Gunmen of the Desert Sands

by Ralph Cotton

  ’’Now Palo and I can thank you, senor," said Martene, still holding the reins to the wounded soldier’s horse, the three of them looking back on the glow of firelight and the sound of rifle and cannon fire.

  ’’You’ve still got to get to your column without your own men shooting you," said Shaw. He thought about Dawson, Caldwell and Tunis being somewhere on the sand flats trail ahead and asked, ’’Can you both make it all right from here?" As he spoke a blast of gunshots resounded less than five hundred yards to their right, the place where Sonny Engles had ridden into a half dozen soldiers.

  ’’Sí, we will be all right," said Private Martene, ’’but what about you? Our soldiers will be looking everywhere on these flats for raiders."

  ’’I’ll be all right," Shaw said. He turned the buckskin and tapped his boot heels to its sides. The two soldiers watched him ride away into the darkness.

  Three hundred yards beyond where the blasts of gunfire had erupted, Dawson, Caldwell and Tunis all three stopped and turned their horses toward the muzzle flashes and the sound of what sounded like a raging gun battle. ’’Sounds like it could be the men we’re looking for," said Dawson.

  ’’Or Shaw," said Caldwell.

  ’’Or both," said Tunis.

  ’’The Mexican soldiers have knocked a hornet’s nest down on their heads," said Caldwell. Far to the east of Zarco another gun battle erupted. The three lawmen looked in that direction, then back at the gun battle nearest to them.

  ’’Let’s get closer, see what we’ve got," said Dawson. He gigged his horse up into a run, Caldwell right behind him, Tunis following Caldwell.

  By the time they had arrived at the spot where the battle had raged only moments earlier, the firing had ceased. On the ground lay four Mexican soldiers, three dead and one wounded. When Dawson eased down from his horse and walked toward him in the purple moonlit night, the soldier groaned and said, ’’No dispara! Por favor, no dispara!"

  ’’We’re not going to shoot," Dawson replied. ’’We’re not with the raiders. We’re lawmen, on their trail." He pulled his U.S. Marshal’s badge from his duster pocket and held it out for the man to see.

  ’’Ah, thank God," the soldier said in a strained voice, holding his bloody upper right ribs.

  ’’Which way did they go, Sergeant?" said Dawson, seeing the stripes on the man’s sleeve as he stooped down for a closer look at the wound.

  ’’He went west, toward Saltilo and Metagore," the sergeant said, letting Dawson take a look. ’’It is where anyone on the run goes from here, if they know the desert and do not want to die of thirst."

  ’’He?" said Caldwell, stooping down beside Dawson.

  ’’Yes, only one man did this," said the soldier. ’’But he was a wild man. He shot the four of us, and sent two more running." He looked into Dawson’s eyes and said, ’’His ear is falling off! His face is cut and bruised. He will not be hard to recognize."

  Dawson and Caldwell gave each other a curious look. While the two sat stooped over the wounded man, Tunis walked a few yards away and came back leading a horse. Seeing Tunis and the animal, Dawson asked the man as he untied his bandanna, folded it, laid it in the wound and pressed the man’s hand on it, ’’Are you able to ride?"

  ’’Sí, in a little while," the man replied.

  ’’Are you going to be all right out here?" asked Caldwell. ’’These outlaws are everywhere."

  ’’I am all right." The wounded man sat up some and gestured toward a canteen hanging from the horse’s saddle horn. ’’Give me the canteen, please. I will rest here awhile and find my way back."

  ’’When you see the soldiers, tell them we’re out here," said Tunis.

  ’’I will tell them," the man said, but with a look that asked what good it would do.

  ’’Gracias." Dawson patted the man’s sweaty shoulder. Then the three mounted and turned their horses to ride on. But before they could, a voice called out in the darkness, ’’Stop where you are! Hold up your hands!"

  ’’Soldiers," said Dawson, hearing the broken English.

  Behind them, the three lawmen heard the wounded soldier call out in Spanish telling them not to shoot. ’’These men are not the border raiders. They are lawmen hunting them down, the same as we are."

  ’’Americano lawmen?" said a thin, narrow-eyed lieutenant, as his horse carried him forward at a slow walk. Out of the greater darkness a circle of riflemen on foot closed in around the lawmen, their breechloading rifles up and pointed.

  ’’Sí, americanos," said the sergeant. ’’They helped me. Look, this one gave his bandanna for my gunshot wound. They are not border raiders. He showed me his marshal’s badge."

  ’’Ha! Any of the border raiders could have killed a marshal and taken his badge," the lieutenant said. ’’I will decide if they are lawmen or not." To the circled riflemen he said, ’’Take their guns and their horses. We will hold them until we know who they are."

  The three lawmen looked at one another, knowing how long it could take and how hard it might be for them to prove they were lawmen. ’’Go!" shouted Dawson, nailing his spurs to his horse’s sides, charging through the soldiers as they stepped forward to disarm them.

  ’’No!" Tunis shouted, sitting still as Caldwell took Dawson’s command and the two raced away into the darkness with bullets whistling past them. No sooner were the two out of sight than Tunis realized what a mistake his hesitancy had been. He watched the soldiers close around him again, this time jerking him from his saddle, jerking his Colt from his holster, his rifle from its boot.

  Fifty yards out, Dawson and Caldwell slid to a halt and looked back. ’’Why didn’t he come?" Dawson asked.

  ’’I don’t know," said Caldwell, ’’but it’ll go hard on him, after us running away."

  ’’I know," said Dawson, letting out a tight breath. ’’Circle around. We’ll cut through from two directions, get him out before they get settled."

  ’’Got you," said Caldwell, booting his horse around before Dawson had hardly gotten the words out of his mouth.

  As some of the soldiers stood reloading their rifles, the others hurried Tunis over and stood him in front of the mounted lieutenant. ’’I will make you wish you never heard of the border raiders," he said.

  ’’We’re not raiders," said Tunis. ’’We are lawmen. But the fact is—"

  Before he could finish his words a rumble of hooves converged from two directions, causing the men to look back and forth until both riders bolted in out of the darkness. Their paths crisscrossed right in front of the startled lieutenant, whose horse reared with him, causing him to have to wrestle with his reins and settle the spooked animal down. By then all that remained of Tunis were his guns and his horse.

  ’’Find them! Kill them!" the enraged lieutenant shouted, looking all around in his humiliation.

  ’’But they are not the raiders!" the wounded sergeant shouted. But the lieutenant didn’t seem to hear him.

  A hundred yards away, Caldwell slowed his horse to a stop and looked over at Dawson, who did the same. ’’Now we’ll have the army on our backs," he said.

  Behind Caldwell, Tunis said to both of them, ’’I’m sorry. I don’t know why I stalled on you. I suppose I thought I could explain everything away and get us set free."

  Dawson kept himself calm. ’’We all three got away, that’s the main thing."

  ’’I—I don’t know what to say," Tunis stammered. ’’I didn’t expect the two of you to come back for me." He looked at Dawson, then at Caldwell, who’d turned in his saddle and faced him. ’’I’m much obliged. I won’t make a mistake like that again."

  ’’You better not," said Dawson.

  ’’What do we do now?" Caldwell asked. ’’He’s got no horse, no guns."

  ’’We’ve got to go on into Zarco, even if we’re riding double," said Dawson.

  ’’Wait," said Tunis, ’’I know you’re in charge, but I have to say, we’re crazy to not pull back and get out of here, let t
he federales have the raiders this time. We can’t fight them if we’re rotting in a Mexican prison while somebody in Washington decides whether or not to claim us."

  The three sat in silence for a long moment; then Caldwell said, ’’What about Shaw, Tunis? How do we know he’s not stuck in Zarco, waiting for us to come get him?"

  ’’Right," Dawson said quietly, ’’the way we came back and got you?"

  ’’Yes, of course, Shaw ... I understand," Tunis said, looking off toward the sound of cannon fire.

  Three miles away, as separate gun battles flared up randomly on the flats behind him, Shaw had ridden straight in the direction he knew the three lawmen would be coming from. When the flurry of hoofprints running in every direction turned into three sets riding toward him across an otherwise smooth white desert floor, he knew the three were already on the flats somewhere between himself and the cannon fire still pounding Zarco in the darkness behind him. All right . . .

  He couldn’t blame Dawson for not waiting as they had planned to do. The federales and their cannons had changed everything. But the fight wouldn’t be in Zarco now. The leadership of the raiders had already scattered. All Dawson and his two lawmen were going to find if they made it through the soldiers there were underlings, the ones not fortunate enough to catch themselves a horse and get away when he’d fanned the animals out onto the street.

  Shaw sat looking back and forth across the wide, seemingly endless stretch of flat and rolling sand, from one streak of gunshots to the next, the desert having turned into an even more dangerous place than it had been already. He was finished here, he thought, now that he’d gotten the two soldiers out without getting them killed.

  He’d done what he’d told Dawson he’d do. He’d kept Leeman and Hatch at each other’s throat. Had the army not shown up when it did, he was certain he would have had them killing each other on the street. He gave a thin, wry smile, thinking about it. No, he reflected, flashes of gunfire glittering in his eyes as he nudged the buckskin forward, back toward Zarco, there was nothing holding him here, but what the hell? Picturing Francisca, knowing what high regard she held for him, he drew his Winchester rifle out of its boot and levered a round up into the chamber. Angels don’t always need a reason.

  Besides, he’d heard Hatch telling Sonny where they were headed. If they were headed for Metagore, he had a strong hunch Leeman and his two close henchmen were headed the same direction. He needed to find Dawson, Caldwell and Tunis and let them know. With the flash of cannons casting a circling glow on the horizon, Shaw rode back toward Zarco, keeping an eye on the three sets of tracks once again until he saw the flurry of both boot prints and hoofprints. Then he struck on again, this time following only two sets of tracks, but having a pretty good idea they belonged to the same riders.

  Dawson, Caldwell and Tunis had managed to dodge stray bullets and avoid soldiers all the way across the sand flats, to the safety of a low sandy draw less than a thousand yards from Zarco. Cannon fire still pounded the town; rifle fire resounded in reply, but more sparingly now.

  ’’The raiders still in Zarco must’ve figured out the soldiers have found themselves cover out on the flats," said Tunis, staring out at the random streak of rifle fire as the cannons pounded steadily, shot after shot, one firing while the other reloaded.

  Dawson looked at Caldwell and asked, ’’How long before daylight, Jedson?" He looked all around as he asked, knowing the desert would be crawling all night with fleeing gunmen and pursuing soldiers.

  Caldwell took a railroad watch from his vest pocket. After squinting to make out the time in the grainy moonlight, he gave up, opened the front of the case and felt the watch’s hands with his fingertips. ’’A couple more hours," he replied.

  ’’Are we going in at first light?" Tunis asked.

  ’’Before first light," said Dawson. ’’Come sunup, we’ll never get through the soldiers. We’re going in long enough to see if Shaw’s there. If he is, he comes out with us. Otherwise we’ll take down any raiders left alive, and get out as fast as we can, before the army rides in chopping off heads."

  As the three spoke quietly among themselves, Shaw heard their whispered voices as he stepped down from his saddle and led the big buckskin forward. Finally he heard Dawson say to the other two, ’’Hold it, what’s that?" A silence followed as Shaw stopped his horse for a second, then said quietly, ’’Dawson, it’s me, Shaw."

  ’’Shaw!" Dawson said in surprise. He looked at Caldwell and Tunis, then said, ’’Get in here. This place is crawling with soldiers."

  ’’I know, I’ve been ducking them the past hour," said Shaw, stepping in over the edge of the low rise of sand in a crouch. He looked back and forth, and asked, ’’Who lost their horse back there?"

  ’’It’s a long story," said Dawson, covering for Tunis. But the government agent would have none of it. ’’That was me," he said quietly. ’’The soldiers had us surrounded, Dawson told us to make a run for it, I didn’t do it."

  Shaw gave Dawson a look. ’’That wasn’t a long story after all."

  Dawson changed the subject. ’’What happened in Zarco, Shaw? It sounded like the whole army came down on the place."

  ’’That’s what the raiders must’ve thought too," Shaw replied. He took a breath and told them everything, including the fact that Leeman, his two main men and Hatch and Sonny had cut out and left the other men on their own. When he’d finished, he said, ’’I figure the rest of them hightailed as soon as they could, either riding or on foot. That’s the gunfighting we’ve been hearing all over these flats."

  ’’We had a pretty good idea that’s what it was," Dawson said flatly.

  Shaw looked at Dawson closely and asked, ’’What brought you here anyway? Anybody still alive has cut out by now."

  ’’Seeing how the plan got changed, we thought we ought to come in and make sure you got out all right," said Dawson.

  ’’I’m much obliged," Shaw said, not admitting his only reason for riding back was to find them. ’’But I figure this waltz is over. The raiders are gone. The cannons are only firing now to make sure none of them come back. The soldados are running them down."

  ’’There it is now," said Caldwell, at the sound of a sudden outburst of rifle fire in the distance.

  ’’Yep," said Shaw, ’’the buzzards will have a fiesta for the next week." He looked at Dawson and said, ’’I heard Morgan Hatch tell Engles they were headed for Metagore. I figure if that’s where they’re headed, it’s where we’ll find Leeman too. They’re both dead set on killing each other."

  ’’Metagore sounds right," said Dawson. ’’We found a wounded soldier who said the man who shot him headed out in that direction. Said the fellow had an ear ripped off, hanging by a shred. I wonder what happened to him."

  ’’That’s Sonny," Shaw said. ’’I spiked him in the ears with my spurs."

  ’’Spiked him?" Dawson and the other two looked at him curiously, then down at the one-inch blunt spike spurs on his boot heels.

  Shaw shrugged. ’’I was tied to a post, it’s the best I could do."

  The three shrugged with him, in acknowledgment.

  ’’You were out of here, Shaw?" Dawson asked. ’’What brought you back?"

  Shaw didn’t answer, which to Dawson was an answer in itself. He had come back looking for them. Dawson glanced at Caldwell with a slight nod.

  Instead of an answer, Shaw sighed and said, ’’Now that the raiders are headed for Metagore, the army will be right behind them come morning when they see there’s hoofprints headed that way. Do you want to leave them to the Mexican army now that they’re on their tails?"

  ’’What do you think?" Dawson asked.

  Shaw looked toward Zarco, then out across the dark purple sand flats toward the west. ’’I think we better travel quick and quiet. These soldiers have done enough shooting tonight. They’re bound to be trigger-happy." He stood up and dusted the seat of his trousers.

  Chapter 25

 
The four traveled in silence throughout the night, avoiding any sound of approaching hooves on their meandering journey across a sea of pale white sand and purple night. Tunis rode double, first with Caldwell, then with Dawson, until they finally came upon Filo Hewes lying mortally wounded on the ground, his horse’s reins in hand. Next to Hewes lay Sandy Kerns’ body, a ragged bullet hole above his left eye.

  Shaw rode in closer and stepped down beside Hewes, the three lawmen lagging back a few feet, keeping an eye on the surrounding darkness. Looking up at him in the moonlight, Hewes said in a weak voice, ’’Shaw, hot damn ... I see you made it out okay." He coughed up dark foamy blood and said, ’’Some wild night, eh?"

  ’’Yeah, some wild night, Filo," Shaw replied, realizing this man had no idea what had gone on, with Leeman, with Hatch, with himself and the two soldiers making their getaway. ’’How bad are you hit?" he asked in a low whisper.

  ’’Me? Oh, hell ... I’m dead," said Filo, not sounding too concerned with the matter. ’’I’m just lying here ... waiting for it."

  ’’I see," said Shaw, not even bothering to stoop down and check his wounds. ’’You need anything?" The surrounding sand beneath Hewes was too darkly sated with his blood for him to live out the night.

  ’’Not that I can ... think of," Hewes whispered.

  Shaw reached out, took the reins to Filo’s horse and tugged them. ’’I could use this cayouse, if you’re sure you’re through with it."

  Filo let the reins slide free of his hand.

  ’’Obliged," said Shaw. ’’Who else made it out of there?"

  ’’Anybody who had any sense ... one way or the other," Hewes said. ’’Towan Bartley stayed, so did Sibott ... a few others." He shook his head. ’’I don’t know what they ... were thinking."

  ’’Neither do I," said Shaw. ’’You sure you don’t need anything ... ?" His words trailed at seeing Hewes slump down and let out a wet rasping breath.