’’Couldn’t sleep," said Shaw. ’’I must’ve slept too much yesterday evening."

  ’’I expect that’s why I didn’t see you around much after you gun-barreled Sonny’s head for him." Leeman rapped his knuckles on the bar top and nodded toward the coffeepot.

  ’’Sí, café, en seguida!" said the bartender. ’’I mean ’coffee right away,’ " he translated, quickly correcting himself as Leeman gave him a cold stare.

  ’’What’s wrong, Shaw, does pistol-whipping an idiot wear you out?" Bone chuckled as the bartender hurriedly produced two coffee mugs and began pouring them full.

  Shaw just looked at Bone without replying.

  Leeman sipped his coffee. Lifting his Colt from its holster, he dropped a spent cartridge from its cylinder, replaced it and slid the Colt back into its holster. To the bartender he said, ’’Luis, run out back. There’s a dead rooster lying along the corral fence. Dress it out and cook it for breakfast."

  ’’Along the corral fence, senor?" Luis the bartender looked confused.

  Leeman sighed. ’’Go with him, Bone, find that bird and get some fire under it."

  ’’Hunt for a dead rooster?" Bone looked shocked. ’’What am I, a fool?"

  ’’You are if you open your mouth again!" Leeman raged at him with no attempt at civility.

  Bone and the bartender hurried away, out the back door, as Leeman turned back to Shaw. ’’Everybody must wake up with a little bark on, eh, Shaw?" he said. ’’I know I do."

  Shaw only nodded.

  ’’The truth is, I’ve been wanting to talk to you, just the two of us." He stopped and looked toward the rear door and shook his head. ’’See how I had to put my foot on ole Bone’s neck? It’s not easy being a leader of men like us. Bold, willful men like Charlie, Blacky Waite and yourself don’t like being told what to do." He sipped his coffee and gave a sigh. ’’But when a man takes charge, he has to rule with an iron hand, else things start going bad for everybody."

  Shaw stood staring.

  ’’I know it doesn’t sit well with some of the men, taking orders from me, when I started out as just one more gun under Quinn Madsen. But the mantle was laid upon me. I’ve got to keep this gang tight and ready."

  Shaw could see that being in charge had Deacon Leeman feeling full of himself. Sliding his empty coffee cup away, Shaw said flatly, ’’Is that what you’ve been wanting to talk to me about, just the two of us?"

  ’’No," Leeman said, looking a little red faced. ’’Now that you’re riding with me, I’ve been wanting to talk in private about what you stand to gain for yourself."

  ’’I’ve been wanting to talk about that myself," Shaw said with a thin smile, hoping he sounded interested in where he stood with the border raiders. ’’I’d like to know what my share of the booty will come to."

  Leeman cocked his head a little to one side and raised a finger as he spoke. ’’You and I both know that you’re no seasoned thief, Shaw, leastwise I never heard it said about you."

  ’’That’s right, I’m not," Shaw said honestly. He patted his gun. ’’I’ve always had a skill that’s in high demand. So high that I’ve never had to worry about money. If I want money, I’ve always known where to find it."

  ’’I understand that, and I admire it," said Leeman. ’’To be honest that widow maker on your hip is what’s got you into the raiders. Without your gun skills I’ve got nothing for you."

  Shaw gave him a bristly stare.

  ’’Hold on, now," said Leeman, knowing he had no backup in the cantina. ’’I meant no offense. I’m just talking straight with you. You still get a full share, same as if you came here from riding with the James Gang. But I want you to stick close to me, and leave the robbing up to the others. Is that a good deal for you or not?" He smiled, knowing Shaw couldn’t possibly have a problem with such a deal.

  But Shaw didn’t answer right away. Instead he said, ’’What you’re offering is a full share for me, just for being your own personal bodyguard."

  Leeman grinned, and this time it looked more real. ’’Damn right, that’s what I want. Thieves and gun tramps come cheap out here. I want the fastest gun alive at my side, at all times."

  ’’I got the impression that you didn’t believe all that fastest gun alive talk," Shaw said.

  ’’I know you’re faster than most I’ve ever seen, Shaw," said Leeman. ’’As for you being the fastest gun alive . . ." He hesitated, then said, ’’If it’s something everybody wants to think, who am I to argue?" He gave a sly wink, as if he and Shaw shared a secret.

  ’’I see," Shaw said, not interested in trying to convince Leeman of anything.

  ’’So, there’s the deal, Shaw," Leeman said. ’’Have you had any better offers lately?" He looked Shaw up and down, his frayed shirt collar, his down-at-the-heels boots.

  ’’What about Morgan Hatch and Sonny Engles?" Shaw said flatly.

  ’’What about them?" Leeman said.

  ’’I suppose you’ll be wanting me to kill them both first chance I get?"

  Leeman took on a concerned expression. ’’What made you think a thing like that? Those two are a couple of the best men I’ve got."

  Shaw said in a lowered tone as if the passed-out gunmen lying around might hear them, ’’I figure with them knowing you jackpotted them and shot holes in the water bags they needed, you couldn’t afford to leave them alive."

  Leeman looked stunned. Leaning in closer, he asked, ’’Where the hell did you hear that?"

  ’’Where the hell do you think I heard it?" Shaw came back sharply, without mentioning either Hatch or Engles.

  Leeman took a deep breath and let it out, looking troubled by his thoughts. ’’So they didn’t take the canteens from the dead posse men after all. . . ."

  ’’So," Shaw said, ’’do you want them both dead?"

  Leeman considered it, then said in frustration, ’’Damn it, no, not right now. We’re shorthanded and I’ve got a big job coming up."

  ’’This is all of the border raiders?" Shaw asked, gathering what information he could for Dawson.

  ’’No, I’ve got more men coming. But I can’t afford to lose any right now," said Leeman. ’’Keep a close eye on those two, but don’t make a move on them until I tell you to."

  ’’I understand." Shaw nodded; that was good enough for now, he thought. He’d given each side plenty to think about. Now he needed to make certain Dawson, Caldwell and Tunis would be able to ride in without being spotted from atop the cantina. It had been easy enough for him—one rider in the dark of night. But it might not be as easy for the three lawmen.

  Clell Butterfield watched the four young federale soldiers ride downward in and out of sight on the low hill trail. ’’They’re falling right into our laps," he whis
pered to the two men lying beside him along the meandering sandbank.

  ’’These boys are just an advance party, scouting the trail for a whole damned column of soldiers!" said Wallace Pearl, lying five feet to his right, holding his rifle tight in his gloved hands.

  Butterfield said with a note of sarcasm, ’’Well, thank you, Wallace. But I believe we already had a damned good notion that they’re just forward scouts."

  ’’Clell, we’ve got no business fooling with these boys," Pearl said. ’’I’ve got a bad feeling about this."

  ’’Keep your bad feelings to yourself, Wallace," Butterfield warned him. ’’We’re going to take a couple of these troopers to Madsen, just to show him we can."

  ’’Wallace is right, Clell," said Andy Mertz, an Arizona gunman and stage robber who’d been out of Yuma Territorial Prison for only a few months. ’’This is messing with dynamite. Let them pass and let’s get on into Zarco."

  Butterfield spat in contempt. ’’Chickenshits," he whispered to himself, staring out at the bottom of the trail the four federales would be riding down toward them. ’’Get ready, here they come," he added, seeing the riders appear into sight.

  ’’Damn it to hell," Wallace Pearl whispered. But he levered a round into his rifle chamber and lay tense and poised.

  Feeling the hooves of the four horses rumble in the sand beneath them, the three men stayed down behind the cover of the sandbank until Butterfield jumped up and shouted, ’’Let them have it!"

  Leaping to their feet, firing repeatedly, the three gunmen watched two of the federales fall to the ground, one of their horses also falling under the hail of rifle fire.

  Butterfield jumped forward, rifle raised, and pointed and shouted, ’’Manos arriba! Manos arriba!"

  The two soldiers’ rifles fell from their hands. Their hands went up above their heads. ’’Please, don’t shoot us! Don’t shoot us!" one of them shouted in awkward English.

  ’’Down off the horses," Butterfield commanded. As the two slid from their saddles, one of them bleeding from his side, Butterfield said to the others with a grin, ’’Now, wasn’t that as slick as grease on a stove handle?"