The RECKONING: A Jess Williams Western

by Robert J. Thomas

  “Hi, Jess,” said Sheriff Diggs. “I sure didn’t expect to find you out here and especially never expected to see you working the field. Hell, I thought someone was trying to squat and I’d have to run him off. I figured you would still be at Jim and Sara’s. You expecting trouble?” he asked, nodding at the rifle and shotgun leaning on the plow.

  “I wasn’t expecting any, but if there was, I’d be ready for it,” he replied. “I decided to stay here and work the ranch. Got to be a man and do a man’s work now, Sheriff. They didn’t leave me much choice about that the way I figure.” The sheriff knew who they were. “I reckon you didn’t find them unless you had to kill them and bury their carcasses out on the trail.”

  “No such luck,” replied Sheriff Diggs dejectedly. “I would have loved to bury the bastards if I found them. We did find out who they were with the help of some other unfortunate people they robbed not more than ten miles from here. I also got some news from the sheriff in a little town about twenty miles east of here. They stopped there for a drink and someone overheard them bragging about how they killed some people and raped some women. The sheriff didn’t have any wanted posters on them, but he did get a look at them and he gave me a pretty good description. We had a local artist in town draw up some wanted posters and I showed them to the couple that was robbed and they were able to identify all three of them. I need you to look at them to see if they are the same three men you met on the road that day.” Jess took the drawings from the sheriff and looked at them, the look on his face hardening as he did. It was the same three men.

  “The youngest one,” the sheriff continued as Jess looked over the drawings, “is Randy Hastings. He’s the one with the missing boot heel. He carries two six-guns with pearl handles. The other one is Blake Taggert. He’s the one with the bushy beard unless he’s shaved it off by now, but I doubt it. He carries a left-handed six-shooter. The oldest one is Frank Beard. He always wears a yellow bandana. He carries a six-shooter, but his specialty is a double barreled shotgun. Hear tell, he’s killed several men with it.”

  Jess looked up at the sheriff with a blank hard look. “These are the three men I met on the road, Sheriff. I’m sure of it. The drawings are a good likeness, that’s for sure. Can I keep these?”

  “Of course,” replied Diggs. “Jess, is there anything else I can do for you right now? Can we help with some of the work here? Running a ranch is a lot of responsibility for a young man.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff,” he replied flatly, “but I can take care of the ranch and myself just fine.”

  “All right, then. You take care, Jess,” the sheriff said as he and his three deputies started to turn their horses around. Just then Jess stopped the sheriff and asked him the one question the sheriff hoped he would never ask, and yet somehow he knew that he would.

  “Sheriff; you said they bragged about raping some women; meaning more than one. Does that mean they raped my little sister Samantha?” he asked solemnly.

  Sheriff Diggs’ eyes fell to the ground. He didn’t want to answer the question, but there was no way he could avoid it. He knew that in his heart. Jess deserved to know the truth no matter how terrible. The sheriff was a man who always figured the truth was the best way out of a bad situation. His eyes slowly raised from the ground and he looked Jess straight in the eyes and told Jess the cold terrible truth.

  “Yes. I had hoped not to have to tell you about it,” he replied sympathetically. “But the truth is those bastards did rape Samantha. I’m sorry to have to tell you that.”

  Jess’s eyes glazed over and darkness seemed to emanate from the back of them and the sheriff had seen the look that he had in his eyes all too often lately. He knew the look; rage, revenge, love, hate, all wrapped up in one look. He saw it in these eyes of a boy not yet fifteen. He knew what Jess had on his mind and he knew there was nothing that he or anyone else for that matter could do to change it. Jess never changed his look or never lost his lock on the sheriff’s eyes.

  “Thanks for your honesty, Sheriff,” he replied sharply.

  “You’re welcome. I only wish I could have done more,” replied the sheriff sadly.

  “That’s okay, you’re a good man, Sheriff, and I figure I owe you one,” he replied. “I know you’ve done your best. I’ll take care of it from here.” The sheriff didn’t have to try to figure out what that meant.

  Sheriff Diggs and his men turned their horses and headed back down the ranch road out to the main trail leading into Black Creek. As they did, the other three men with the sheriff tipped their hats at Jess as if to say they understood what he was going through. Jess simply nodded back. As the men rode away, one of them looked over at the sheriff with an apprehensive look on his face.

  “Did you see what that boy had in his eyes?” the man asked. “I ain’t ever seen that much rage and coldness in any man’s eyes, much less a boy.”

  “I know,” replied the sheriff, “but he ain’t no boy anymore. Hell, it’s only been a few days since I’ve seen him and I swear he looks five years older already. And by the look in his eyes, he’ll damn well do it that’s for sure. I’ve seen that look before and it ain’t a good look. I wouldn’t want to be any of those three bastards.”

  Jess watched the sheriff and his three deputy’s ride off down the main road until they were out of sight. He went back to plowing the field as if nothing happened. He thought about his sister Samantha. He thought of the fear and helplessness she must have went through as she was being raped and murdered. He could hardly contain the rage within him; but he continued to plow, never stopping. The rage would fuel him. The rage would keep him going. The rage would always be his edge.

  He finished plowing for the day. He walked back up to the house with the rifle in one hand and the shotgun in his other and when he got to the porch, he noticed a large box sitting on the porch. He looked inside. He found several loaves of bread, a dozen biscuits, an apple pie and a big pot of stew. Sara. He had been so busy he never seen her drop it off.

  He finished supper and got his pa’s gun and holster along with the new pistol and holster he found and went out to the creek for his nightly practice. He spent the next two hours practicing. First, he practiced with his pa’s gun. He would draw the gun over and over again. Sometimes he thumbed the hammer and sometimes he fanned the hammer. His pa’s gun was much heavier than the other gun and much harder to get out of the holster quickly. He noticed as soon as he strapped the new gun on, everything worked so much smoother and faster. The very design of the new gun and holster made it much easier to draw it quicker. Fanning the gun was easier, too with the tall hammer that stuck straight up. Jess looked at the pistol where it had .41 Caliber stamped on it.

  He took six .45 caliber shells out of a box of ammo and put them into the pistol. They fit perfectly. He took them back out and even tried to put the lead end one of the bullets into the front of the barrel of the gun and it looked as if it was the correct caliber. Somehow, and he would never find out why, someone had the wrong caliber stamped on this pistol. He loaded the gun again and placed it back in the holster. He drew and fired at a tree across the creek. He was amazed at how much easier and quicker his draw was with this new pistol. He finished his practice with the new gun going through almost fifty rounds of ammo, and went back to the house. After making some coffee to go along with a nice piece of Sara’s apple pie, he went to bed with his pa’s .45 loaded next to him on the bed.

  In the morning he decided to go into town for some supplies. He stopped at the general store and thanked Sara for the food and Jim for all his help. He ordered some supplies he thought he needed, and some .45 cartridges for his pa’s gun.

  “Why do you need bullets, Jess?” asked Jim.

  “Just doing some target shooting down by the creek,” replied Jess.

  “You need a dozen boxes for target shooting?”

  “You do if you plan on target shooting a lot,” he replied bluntly. “I hope you’ll allow me credit like my pa.”

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p; “Why of course, Jess,” he replied. “By the way, did you know that your pa had some money in the bank? I’m not saying that so you will pay me in cash, I just thought you should know.”

  “No, I never knew my pa had any money saved,” he replied.

  “Well, you go see Mr. Jameson at the bank and I’m sure he will let you know all about it,” said Jim.

  “Thanks Mr. Smythe,” he replied.

  The bank was small and there were only three windows with one man working the only window that was open. Mr. Jameson was sitting behind a desk over to the left of the teller windows. As soon as he spotted Jess, he got up immediately.

  “Good afternoon, Jess. I’m really sorry about what happened to your family,” exclaimed Mr. Jameson. “What can I do to help you today?”

  “Jim Smythe says my pa had money in your bank and that it probably belongs to me. Is that right?” he asked.

  “That’s right, Jess. Why don’t we go look at the account and see how much is there. He was a good man, your pa,” said Jameson kindly.

  “That’s nice of you to say, Mr. Jameson, sir,” replied Jess. Jameson went behind his desk and picked out a ledger book from a shelf. He leafed through some pages and found what he was looking for.

  “Oh…yes…hmm…here we go,” Jameson said in his low banker’s voice, “yes, he has…or I guess you have…two hundred, seventy-two dollars, and sixteen cents. Do you need some of the money right now?”

  “Well, I don’t rightly know just yet,” he replied, as he thought about it for a moment. “How about if I take out twenty dollars for now? That way I can pay off my pa’s bill and pay cash for my supplies. I guess I can use credit when I really have to. Better to pay my way if I can, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely,” replied Jameson. “Banks are for borrowing money when you don’t have it and credit is for people who can’t pay right away. The less you use of either is a good way for a man to live, Jess.”

  “I agree,” he replied.

  Mr. Jameson filled out a slip of paper for Jess. “Here, take this to the teller and he’ll get you your money.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Jameson. You’ve been a real big help. This will be my bank from now on.”

  “Why thank you, Jess. That’s a mighty nice thing to say,” said Jameson.

  Jess walked out of the bank and headed to the general store. He loaded up his supplies and paid in cash even over Jim’s repeated objections. Jim was a little more than curious when Jess also asked for two dozen boxes of .45 caliber rounds instead of the original dozen he had asked for when he first came in. Jess figured as long as he had the money, he might as well get plenty. He knew he was going to use that much and more.

  “Jess, what in the hell are you going to do with all these bullets?” asked Jim awkwardly.

  “Like I said, just doing some target shooting down at the creek,” he replied. “As a matter-of-fact, do you have some empty bottles I could have to use for targets?”

  “Well…yes; you’ll find all you want behind the store, but you be careful with your target shooting, you hear?” cautioned a worried Jim. “We don’t want anything happening to you.”

  “Oh, I’ll be careful; honest. My pa was starting to show me how to shoot just before…well, you know,” he replied.

  “I know, buy just be careful, okay. You promise me,” Jim pleaded.

  “I can promise you this; I plan on being real careful for the rest of my life,” he replied emphatically, as he walked out and picked up a dozen or so of the bottles on the ground out back and headed back to the ranch.

  Jess finished his work, had supper and went down to the creek with his pa’s gun strapped on. He carried the new gun and holster over his left shoulder. He set up some bottles across the creek. Some he stood up on the ground and some were stuck upside down on branches waving in the slight breeze. He began the practice that would become a ritual for the next two years. He would draw the guns several times very slow, but very deliberately. That way he made sure he was doing everything just right. He would dry fire both guns; going through the entire motion perfectly. Cocking the pistol on the draw and then squeezing the trigger as he pointed the gun at the target. Then he would load the gun with .45 cartridges and go through the same motions again, firing live rounds. He would do it slowly at first and then finish with fast draws. He would repeat everything over and over again relentlessly. It didn’t take long before he ran out of ammunition. He made another run into town to pick up a few supplies and another two dozen boxes of .45 cartridges. While he was at the general store, Sheriff Diggs walked in.

  “How’s my favorite young man, Jess?” Diggs said smiling.

  “Hi, Sheriff; I’m just fine,” he replied. Sheriff Diggs counted out the twenty-four boxes of .45 cartridges sitting on the counter and gave Jess a curious look.

  “Twenty-four boxes of cartridges? Jess, what the hell are you doing with all this ammunition? I heard you’re buying poor Jim clean out,” the sheriff asked curiously.

  “I’m just doing some target practice,” he replied evasively. “A man has to know how to use a gun these days.”

  “How’s it going so far?” asked Sheriff Diggs.

  “Pretty good so far,” he said bluntly.

  “Well, you be careful with guns, Jess,” replied Diggs. “They ain’t toys you know.”

  “I know, Sheriff, I’ll be careful,” he said.

  “Especially with that shotgun there,” said Sheriff Diggs, as he nodded to the back of the wagon where Jess had put his pa’s .44-.40 rifle and double barreled shotgun.

  Jess picked up his supplies and the boxes of cartridges and loaded them in the wagon. He climbed up in the seat and slapped the reins on the paint’s rear and headed out of town and back to the ranch. Jim looked at Sheriff Diggs.

  “You need anything, Sheriff?” asked Jim.

  “Not really; I was just checking on Jess,” said Sheriff Diggs. “He makes me nervous messing with his pa’s guns. I don’t like him getting that close to a pistol at his age, especially with what’s happened and all. There’s something going on in that boy’s head and I don’t think it’s anything good either.”

  “Hell Sheriff, his whole family was murdered in cold blood and he saw it with his own eyes,” expressed Jim. “That would put a change in anyone’s life including you, the hard-case that you are.” The sheriff laughed at that and agreed.

  “Well, let me know what he buys from you in the way of ammunition, okay?” asked Diggs. “I want to keep an eye on him. He’s really starting to worry me.”

  “Sure thing, Sheriff,” replied Jim. “Sara and I only want the best for him too, but he is a man now and he’s going to have to find his own way.”

  “I know. I just don’t want it to be the wrong way,” cautioned Sheriff Diggs.

  The sheriff walked out and looked down the main street and he could see Jess turning the corner out of town. There was a real bad feeling growing in the back of his head about him. Yet, somehow he knew there was nothing he could do about it. He knew the boy was holding in a real rage about what had happened to his family and he understood that. He just wondered how all that rage would find its way out of the young man. Then he slowly hung his head and shuddered inside as he came to the realization that he already knew the answer to that question.

  CHAPTER SIX

  For the next two years, Jess pretty much followed the same routine every day. He worked the ranch, taking care of the stock and working the fields. He sold off small groups of cattle here and there and put the money in the bank. He made many trips to town for supplies and ammunition. Every evening, he went down to the creek and practiced with his pa’s .45 and the new pistol. He was getting pretty fast with his pa’s gun, but he was like greased lightning when he drew his new gun. His accuracy was getting much better, too. He rarely missed a bottle whether it was standing still or even waving in the breeze hanging on a branch. He had even taken to throwing bottles up in the air and hitting them on the way down. He made it mo
re difficult by wearing a hat while looking straight ahead and not up and then only drawing the gun when the bottle came into his field of view. This only gave him a fraction of a second to hit the target. At first, he missed most of the bottles. Later on, he rarely missed one.

  He learned to point and shoot accurately. He learned to rapid fire and to fan the trigger, especially the second shot; which would become his trademark shot. He would cock the hammer back as he pulled the pistol out for the first shot and then use the middle finger of his left hand to fan the second shot a split second later. Before he drew, his right hand was down by the butt of his pistol and his left hand was just above his right hand, ready to fan the second shot. He would even go upstream and throw several bottles in the creek and run back and wait for them to come into his side vision. When they did, he drew and blasted them out of the water, one by one.

  The new gun seemed to jump out of the holster with the least of effort. He was well on his way to being the fastest man to draw and shoot a pistol because he had an advantage that no other man had; the gun. Without it, he could learn to draw as fast as any of the best. But with it, he would become unbeatable.

  Not only did he practice with pistols; he practiced with the rifle and the shotgun. With the shotgun, he made a special holster that was strapped to his back so that the handle of the shotgun stuck up just over his right shoulder. He practiced loading both shells into the shotgun in one fluid motion. He sewed some pockets onto his shirt that held two shotgun shells together so that he could grab and reload the shotgun quickly. He had to carry his pistol cartridges in his front pants pockets since the holster had no holders for bullets. He didn’t understand why, but it didn’t matter to him. He learned to throw a knife. He made a scabbard for the knife and tucked it behind him under the holster and tied it in place with a small leather thong.

  During all this time, the sheriff was out to talk to Jess several times. He knew what Jess was planning and he knew it from the start. About a week before Jess was ready to head out for the trail, he decided to pay a visit to Sheriff Diggs and see if there was any news about the three men who had murdered his family. As he walked into the sheriff’s office, the sheriff was checking out the lock on one of his three jail cells.