Chapter 21
A Comrade Lost
Ray could see a stranger running towards him out of the corner of his eye. The man was out of breath, as he spoke, “Ray, you’re the one that rides point with the train’s scout, right?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong?” Ray said.
“There’s been an accident over at the fort. The old man’s been shot.”
Sensing real danger, Ray followed quickly behind the man who took him just outside the saloon where the incident had happened.
“In there, he’s in there,” the man pointed into the saloon. “Some fast gun dun’ shot him. I ain’t gonna go back in there as long as that man’s in there, he looks loco.”
“Okay, you stay out here, and much obliged for comin’ and getting’ me.” Ray said as he pulled his .44 and checked his loads.
“Ray, you going in there?” asked Richard.
“No other way to check on Zeke,” Ray answered.
“Well I can tell you right now that he’s dead,” the stranger announced. “When I ran out of there, that poor fella wasn’t movin’.”
“Well you don’t know he’s dead for sure, maybe he’s just unconscious,” Ray said hopefully.
“You could be right, but I don’t think so,” said the stranger.
Returning his .44 back into the holster, but leaving the leather thong off the hammer, Ray walked slowly up to the saloon doors. Pushing them open, he walked into the room filled with a cloud of smoke, sweat, and perfume. There was the image of a dear friend lying on the floor in a pool of blood and beer before him. Walking over to Zeke's lifeless form, Ray knelt down to touch his neck for a pulse or to feel for a breath coming from his mouth. The life in this hard, tough, old man was gone.
“Who’s the son-of-a-bitch that shot this great man?” Ray said softly over Zeke’s body. Rising to his feet and turning to face the occupants, he yelled above the noise this time, “Who is the low down son-of-a-bitch that killed this great man?”
The room became suddenly very quiet. You could hear horses outside drinking from the trough and an owl calling into the night.
“I won’t ask again. I’ll just start shooting,” Ray said, fully meaning every word.
“Wait mister,” whispered an old timer standing at the bar, “It was that feller over there at the bar, the big one with the red shirt and broken down old hat.” The old timer continued, “Your friend, he walked in here and called a greeting to a couple of us who knows him and that there feller just turned and shot him in the head, for no damn reason.”
Ray turned and stood staring at the back of the red shirt. There was a sudden shuffle of feet. Chairs moved as the room cleared a wide berth between Ray and the red shirted man.
“All right mister, turn around,” Ray ordered.
John, Larry, and Richard entered the saloon and freed their revolvers from their leather to guarantee no one else tried to join the dance.
The man in the red shirt straightened up and slowly turned around. He was a good-sized man, over two hundred pounds and maybe six feet tall. His clothes were almost worn through, held together only by the dirt and sweat of the trail.
All eyes were diverted by a demand coming from behind Ray, “Ray! Back away. He’s mine.”
Rage was demanding revenge and Ray hesitated for a moment before stepping sideways so as to keep the red shirted man in view while he listened to the one who spoke.
“That’s one of the filthy pieces of shit that killed my parents and brothers.”
“Larry, I’ve never seen you draw but you don’t strike me as a gunman,” Ray said.
“Doesn’t matter, I’ve got to do it. Now, move aside Ray,” commanded Larry as he stepped next to Ray and then in front of him.
The man in the red shirt grew a big smile across his face. "Well, well, well, you’re that little brat we let go down Texas way when we cleaned out all those traitors. I think I’m gonna enjoy this. You know your brother begged me right before I hung him. Are you gonna beg me too? The regret here is that your mother ain’t here this time. Now, that was some…” He never finished the filth that was about to spew from his mouth. Larry had pulled iron and placed a bullet down his throat to stop the words from leaving his mouth.
“From the heart the mouth speaks,” was all Larry said as he dropped the spent shell to the floor, reloaded, and put the .44 back into his holster.
Larry turned just as the batwing doors of the saloon swung open. In rushed a half dozen men with guns drawn. Unfortunately for them, coming in from the dark night into the well-lit saloon gave them a slight disadvantage. Larry, John, Richard and Ray stood shoulder to shoulder. With their backs to the bar, they emptied their guns into the charging rebels. The first volley from their guns dropped three men. Richard and Larry hit the first man, Ray hit the second and John the third. The fourth man dove for a table. Recognizing that the table was made of a thin pine, Ray placed a shot through the table where he knew the fourth man to be hiding. "Thank God for growing up in a lumber town and learning about the thickness and strength of different types of woods," Ray thought. The fifth man walked tall and placed a shot that knocked John’s hat off his head. Ray put one shot between his eyes, and Richard hit him in the shoulder. He was dead before he hit the floor. The sixth man stood in horror among the bodies of all his long traveled friends. As he lowered his hands to his sides, he knew his gang’s reign of terror was all over.
“I’m out of it boys!” he said as he tossed his guns aside and put his hand above his head. “I’ll just ride out and you won’t never see me again,” he begged.
“Head out the door and if I ever…” Ray started.
“Ray, this ain’t your call,” interrupted Larry, as he pushed past Ray.
“Mister, you had a hand in killin’ my parents, and my family. You left me to die. There ain’t no way you’re leavin’ my sight alive tonight. One of us is gonna die,” Larry insisted as he approached the unarmed man all the while staring hatred into the eyes of the murderer.
“Look mister, I’m unarmed, I ain’t got no gun. You can’t just shot me in cold blood,” whimpered the rebel.
“You mean like you did my family,” said Larry as he unbuckled his gun belt and let it drop to the floor.
When Larry was close enough the rebel took a wide swing at his head. Larry blocked the blow and countered with a fist to the rebel’s midsection, doubling him over. Larry then drove his knee into the man’s face. He flew backwards out the bat wing doors and into the darkness of the night. You could hear him hit the dirt street outside. Larry pushed through the doors and headed out after him. Everyone in the bar jumped to their feet in order to go out and watch or join into the fight. The three of them, John, Richard, and Ray all turned in one motion. They drew their .44’s and blocked the door.
“Gentlemen, go back to what you were doin’. This is gonna be a private fight!” said John, as he looked over his shoulder to the duo fighting outside. “Are you sure he doesn’t need any help out there?” John quickly asked Ray.
“No John, I was suspect of his shooting ability until tonight, but I do know he can fight. That old boy out there fighting Larry right now has fought his last fight.”
“John, you guys guard the door and make sure no one interferes in Larry’s revenge. I have a friend to take care of,” said Ray as he headed towards the still form on the floor.
Each of the boys grabbed a chair and pulled it over near the door and sat down.
“Bartender, bring us a round of beers!” ordered Richard.
In disappointment the bar patrons turned on their feet, returning to their drinks. Outside the sounds of the fight were escalating.
Ray stood over Zeke’s body with a lump in his throat trying to burst free.
“Young fella,” interrupted the old man at the bar that had pointed out the man in the red shirt. “If you don’t mind, me and the boys here would be willing to carry your friend on over to the fort.”
“Much obliged, Mist
er. Thanks.”
Ray stepped back to let the three mountain men lift Zeke from the floor. They carried him out the front door, past John and the others.
“I’ll check on Larry to see that the fight remains fair,” said Ray has he followed Zeke's body out the door.
“Mind if we join ya?” asked John.
“If you want to go out there, have at it. I just figured the Army must have heard all the shooting before and it won’t be long before they show up to end this party.”
“Oh, well you always were a better diplomat than the rest of us. I believe I’ll just sit right here and drink my beer,” smiled John.
Ray could just make out the fighting pair in the moonlight and Zeke being lifted into the back of a wagon. Before stepping off the boardwalk Ray waited for his eyes to adjust to the night. Ray watched as his friends disappeared into the night.
"Right on time," thought Ray as he saw the approaching troopers down the middle of the street. He stepped out into the light and moved to intercept the boys in blue. The soldier in lead stopped when he saw Ray approaching.
“State your business, mister!” ordered the leader.
“Well sir, I’ve been expectin’ you and wanted to ask if you would listen to what I have to say before you take action,” asked Ray.
“First off, I’m no sir; I’m a working man in this Army. I’m Sergeant Klinke. So, what have ya to say?”
“Well, I’ll start with the fact that there are about six men in the saloon there that are long past needin’ any help. And these two out here,” Ray pointed out the two fighting in the street, “are just finishin’ up that squabble.”
“Then move out of my way, I need to break this up,” ordered the Sergeant.
“Now hold on a minute. I haven’t finished explaining yet. There’s nothin’ you can do for the ones inside. My friends and I shot them dead. So they aren’t going anywhere and neither are we. The issue here is the two still fightin’. You see the younger man there, the one with the blue shirt?”
“Yeah, I see him,” answered the sergeant.
“Well that’s one of my partners. You see a few years back, down in Texas, that taller man there and his six buddies inside were trying to force men to join the Confederacy. Larry’s, that's my partner's name there, his family refused. They killed my partner’s whole family and raped his Ma. They left my partner behind ‘cause they thought he was already dead too. Now, I ask you Sergeant, don’t you think my partner, Larry here, has the right to see the finish of this here fight?” argued Ray.
“Sarg, it could be that same bunch of rebs we been chasin’ all over the territory!” blurted the corporal standing behind the sergeant.
“Well, maybe,” said the sergeant as he scratched his whiskered chin. “I’ll tell ya what young man,” the sergeant continued, “I’ll let the fight finish. But no one interferes. If your partner wins, we’ll all go to the captain to clear up this mess. If the other fella wins, we’ll have a trial and hang him.”
“Fair enough,” said Ray as he turned back to the fight just in time to see the rebel pull a knife from his boot.
Ray moved his hand toward his gun as a natural reflex.
“Hold up on that iron, boy. I told ya. They can finish the fight, but no one else is to join in.,” said the Sergeant as he stood next to Ray with his Army issue .44 pointed at Ray’s midsection.
“Damn it,” cussed Ray as he began to worry about his friend. “Come on Larry, take him down, and watch out for that knife!” He shouted.
“What do ya think I’m tryin’ to do here, the waltz?” yelled Larry as he jumped to avoid a nasty swing of the knife.
The rebel began to laugh at Larry’s new predicament. With a knife held firmly in his right hand the man began to move in slowly for the kill. When he saw what he thought was a good opening, the rebel lunged forward pushing the knife ahead of him. Larry allowed the knife to sweep past his right side just under his right arm. He then clamped down on the rebel’s arm and twisted hard to the left. The sound of a broken bone sickened the ears of the bystanders. The knife fell from the limp hand and dropped to the ground in front of Larry. Larry kicked it aside as he placed a right hook into the rebel’s jaw. The rebel went over backwards and appeared out of the fight. Larry turned to retrieve his hat when the adversary jumped to his feet and dove at Larry. The man’s arms circled Larry’s waist forcing him to the ground in a pile. The impact with the ground caused the rebel to lose his grip. Larry rolled away and regained his footing. Standing hunched over with his hands spread wide, Larry was battling to fill his lungs with enough air.
Larry yelled, “Come on, get up, let’s finish this!”
The man did not move. He just laid face down and motionless in the dust of the street. Larry moved up slowly and grabbed the man’s arm, pulling the limp body onto his back. The rebel’s knife stood straight up in the center of his chest.
“Okay, okay, that ends it, move away boy!” ordered the sergeant as he and his men moved in to take charge.
“Sergeant, my other partners are on watch just inside the door in that saloon. Let me tell them you’re comin’ so no one gets accidently shot,” asked Ray.
“Go ahead,” pointed the Sergeant.
“Richard, John, come on out boys, it’s all done. Holster your pieces. The army’s out here,” yelled Ray into the saloon.
“Well it’s about time, I was beginnin’ to think you forgot us in there,” said John, clearly annoyed.
“Boys, I’ll need to have your guns now, at least until you’re done talkin’ to the Captain,” demanded the Sergeant.
“Fair enough, Sergeant, and thank you,” said Ray.
“I didn’t do anything. He fell on his own knife,” whispered Larry still out of breath. “Remember that when we talk to the captain, Ray.”
“Of course, Larry,” answered Ray.
“Corporal, dispatch a detail to round up these bodies. Identify them if you can and then get them in the ground, and not in the same ground as our boys, got it?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” answered the young Corporal as he grabbed several Troopers and headed inside the saloon.
“I understand we had some shootin’ tonight in the saloon and you boys did most of it,” stated the Captain standing behind his desk. He was a small man, balding at the top of his head, and looked tired. But Ray suspected he had some fight in him yet.
“Well, now that ain’t exactly right,” stuttered Larry. “They did just as much shootin’ as we did. Only difference is we just hit what we aim at.”
“Well, I guess you’re right about that. Now which one of you is going to tell me what this small war in my Fort was all about,” demanded the Captain.
“I will Sir,” said Ray as he stepped forward. “You see, those men were part of a group of Confederates that killed my friend here’s family,” Ray gestured to Larry. “They took his Ma too. Well tonight we stumbled onto them when we went to the aid of a friend of ours after we heard he was into some trouble at the saloon. Turns out our friend was shot and killed entering the saloon and for no reason.”
“Who was this friend?”
“Well I called him Zeke; I didn’t really don’t know his real name as he never would tell me. He never told anyone for that matter, as far as I know. He was the scout for the Woods' wagon train,” explained Ray.
“I see. And after you killed the man that shot your scout?” the Captain inquired.
“The room suddenly filled with the dead man’s friends and they were already opening up on us. At that point it was kill or be killed,” finished Ray.
“All right, I’ve heard enough, although I can’t condone taking the law into your own hands like you did tonight, I can see why most men would have done just what you did. When the wagons pull out, be sure to be with them, understand?” said the Captain.
“Yes Sir!” said Ray.
The four turned to leave when the Captain suddenly blurted out, “Willis, Willis Campbell.”
Ray turn
ed around to face the Captain, “I’m sorry, what?”
“Your scout, his name was Willis Campbell. He’s done some scouting for the Army and he’s worked for years as a scout for Woods. Damn good scout and a better friend. If you’d like we could bury him here on the Fort with honors.”
“If you don’t mind, I think he’d prefer a little less fanfare and a spot up on that hill we came over right before seeing the fort,” said Ray.
“You did know him, didn’t ya?” said the Captain, a faint smile on his lips.
“Damn good scout and even better friend, just like you said,” finished Ray as he pulled his hat back on his head and followed the rest out the door.
Revenge Requires Two Graves Page 22