Ride the High Lonesome

by Rosanne Bittner

  Eight

  Luke longed for a bath and a good meal, but that would have to come later. He headed down the main street of Lander, glancing around cautiously for any man he might recognize, or any who might recognize him in return. The air hung rich with the smell of cow and horse dung, but he’d grown used to such odors out here.

  He’d hoped to find his prey before the sun settled behind the mountains, which wouldn’t be much longer. Walking around after dark would make his search more difficult, and his own life would be in more danger from a gunshot in the back.

  He halted in front of the saloon and dismounted, tying Red to a hitching post out front. He shoved his spare six-gun into his pants belt. He’d given his gun belt to Kate for protection. He untied and opened a saddlebag, pulling out two small drawstring leather bags and hanging them around the pommel of his saddle. He fished into one of them and grabbed a handful of bullets for the spare handgun, shoving them into a pants pocket. He reached into the other bag and pulled out some rifle cartridges, dropping them into his other pants pocket. He yanked his rifle from its boot and mounted the steps to the boardwalk, then stopped to take a deep breath before heading into The Royal Flush. As soon as he was inside, the air changed to a blue haze of smoke with odors of whiskey and cigarettes and unwashed men. Several of those men turned to look at him, all of them probably wondering if the newcomer was someone out to get them, maybe even a brave but stupid lawman.

  Luke quickly scanned the room for a familiar face but saw none. Most men were bunched together in groups, every table filled with card players, the bar crowded with drinkers standing amid spittoons, some with booted feet perched on a scraped-up foot rail along the bottom of the long, dark-wood bar.

  Fancy-dressed prostitutes mingled with all the men. One woman looked him over and smiled before turning to a handsome, dark-haired man sitting at one of the card tables. He wore all black and looked dangerous. Because the table hid the lower part of his body, Luke couldn’t tell if he wore a gun, but if anybody looked the part of gunslinger, this one fit the bill. The saloon girl leaned down and kissed his cheek, but he gently pushed her away. She turned to flirt with a different man.

  The man wearing black glanced at Luke, and Luke saw by the look in his eyes that he was someone who didn’t miss a thing and who read other men with keen insight. It left no doubt in Luke’s mind that the man in black was not one to mess with.

  Luke scanned the room once more, then walked up to the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey. The barkeep set a bottle and a shot glass in front of him, and Luke paid the man, who then filled the shot glass with what Luke hoped wasn’t cheap, watered-down firewater. He slugged it down, pleased with the taste, and asked the man for one more shot, which was all he could afford for the moment. He drank that down and asked the bartender about the best restaurant in town.

  “Pretty good eatery across the street called Biscuits and Gravy,” the man answered. “Opened just a couple of months ago. The owner used to run a restaurant back East, but he got in some kind of trouble. Some say he killed a man he found in bed with his wife. He came out here to get away from the law.”

  “Haven’t most men come out here for that reason?” Luke asked.

  The barkeep nodded. “Expect so.” He glanced toward the table where the dangerous-looking man sat. “That man over there playin’ cards—the dark, good-lookin’ one—that’s Jake Harkner. He’s wanted for a lot of things, and he’s in a piss-poor mood most of the time on account of he’s got a wife and family some place back in California and he misses ’em plenty. He’s good to the whores, but he doesn’t sleep with them on account of his wife. Least ways, I’ve never seen him go upstairs with any of them. He can be real sociable, or he can be an ornery son of a bitch and kill a man at the drop of a hat if that man rubs him the wrong way.” The barkeep leaned closer. “How about you? You wanted?”

  Luke grinned. “Not that I know of. I’m just here looking for some men, but I don’t see any of them.” He smiled inwardly, amused at how much a man could learn from a bartender. Most of them knew everyone in town and loved to talk.

  “Maybe the men you want are in Atlantic City,” the bartender suggested. “It’s bigger and only about twenty miles southwest of here.”

  “No. They’re here. I’m sure of it. I’m looking for four men who stole my cattle and money and then tried to hang me.” He pulled down the scarf from around his neck, and the bartender’s eyes widened.

  “Damn, mister, that’s a hell of a thing! How come you ain’t dead?”

  “Long story.” Luke looked around again. “I’d like to find those men and pay them back for what they did to me. Those cattle were rightfully mine. I found them in one of the corrals, so I know those men are here, and I aim to repay them for what they did.”

  “I don’t blame you.” The bartender put out his hand. “Name’s Hank. I’ll keep an eye out, but so far the men in here are pretty regular.”

  “Thanks.” Luke turned as someone new walked in. Again, most men in the room warily watched the new man enter. He wore a tan jacket and a badly stained, wide-brimmed hat. He had a full, black beard…and Luke instantly recognized him as one of the men who’d hanged him—his friends had called him George. George had placed the noose around Luke’s neck and had been the most adamant about wanting him dead. Luke kept his head down and cautiously watched the man walk inside and sit down at a card table, right next to the outlaw Jake Harkner.

  “Shit,” he muttered softly. It was one thing to face down the man called George and something else if the gunman sitting next to him decided to take the wrong side in the showdown. He couldn’t believe his luck in finding the man, but maybe it wasn’t luck at all, since Jake Harkner could get involved in this.

  He pushed his hat back a little, hoping Harkner lived by the rule most obeyed in this country, which was that men in these parts usually let another man take care of his personal beefs without interference. He picked up his rifle and headed for the card table.

  The whole room quieted, and every man turned to look when they heard Luke cock his rifle. Luke didn’t look at Jake Harkner, but he could feel the man watching him. He figured if he kept his eyes on George, Harkner would realize it was George he was after and wouldn’t shoot him “at the drop of a hat,” as the barkeep had said the man was known to do.

  “Remember me?” Luke asked George as loudly as he could with a sore throat and raspy voice.

  Every man at the table ducked away, except Jake Harkner. Men anywhere within Luke’s rifle range also headed for the side of the room and out of the way. The whole room grew even more quiet. Jake Harkner still sat calmly at the table.

  “Who the hell…?” George frowned, studying Luke for a moment.

  “Maybe this will help,” Luke told him. He kept the rifle in his right hand, still steadily aimed at George, his finger on the trigger. With his left hand, he untied his neck scarf and tossed it aside, revealing the ugly, still raw scar around his throat.

  George’s eyes widened. “Jesus Christ, you lived?”

  “I sure as hell did, you son of a bitch! Get up! I’m not wanting to kill a man still sitting!”

  “You goddamn cattle thief!” George shot back, rising.

  “You’re the thief!” Luke kept his eyes on George but raised his voice as loud as possible, in spite of the pain it caused him. “This man and three others tried to hang me!” he told the rest of the men in the room. “I bought a few head of cattle from a rancher south of here and paid good money for them! I didn’t know till this man and his bunch caught up with me that those cattle were stolen from them. Him and his friends killed the man I bought my cattle from and stole my money from him, then came after me and accused me of stealing them. They hanged me, just for the fun of it, but they did a piss-poor job of it. If it wasn’t for somebody who came along and cut me down, I would be dead!”

  He glared at George the entire ti
me he spoke.

  “A man doesn’t soon forget a rope around his neck choking him to death. I don’t mean any man here any harm. But I intend to kill this man and his friends and get my money back.”

  “You ain’t gonna kill me, you motherfucker! You ain’t got the right! Where’s the proof you paid for those cattle?”

  “In my right coat pocket.”

  George grinned. “You’ll have to put that rifle down to find it, you lyin’ bastard. And before you reach in that pocket, I’ll shoot you.”

  “No, you won’t.” The words came from the gunman called Jake, who still sat calmly in his chair. “This might be outlaw country, mister, but we still have a code out here of what’s right and wrong. You go for that gun, and this man standing here won’t need to kill you. I’ll do it.”

  George glanced at Jake. He swallowed nervously. “I know who you are, mister. You’re a professional killer, and I ain’t drawin’ on you. But you ought to stay out of this. It ain’t your business.”

  “Well I’m making it my business,” Harkner answered. “I’m not real fond of vigilante-type hangings.” He looked up at Luke. “Go ahead and take out that receipt,” he said.

  For some reason Luke trusted Harkner without even looking at him. Keeping his eyes on George, he put down his rifle and reached into his pocket, handing the receipt to his right. Jake took it and looked it over while Luke picked up his rifle again.

  “Looks legitimate to me,” Harkner announced loud enough for everyone to hear. “This is a receipt for the sale of twenty head of cattle to a Luke Bowden, signed by a Casey Link. Anybody in here know the man?”

  “I do!” came a voice from the balcony behind Luke.

  It all happened at once then.

  George went for his gun.

  Luke fired his rifle.

  At the same time there came a loud boom from the right. Jake Harkner had drawn and fired. Luke whirled, and a man’s half-naked body came crashing down onto a card table behind him, splitting the tabletop and sending money, cards, and drinks flying. A naked woman who’d been standing near the man on the balcony screamed and fled back into her room, slamming the door shut.

  The barroom remained quiet, the men backed away. Luke turned to face Jake Harkner, whose gun was still smoking. Harkner rose and calmly put the gun back into his holster. He grinned when he faced Luke. “Must have been one of his friends. You need help finding the other two?”

  “Could be. The person who cut me down was a woman. She’s waiting for me in a cave about twenty miles south of here and is in bad need of food and clothing, plus she’s hurt from a fall. I can’t waste any time getting back to her.”

  Jake frowned and picked up Luke’s receipt, handing it back to him. “Then let’s go find the other two and get your money back. You don’t want to be leaving a woman out there alone.”

  Luke shoved the receipt into his pocket. “Why in hell are you helping me?”

  Jake took a cigarette from a pocket on his shirt. “Because I know how it feels to worry about a woman who might be needing your help.” He lit his cigarette with a large match that burst into about a six-inch-long flame when he flicked it with his fingernail. “Go look at the man I shot. Make sure he was one of them. I’ll rummage the pockets of this one here by the card table.”

  Others in the saloon began moving back to their chairs as though the shooting was just an everyday matter to be ignored, while those whose table had been destroyed by the body that had fallen into it began scraping up cards and money. One of them dragged the dead man’s body over to the side of the room and left it there as though it was just a piece of trash. Luke knelt closer to study the dead man’s face. An ugly hole gaped right in the middle of his forehead. Thank God Harkner had sided with me, he thought. He recognized a big, dark mole near the man’s chin. He was definitely one of those who’d tried to hang him.

  “This is one of them,” Luke told Harkner. He remembered that one of the other two men who’d hanged him was Mexican, and the fourth one was older, with white hair and beard, and a patch over one eye. He wore a red vest that looked new. He should be easy to spot.

  “Somebody get those damn bodies out of my saloon!” the bartender barked.

  Harkner, as tall and broad-shouldered as Luke, reached for a long black duster that hung on the wall behind him and pulled it on, then took a black, wide-brimmed hat from the same wall. “How many more are there for sure?” he asked Luke.

  “Two,” Luke answered.

  “Let’s go,” Jake put his hat on and turned to a shorter and slimmer, nice-looking man standing against the wall. “Come with us, Jess,” he told the man.

  “I don’t never turn down a chance to see Jake Harkner in action,” the man answered. He looked at Luke and put out his hand. “Name’s Jess York. What’s yours?”

  “Luke Bowden.”

  Jess nodded. “Let’s go get the other two, Bowden.”

  Luke walked out with the two men, wondering at the fact that he’d just killed a man with no feelings of regret. He’d killed plenty of men in the war, but that was different. Seemed like he should feel bad about killing one point-blank, but he didn’t. Jake Harkner also seemed unaffected by shooting the man on the balcony, even though he wasn’t even a part of what had happened to Luke. Apparently, he figured it was just something that needed doing.

  Luke supposed most men in these parts felt that way. A man rubs you wrong, you shoot him and go on about your business. He never thought he would end up living this way, but the war, and the horror of being hanged, had hardened his heart. In lawless country, it was every man for himself.

  Nine

  An hour. It felt at least that long since Kate first spotted the rider heading in her direction—just a speck then, but now much, much closer. He’d stopped for a while, but she wasn’t sure why. She could tell that he was definitely headed for the cave. It was a climb up a grassy slope to get here, but it was not difficult. He’d be here within ten minutes.

  She’d not fully shown herself at the entrance, hoping he would just ride on by. That wasn’t possible now. This was a shallow cave, and in exploring the back of it for ways to hide, she’d discovered it went only a few feet beyond the wall where water trickled down. The stranger would certainly want the water. Beyond that area, the ceiling sloped downward and was too low and shallow to be livable, as well as impossible for hiding from whoever was coming. She would have to face her intruder squarely and hope for the best.

  She grabbed Luke’s gun belt and put it over her shoulder, then stood against the side of the cave opening and waited, gun in hand. She soon heard a horse’s hooves clattering against the rocky ground just outside. Her chest tightened with dread. She would be lucky if Luke returned by tomorrow, so anything that happened now was up to her.

  If you need to use that gun, use it, Luke had told her. Don’t hesitate. Sometimes out here it’s kill or be killed.

  Kate didn’t doubt that in her case, she could be defending herself against something worse than death. She heard a man cough—the loose, wheezing kind of cough some older men made when they’d smoked too much all their lives. Her throat went dry and she felt warm all over from nervousness and fear when she heard the clink of spurs as a man walked around outside a moment.

  “I’ll get you some water, girl.”

  The man’s voice was deep, and Kate guessed by the sound of it that he was perhaps around fifty years old. She held the six-gun out straight, waiting for him to walk in. She heard more footsteps, more clinking of spurs, and then he entered the cave. He didn’t notice her at first, but rather headed for the water at the back of the cave. Kate noticed he wore a gun. Moments later he came out carrying a hat full of water. It was then he noticed Kate.

  They just stared at each other a moment. The man was dusty from the long ride, and old sweat stains showed on the underarms of his shirt and around his neck. He looke
d about the age Kate had guessed, and like most other men in these parts, he needed a bath and a shave.

  The man slowly lowered the hat full of water and set it on the floor, then rose with his hands up. “Who the hell are you?”

  Kate swallowed and used both hands to keep the gun steady. “Kate Winters. My husband and I are using this cave,” she lied. “He went hunting and will be back soon.”

  The man grinned. “That so?”

  “Yes.”

  He put his hands on his hips and looked her over. “I figured I might come upon another man out here, but I sure as hell didn’t figure on a woman. You should have greeted me at the entrance so’s I knew you was here. You’re damn lucky I was carryin’ that water for my horse, lady, or I might have drawed on you the minute I spotted you. It ain’t wise for a person holdin’ a gun to surprise a man in these parts. We’re all pretty jumpy, you know.”

  “No. I don’t know. I only know that my husband will be back soon and we will be on our way. We mean no man any harm. We just saw this cave and decided to use it for a couple of nights, so you need to leave.”

  “Oh, really?” the man asked mockingly. “You gonna’ shoot me if I don’t?”

  “I just might!”

  “Might?” The man sighed and shook his head. “Look, lady, when you pull a gun on a man, you either shoot him or you don’t. There ain’t no might about it. Now, I’ve been ridin’ all day. Me and my horse need to rest, and I don’t mean you no harm. Let me take this water to my horse, and let me at least sit over there by your fire for a while. I’ll make myself somethin’ to eat, and if you’ll allow, drink some of your coffee, and then I’ll sleep outside just for tonight and be on my way in the mornin’. Are you really gonna’ deny a man a little food and rest?”

  Kate thought a moment. This man could be as harmless as Luke had been. Shouldn’t she give him a chance? It wasn’t in her blood to be so rude. Still, Luke had told her not to hesitate using her gun if she had any doubts at all. “You can make your own fire outside.”