Gunmen of the Desert Sands

by Ralph Cotton

  ’’We need to get away from here, pronto," said Pearl, casting a wary glance toward the hill trail the four soldiers had ridden down on. ’’We’ve got no idea how far behind the rest of their column is following them."

  ’’Relax, Wallace, before you soil yourself," Butterfield laughed. He walked forward, gesturing the two soldiers away from their horses. He looked down at one of the other two soldiers lying writhing and moaning on the ground.

  ’’Agua, agua," the dying young soldier pleaded.

  ’’He asks you for water, senor," the soldier without the wound said.

  ’’Hell, I know that," said Butterfield. He tipped his rifle barrel down and shot the dying soldier. Then he turned his rifle toward the two standing and levered another round into the chamber. ’’Anybody else need agua?" he asked with a cruel grin.

  The two young soldiers fell silent, looking helpless and frightened.

  ’’All right, then," Butterfield said, walking over to the whimpering horse lying in a wide patch of red wet sand. ’’Adios, caballo," he said. He shot the wounded animal in its thrashing head, and watched its life melt and leave it lying limp and still on the ground. ’’Pity." He shook his head in mock regret and said in a solemn tone, ’’This desert country eats horses up."

  Pearl and Mertz walked up onto the sand quietly, their rifles cocked and aimed at the two remaining soldiers. ’’Don’t neither one of you try anything," Mertz warned.

  ’’Oh, hell, Andy," Butterfield laughed, ’’what are they going to try?" He gestured both men forward. ’’Get their sidearms and let’s get on into Zarco. If we fool around out here long enough, there really will be a swarm of federales coming down the trail."

  ’’This was a mistake," said Mertz, looking at the dead horse, the dead soldiers and all the tracks in the sand. ’’They’ll be on our backs like boils."

  ’’You don’t get it, do you, Andy?" said Butterfield. ’’They were headed down on us anyway. There’s never any federales this part of the desert. Somebody has told them we’re here."

  ’’Then we’ve sure as hell cinched it for them," Mertz grumbled.

  Ignoring him, Butterfield turned to the soldier who spoke English and asked, ’’How many others soldiers are riding down here?"

  The young soldier had nothing to hide. ’’Over fifty," he said with no hesitation.

  ’’See?" said Butterfield to Mertz and Pearl. ’’What do you think, that fifty soldiers were just out romping around in the sun and then they all decided to ride across the hills into the desert?"

  ’’Where is it you’re headed?" Andy Mertz asked the young soldier. ’’Don’t lie to us or I’ll nail a bullet in your forehead."

  ’’To Zarco," the young soldier said.

  ’’What’s so damned important in Zarco?" Butterfield asked sharply, getting into the soldier’s face, keeping him off balance and too afraid to lie.

  ’’We met a man and his family on the north hill trail. He said the border raiders are in Zarco. Him and his wife and daughter fled the village when they saw all the outlaws gathering there." The soldier pointed northeast. ’’We were at the bottom of the hill trail when we met them, so we took a shortcut and saved a day and a half of riding by crossing this lower hill line."

  ’’Well, wasn’t you boys just as smart as circus baboons?" said Butterfield. He looked at Mertz and Pearl. ’’Now, pards. Do you see why it was important to find out what the hell is going on out here?"

  The two outlaws looked at each other, a little embarrassed by having doubted Butterfield to begin with. ’’All right, Clell," said Mertz. ’’You’re right, we’re wrong. What are we going to do now? I don’t cotton to riding into Zarco knowing soldiers are going to be waiting to jump down my shirt."

  ’’We’re going to warn Madsen, that’s what we’re going to do," said Butterfield. ’’Then we either split the gang up and fade into the desert, or we stand and fight until one side gives up and crawls away. Does that make sense?"

  ’’Makes sense to us, Clell," Pearl said, speaking for him and Mertz.

  ’’Good," said Butterfield with a taunting grin. He turned to the bleeding soldier. ’’Are you able to ride?" As he asked, he cocked his rifle.

  ’’Sí, he is able to ride," the other soldier cut in, before the wounded man could answer for himself. ’’He will not hold us back. I will look after him and keep him moving."

  ’’See that you do, amigo," said Butterfield. ’’Ain’t nothing pleases me more than shooting soldados, comprende?"

  ’’Sí, I understand," the young federale said somberly, hooking an arm around the wounded soldier’s side and helping him up into his saddle.

  Chapter 21

  ’’What the hell do we have coming here?" Leeman shouted up to Drop the Dog Jones, who stood watch atop the cantina. Jones quickly wiped dust off the lens of the telescope and held it up to his eye. Out across the sand flats to the southeast, he saw the rising dust of five horses boring down on Zarco at a hard run.

  ’’Hot damn, Deacon," Jones called down to him from the flat roof, ’’it’s Clell Butterfield, Pearl and Mertz, riding like the devil’s on their tails!"

  ’’Little doubt he is," Deacon commented to the men gathered around him on the dirt street. He grinned, glad to know Butterfield and the other two had made it across the border and all the way to Zarco. ’’Once they get here we’ll be able to head to Durango and take care of business."

  ’’Uh-oh! Looks like they’ve got a couple of federales with them, Deacon," Jones called down. ’’One of them is wounded sure as hell. He’s barely hanging on in his saddle."

  ’’Aw, hell," said Deacon, ’’it sounds like Clell has taken on some prisoners. I hope he hasn’t led the whole damn Mexican army down on us!"

  Looking all around, seeing Hatch and Engles walking toward him from a block away, he turned to Sibott, who stood nearby, staring out across the rolling flats. ’’Sibott. Go find Shaw, tell him to get out here pronto. Tell him I might need his help. He’ll know what I’m talking about."

  ’’Sure thing, Deacon," said Sibott, turning and bounding away on foot toward the stables where he’d seen Shaw earlier in the day.

  In a stall next to his buckskin, Shaw stood with one jaw cleanly shaved, the other still covered with soap lather. When he caught a glimpse of Sibott in the shaving mirror, he lowered the razor into a pan of water and turned around, a cloth stuck down in the front of his shirt.

  ’’Shaw, Deacon wants you, out in front of the cantina," Sibott said, in a rushed voice. ’’He said to tell you to get over there pronto, and you’d know why."

  Shaw jerked the cloth from his shirt collar and wiped the shaving lather off his face. ’’First shave in a week," he said, tossing the cloth aside, grabbing his poncho from over a stall rail and slipping it down over his head. ’’What’s going on out there?" he asked.

  ’’Three more of our men are riding in. It looks like they’ve taken two federales captive."

  ’’Federales, eh?" Shaw rubbed his cleanly shaved jaw and took his battered sombrero from the stall rail and placed it on his head. ’’I haven’t seen soldiers on this side of the desert in months."

  ’’Well, you’re going to see them now," said Sibott. The two turned and left, the big Frenchman leading the way.

  On the street, Deacon, Bone and Waite stood watching the five riders drawing closer across the sand flats. When Shaw walked up, Deacon turned his gaze to him and said in a lowered tone, ’’What took you so long? What were you doing?"

  Shaw wasn’t about to explain where he’d been or what he’d been doing. ’’Take a guess," he said with a flat stare, letting Deacon see his half-shaved face.

  ’’You can finish later," said Deacon. He gestured toward Hatch and Engles, who stood only ten yards away, the woman right behind them. ’’I want you keeping an eye on these three at all times."

  ’’I’ve got you covered," Shaw said, cutting a glance at the gunmen and the woman. Then he looked out a
t the approaching riders and asked Deacon, ’’What’s this about?"

  ’’Beats me," said Deacon, seeing the riders slow their horses down as the animals rode onto the dirt street at the far end of town. ’’But there better be a damn good reason for Butterfield and his boys to be dragging soldiers into our midst."

  When the riders had stopped in the middle of the dirt street fifteen feet away, Butterfield slipped down from his saddle and said to Deacon, ’’Look what we found riding down off the low hills trail." He grabbed the English-speaking Mexican by his trousers leg and yanked him down out of his saddle. Andy Mertz raised a foot and booted the wounded soldier. The young soldier fell to the ground and struggled to get to his feet. The other soldier reached down and helped him up.

  Shaw stepped in closer, watching intently.

  ’’Is this all of them?" Deacon asked Butterfield.

  ’’No," said Butterfield with a grin. ’’We left two more lying dead in the sand."

  ’’You didn’t bury them, cover them up, or something?" Deacon asked, getting irritated.

  ’’No," said Butterfield mockingly, ’’I couldn’t find my shovel or my prayer book."

  ’’Damn it to hell!" said Deacon. ’’What if there’s more, what if they come along and find the bodies? What if they’re coming here?"

  ’’Don’t get nervous on me, Deacon," said Butterfield. ’’There are more coming. They are coming here. What the hell do you suppose they were doing out there, sunning themselves?" He looked all around as if searching for someone.

  ’’How far behind are they?" Leeman asked, turning a quick gaze out across the sand flats.

  ’’Three hours, four hours at the most," said Butterfield, still looking around for someone. ’’But since I figured they were headed here anyway, I decided we ought to snatch them, just to make sure. Then I thought we’d best bring them here, let them tell everybody in person." He gave a shrug with the same grin on his dust-streaked face. ’’But hell, there’s no need to thank me for it."

  ’’How did you know they were headed here?" Deacon asked, on the verge of losing his temper with Butterfield.

  Looking tired of answering questions, Butterfield grabbed the English-speaking soldier by his shirt-front and jerked him forward. ’’Tell him, Jose," he said. Once again he looked all around.

  ’’My—my name is not Jose, it is Private Martene," the young soldier said to Leeman. ’’It is true our column was already coming here to Zarco—"

  ’’Tell him why, Jose!" Butterfield said, cutting the young soldier off.

  The soldier related the same story to Deacon Leeman about the Mexican and his wife and daughter fleeing Zarco, which he’d earlier told Butterfield. Shaw listened and thought to himself, Way to go, Paco, you made it. He watched Leeman’s face take on a dark expression.

  When the soldier had finished, Leeman scowled in the direction of the burned rubble of the adobe that had been the Gomezes’ home. ’’Paco Ruiz . . . ," he said bitterly. ’’The girl, Francisca. My girl . . ."

  ’’No, senor," said the soldier. ’’His name is not Paco Ruiz. He said his name is Poncho Vesti, or Vilsta." He paused, then gave up and said, ’’I cannot remember his last name."

  Leeman’s rage exploded. ’’His name is Paco Ruiz! You stupid son of a bitch! He’s one of us! He’s nothing but a damned outlaw himself!" Leeman struck the soldier, knocking him to the ground. He stepped in close and kicked the soldier in his stomach. Then he snatched his Colt from his holster and cocked it. But Shaw moved fast. He grabbed Leeman’s gun from his hand, pulled him back and held him for a moment from behind.

  ’’Take it easy, Deacon," Shaw said. ’’Think about it. A gunshot is only going to speed up the federales, especially with two of their men dead and two more missing." In an even lower tone he added, ’’Besides, we’ve got hard eyes on us right now. Save your bullets, you’ll be needing them for federales before long."

  Leeman settled down.

  Noting the way Leeman acted, and the way Shaw jumped in and stopped him from killing the soldier, Butterfield looked all around once again and this time said, ’’Where the hell is Quinn Madsen? Who’s in charge of this hoedown anyway?"

  ’’Madsen is dead!" Leeman growled at him, his gun back in his hand after Shaw handed it to him butt first. ’’I’m in charge, you idiot!" he said, his knuckles turning white around his gun butt.

  Shaw cut in, seeing the stunned look on Butterfield’s dust-streaked face. ’’Madsen burned up in a fire." He gestured a nod toward the pile of charred rubble and fallen adobe walls. ’’We thought Paco Ruiz burned up with him."

  ’’Damn," said Butterfield, rubbing his chin, trying to take in everything Shaw told him. ’’There’s an awful lot goes on with this bunch between jobs."

  ’’You’re damned lucky these soldiers were headed this way anyway," Leeman said, settling down more, easing his grip on the big Colt and shoving it back into its holster. He turned to the soldier who had struggled back onto his feet and said, ’’How well armed is your column?"

  ’’Each trooper carries a French breechloading rifle," the young private replied. ’’The officers also carry a sidearm."

  Shaw could tell from the look in the young soldier’s eyes that he was lying.

  ’’No light field cannon?" Leman asked, not seeming to see what Shaw could see. ’’No Gatling gun?"

  ’’Our column is only a light cavalry force on patrol, senor," said Private Martene.

  Leeman looked back and forth, not seeming too concerned over the federales headed toward Zarco. ’’Butterfield, you brought these two here, you take them to the stables and tie them to a post."

  ’’Ain’t we going to go ahead and kill them, Deacon," Butterfield asked, ’’then everybody split up and hightail it away from here for the time being?"

  ’’I’m not play that game anymore," said Deacon. ’’We’ve got better guns, ammunition, more experience. To hell with them. Let them do the hightailing." He looked around and said to all the men, ’’It’ll be dark by the time they get across the flats. I figure they won’t hit tonight. But tomorrow morning all hell is going to break loose. Everybody get set for the fight of your life. We’re not running!"

  The men whooped, whistled and cheered. Shaw only watched and shook his head.

  ’’Damn it, come on," Butterfield said to the two bedraggled soldiers, motioning them toward the stables out behind the cantina. ’’Give me any reason at all, I’ll bend a rifle barrel over your backs."

  Leeman looked at the wounded soldier, then turned to the woman standing behind Hatch and Engles. ’’You, Whore, go with them. See to it this one’s side wound gets cleaned and bandaged."

  The woman looked first at Morgan Hatch before stepping forward. Hatch said to Leeman, ’’Sounds like you’re already playing the angles, treating these two good in case you end up in the hands of the federales."

  ’’I’ve got over twenty good crack-shot riflemen," Leeman replied. ’’Fifty kids with French rifles don’t scare me. I don’t plan on ending up in the federales’ hands." He paused and made it a point to look Hatch up and down with contempt. ’’Or anybody else’s," he added.

  ’’You mean not if there’s anybody else around for you to jackpot!" Hatch growled, his hand poised near the Colt on his hip. ’’I expect you’ve had a good laugh or two telling about shooting holes in those water bags. Leaving us dry, with the law on our backs."

  ’’That’s it, Morgan," said Leeman. ’’I figured you knew about the water bags. So let’s get it out in the open. If you’ve got to settle something with me, get it done right here, right now. I don’t want to have to worry about getting a bullet in the back while I’m killing federales."

  Shaw saw the dark, hate-filled look on Hatch’s face as he’d spoken to Leeman. Bone and Waite took a step toward him. Shaw remained in the same spot and watched, knowing that Leeman thought he was there to protect him, when in fact Shaw thought he couldn’t care less if they splattered Leeman
all over the dirt street.

  But instead of making their move, at the last minute Hatch seemed to take control of his temper. He cut a glance at Shaw, then back to Leeman. ’’Yeah, it’s in the open now, Deacon. I’m going to kill you—all three of yas. You jackpotting sons a’ bitches."

  ’’Then do it now!" Charlie Bone shouted, stepping forward, his hand poised near his gun butt.

  Hatch raised a hand to keep Sonny Engles from making a move for his Colt, knowing that once his and Sonny’s guns left their holsters, there would be no stopping until the street lay strewn with dead people. ’’No, we’re not doing it now. Sonny and I have all the time we need to kill the three of yas, and having a big gun like Shaw won’t save you from what’s coming to you, Deacon."

  ’’Charlie’s right, Morgan!" said Blackie Waite, also taking a step out beside Bone, the two of them goading Hatch for a fight. ’’Let’s get it done!"

  But Hatch took a step back; Sonny followed his lead, bristling at Bone and Waite. ’’All of yas see this," Hatch called out to the rest of the men gathered in the street, most of them checking their Winchester rifles, their Colts and Remingtons, in preparation for an ensuing battle with the Mexican army when the time came. ’’These snakes are wanting to throw down right now. But I say for the good of everybody, I’m holding off until the federales are all dead."

  ’’That’s right," Sonny Engles joined in, beginning to see what Hatch was getting at. ’’We’re holding off for everybody’s good," he said repeating Hatch’s words.

  Hatch stepped forward with his gun hand away from his Colt and pointed at Deacon Leeman. ’’Once the federales are dead, I’m putting Leeman and these other two snakes in the sand. Then you can each one decide whether or not I should be the leader of the border raiders."

  ’’You hear him, men?" said Leeman. ’’This gun tramp and his simpleminded sidekick think they can take over and lead the raiders." As he spoke he looked around at Shaw. ’’Anybody here want to tell these bummers how wrong they are? Shaw, what about you?"