Gunpoint

by Giles Tippette

  “Yes,” I said. Then I looked at him. “Pull your horse back. You’re crowding me. This young colt I’m riding gets nervous.”

  But he just said, “You have to take all theese moneys in cash, eh, señor? To buy theese cattles.”

  I shook my head. “No. I give them a draft on my bank.”

  The man to my left said, “Steel, it is muy peligroso for one hombre to be out in theese beeg country with all theese bank thengs. No?”

  I said, “No, it is not dangerous. The bank drafts are only good for the man I give them to.”

  They considered that for a time. Then the one to my right said, “Maybe we ride with you. There are many bad mens here. Maybe we help chou out.”

  I said, “No, thanks. I can take care of myself.”

  From my left the man said, “Maybe only a small present could save chou life. What chou thenk?”

  I suddenly pulled my horse up, jerked him back so sharp that the three Mexicans had ridden a few yards on past me before they realized what had happened. They turned their horses back to face me. Before they could come any nearer I dug in my pocket and came out with a five-dollar gold piece. I flipped it to the vaquero who’d been riding on my left. It took him by surprise but he still reacted in time to pluck it out of the air. He looked at it in his left palm. He said, “What es theese?”

  I said, “That’s enough money to go get drunk on. You better take it and go on back to town because there ain’t going to be any more.”

  One of the others said, “Hey, señor, what chou theenk? We es choust tryin’ to be freends wit’ chou. Maybe you make us a ensult? Eh?”

  I said evenly, “You boys are crowdin’ me. I don’t want any company, savvy?”

  The one on the left said, “I doan theenk chou are so freendly. Maybe chou don’t go to la escuella.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “I went to school. I can count if that’s your meaning. Now, you boys go on about your business and I’ll go on about mine.”

  I was mainly concerned about the man to my left, the older one, the one with the droopy mustache. He was obviously the leader and trouble, if it were to come, would more than likely start with him. For that reason I kept most of my gaze on him, just kind of watching the other two out of the corner of my right eye.

  He said, “It is berry dangerous por un hombre on theese mesa. Berry many bad mans.”

  I said, “I’m riding ahead. You boys had better not follow me.”

  The one with the mustache said, “I theenk, señor, that chou want to make us a better present. I theenk maybe that horse you are riding belong to me. I theenk maybe you would like to pay me for heem.”

  “Get out of my way,” I said.

  He said, “Señor, I am going to show chou about the bad menschou could meet an’ what theese bad mens might do.” In the middle of the sentence his hand started for his gun. I had been anticipating it.

  He never cleared leather. I drew and shot even as his hand was trying to start upwards. I aimed just to the right and high on his chest, hoping to hit him in the shoulder. I didn’t want to kill him; that might have caused me a delay while matters got straightened out. But I did want to impress on the three that I was not a man to be dallied with.

  The shot was only over the distance of a few yards and, fortunately, I saw that I had caught him in the left shoulder. The force of the bullet knocked him backwards out of the saddle and he fell hard to the ground. I could hear the whoosh as the air was driven out of his lungs. His revolver had gone tumbling away, well out of his reach. In almost the same instant as I’d fired I’d swung my pistol on the other two. They both had a hand on the butts of their revolvers, but they paused when they saw the one big eye of my .42/.40 staring at them. I said softly, “Tien cuidado.” Have caution.

  One said, “You have keeled our frien’. You go to the sheeriff.”

  I shook my head. “He ain’t dead, but he needs a doctor. Now get him back on his horse and take him to town.”

  They stared at me for a second. I stared back, the hammer on my revolver cocked. The man on the ground began making moaning sounds. I said, “He’s losing blood. You had better help him.”

  With their eyes riveted on me they slowly dismounted and went over to their friend. Without much ceremony they got him on his feet and over to where his horse had run off a few yards. I was proud that the roan had not acted up at all to the gunshot. But that’s the way Ben trained them. They started getting used to guns before they were six months old.

  I watched silently while they helped the man in the saddle. His left arm hung limp and his left sleeve was bloody to the cuff. Almost certainly my slug had broken a bone and it wasn’t going to heal before breakfast either. But if you went about trying the sort of games these young men did you had to expect the consequences.

  The two had remounted. They rode over to their injured comrade and one of them supported him in the saddle. He was still pretty groggy. One minute he’d been on top of the situation and the next he was hitting the ground flat on his back. They started away slowly. One of the two turned back to me and shook a finger. “We come back and feex you good.”

  I said, “I could have killed him. And both of you just as easily as I wounded him. You come bothering me anymore and I will kill you.”

  “We tell the sheriff. He put you in the calaboose.”

  Which I rather doubted. In fact I doubted if they even lived in El Campo. Most likely they were drifters who wandered around the country taking advantage whenever opportunity presented itself.

  I watched them until they were at least a mile away, and then urged my colt into a slow lope, putting some distance between myself and them. Once or twice I looked back. The first time they’d been reduced to small dots. By the second look they were over the horizon and out of sight.

  However, I still kept my horses in a ground-eating gait. They might indeed go to the sheriff and he might be fool enough to come after me. It wouldn’t cause me trouble; a few telegrams would settle that. But it would delay me and maybe even take me back to El Campo, a situation that did not fit in my plans.

  Finally, after a couple of hours, I pulled my animals down to a walk. Neither horse was even breathing hard. The colt was a lot harder and heartier than Ben had thought.

  Ahead I could see a pretty good little grove of oak trees. There’d be no water for the horses, but there would be shade. I got out my watch and looked at it. It was a little after one o’clock. I knew that the east fork of the Navidad River was only some five or six miles ahead. I could make a lunch in the shade of the grove, let the horses have a little rest, and then water them at the Navidad. After that we could make another ten miles before time to bed down for the night.

  I didn’t make much of a bother about lunch, just ground-reined both horses and let them graze in a little circle. I got the brisket out of the pack, along with the end of a loaf of bread and a can of peaches, and made do with a few slices of the meat and the bread, washing them down with water. After that I punched a big hole in the top of the can of peaches with my Bowie and drank off the sweet juice, sucking at the can until I got every last drop. Then I had a good stiff drink, lit a cigarillo, walked to the eastern side of the grove, and looked back. Not a sign of anything out of the ordinary. Doubts began to assail my mind, doubts that I might have outsmarted myself by leaving in the middle of the night and eluding my would-be killer. If he wasn’t tracking me I was giving a couple of horses an awful lot of work for nothing. But I had to admit I was enjoying the solitude. It was a good deal of relief to go this long without having someone tugging at my elbow to ask me a question or for a favor or to render a decision of some kind. I missed Nora, but I was just starting to realize how badly I’d needed to be alone for a time. I threw my cigarillo away, went back, got the horses ready for the road, and set out.

  My direction was aiming me right at the town of Yoakum, so I cut a little south so as to pass between it and the old village of Cuero. I rode on for a while, not thinking mu
ch of anything, content to let the horses amble along over the prairie. The sun seemed to be getting hotter every day, but there wasn’t much I could do about that except sweat. About a mile from the fork in the Navidad River my horses commenced to take an interest in speeding up. They too had been sweating, and they were wanting a drink pretty bad. One of the reasons I’d chosen the route I was on was that I knew that I was never more than a day’s ride from water. I couldn’t carry enough for the horses so I had to depend on finding it. But southeast Texas was flush with little rivers and creeks. In fact we were facing a couple between where we were and the border that weren’t going to be easy to cross—especially if there had been much rain upstream and the rivers were on the rise.

  The trees were sparse along the Navidad, but we weren’t going to tarry long. It wasn’t much of a river, maybe fifteen yards across. It was broader before it forked and the water was good and clear. I let the horses drink their fill and then pulled them back. I had decided I’d give myself a little bath. I’d been in the same clothes for the last three days and I was starting to smell myself. I took off my boots and my gun belt, emptied out my pockets, and then waded into the water upstream from where the horses had watered and stirred it up. I got out to where it was about waist deep, and then just kind of sat down and sloshed around. It was a relief from the sun and mighty refreshing.

  I was just sitting there, letting the water cool me, when I heard the sound of men on horseback. My animals were in the trees. Sparse as the trees were, they still offered some concealment. I scrambled out of the river as quietly as I could, picked up my revolver, and then lay down at the base of a tree and looked out. There were four of them, about a mile away. They were to the north of me and heading straight for the river. It would have been the route I would have taken if I’d been going directly from El Campo to Yoakum. Were they a sheriff’s posse chasing me for shooting the Mexican? Were they my would-be assassins, convinced I was much further ahead than I was? Of one thing I was sure, they weren’t casual travelers or cattlemen going about their business. Neither would have been using their horses so hard on such a hot day. They were either running from something or somebody or they were chasing somebody. They were too far away for me to tell anything from their faces or their clothes, and certainly too far away to see a badge. I just lay still and watched them. As soon as they slowed to enter the tree line by the river I crept back down toward the water to have a look. My heart was in my throat that one of my horses would catch scent of them and let out a nicker, but fortunately the wind, what little there was, was blowing toward the horsemen. My horses were too far separated to hold both their noses closed, and by the time I got them both together, it might well be too late.

  But I was more interested in seeing what the four riders did. Looking cautiously upstream I could just make them out pausing to let their mounts drink. They weren’t long about the matter because, after only a few minutes, they pulled their horses’ heads up and went splashing across the shallow river. Once on the bank they set off, heading toward Yoakum at a high lope. Yoakum was fifteen miles off and they sure as hell weren’t figuring on going all that way at such a pace, at least not on live horses.

  I didn’t tarry. I watched them until they’d disappeared over a rise in the prairie, and then hurriedly stuffed my belongings back in my pockets, strapped on my gun belt, and struggled to get my boots on over wet socks. I had meant to change the socks, but now I didn’t feel as if I had time. If that was a catch party hunting me they’d realize, after only a few more miles, that I wasn’t heading for Yoakum, and they’d begin casting about for some sign of me, looking either north or further south. To my good fortune the prairie was so cut up with sign of every kind, from cattle to horses to men on foot, that they shouldn’t be able to cut my trail. But right then, I wanted to put even more distance between me and that party. Of course I couldn’t know if they were looking for me, but I had no intention of finding out if I could help it.

  I got my horses together at river’s edge, swung aboard the roan, and then went across the river and turned even more south. I had intended to gather up some firewood for that night from the downed wood along the river, but now I figured I could get along without it. On that prairie, if you didn’t mistake it for a star, you could see a camp fire for five or six miles.

  A new worry had been added. I could not let myself be detained by some misguided law officials. It would necessitate me hanging around a town for several days while I was clearing myself. And a town, especially a strange town, was the last place I wanted to be. Anybody could step out of an alley and shoot me dead before I could grip my pistol. Or come into my hotel room, wake me up, tell me who was behind the whole matter, give me time enough to reflect on that, and then shoot me.

  Now there was not just my bushwhacker, or bushwhackers, to watch for, there was also the possibility of a posse. Damn those Mexican thieves, I thought, why did they have to be there just when I was stuffing money in my pockets and in my saddlebags? Of course I could blame myself as well. I’d been in too big a rush to be secretive about the matter.

  Well, all I could do now was make some miles.

  I rode until just before sundown. By my watch it was just after seven-thirty. It would begin staying lighter and lighter for the next few weeks. I didn’t know if that was in my favor or not.

  Finally I found a little cleared place on top of a little hummock where the grass had been grazed down, and stopped and made a sort of a camp. I unpacked my supplies and took the packsaddle off the chestnut. After that I arranged their picket ropes and led both horses down into the little depression at the bottom of the hummock. The grass was more plentiful there and they were nearly out of sight. After that I gave both of them a good feed of oats and left them to their own devices. I made a cold supper out of beef and cheese and bread and had a can of apricots for dessert. It was just coming good dark by the time I spread my bedroll over my slicker and got my saddle adjusted. I risked the light of a last cigarillo and then sat there on the mound smoking and having a drink of whiskey out of the tin cup I used for coffee. By rights I figured I should have moved off and made my bed in the high grass. But from the mound I’d be able to see further, assuming I woke up in time to see anything, and it also gave me a more commanding field of fire. Of course, that was no good if somebody was to slip up and either get the drop on me or cut my throat.

  I finished my cigarillo, ground it out carefully, and then sat there drinking the last of my whiskey. I had taken off my boots and gun belt, putting my revolver to quick hand, and was about to try for some sleep when I saw a slight glimmer far out across the prairie. It was to the north and slightly to the west of me. I stared at it a long time, becoming more and more convinced it was a camp fire and not a star. A few stars were already up, but the little glow of light was too low on the horizon to be a star, even one just rising. But I watched it for the better part of an hour. It didn’t move. That was enough to convince me it was a camp fire. But whose? More than likely it belonged to the four men who’d been in such a hurry. Of course there was always the possibility of my would-be assassin. He might just be letting me know he was there.

  I laid back uneasily and shut my eyes. But I didn’t really sleep, just dozed off and on with most of my brain awake and all of my ears. Every so often I’d rise up off the saddle and take a look. The glow was dimming as the fire melted into a bed of coals. They hadn’t paused at the tree line for firewood so it was more than likely a fire made out of dried cow manure. That burned hot, but it didn’t burn long.

  I kept raising up like that every half an hour or so until the fire had completely burned itself out. There was no movement to be seen. Finally I decided the hell with it. The moon was down and most of the stars were beginning to disappear. I figured it was close on to four of the morning. I decided my best option was to steal away quietly. In the dark I hadn’t been able to judge how far away the fire was. It could have been a mile, it could have been four miles. It was l
ike that on the prairie.

  So I roused myself, rolled up my sleeping bag and slicker, and went down and got the horses. They’d stayed pretty close to where I’d left them. I got them back up on the mound, and then as carefully and quietly as I could I packed the chestnut and then saddled and bridled the roan. I was especially careful with any piece of equipment, such as the roan’s bits, that might make any noise. Sound, like on the water, carried a long way across the prairie.

  When they were ready I stepped into the stirrup and swung aboard the roan, wincing as my saddle creaked.

  I took the chestnut on lead and started off, aiming even more south, almost toward Cuero. I’d keep that route for several miles and then swing back to the northwest to pass halfway between Yoakum and Cuero. I knew there was a road between the two towns and I had to hope that the posse, if they were such, wasn’t patrolling it.

  Riding along in the morning dark I had a sobering thought. Twice I’d been under the cover of a tree-lined waterway when I’d had company coming. But I couldn’t expect that kind of luck to continue. The next time I ran across a stranger or a gang of strangers that might or might not intend me harm, I could well be out in the open with the options all on the other side. Whoever was chasing me and had threatened me knew me and knew me by sight. I had no earthly idea what he or they might look like. It put me in the position of being constantly on my guard and just a hairsbreadth from drawing and firing my revolver.

  * * *

  I held that west-by-southwest line for the next two days, aiming for Pleasanton, where I intended to get off another wire to Norris. The country was beginning to change as I began to leave the coastal plains. The grass was shorter and the land began to roll and dip with some appreciable hills and valleys. It was not rough country yet, but it was getting more broken with more trees. I could always tell when I was near a ranch because I’d see scattered clumps of cattle gathered around a water hole or near a windmill tank. In hot weather cattle didn’t stray much, they mostly drank a lot and laid around. Occasionally I’d see a cowhand or two in the distance. At first the sight would make me jump, but then I’d see that they were tending to the cattle and I’d relax and go on. From time to time one of them would wave and I’d give a wave back. Mostly they were out checking for worms. If a cow could find a way to cut herself she would, and if you didn’t catch the cut early you’d have worms Johnny quick.