Apache Gunhawk

by Monogram Press

The Noonan’s rode hard, pushing their mounts to the limit. At least, as much to the limit as they could with three of them bleeding from bullet wounds. Julie Hadley held tight to the pommel of her saddle and bounced around unsteadily, trying to stay upright. Little Bill had the reins to her horse and kept her close to him. Tom crowded his mount to the other side of her, boxing her in so she wouldn’t fall. There was no time to vent his anger against Little Bill, but when they found a place to hole up he was going to even the score with his brother for bringing Julie along. He worried about his father. He knew the outlaw boss had been wounded, but there had been no time to find out how bad. All Tom could tell was that the elder Noonan was still sitting upright and riding strong.

  Not much could be said for the way Dewey Howe was riding. He was ever increasingly slumping in his saddle, clinging to the saddle horn while Charlie Noonan led his horse along behind his.

  They stopped by their old camp three miles out of town, and picked up their pack horses and supplies, not wanting to waste any more time than necessary. They needed to get as much distance as possible, between them and the law at Dry Springs.

  The noon day sun was high in the sky now and the day became unbearably hot and the prospect of continuing on until dark became more and more ominous. They knew they had to stop to take care of their wounded, but dared not slacken the pace. If they could keep just going until after dark, there would be time for holing up and taking care of the wounded later. With determined resolve, they turned their mounts northward and pushed on.

  Brace Coburn wiped the sweat from his ruddy face with his bandanna and glanced up at the burning orb above. He dismounted to let the black gelding rest a bit, retrieved his canteen from the saddle and poured a little into the bandanna. Then he wiped the black’s nose and lips with the moisture.

  He had let the Noonan’s get a half hour’s head start, not wanting them to spot him on their trail too soon. As much as he wanted to just ride them down, he had to consider Julie Hadley’s safety. The gang would have to hole up at some point and he hoped he could sneak up on them then, without putting the girl in too much danger.

  He had already found the camp the gang had used in the arroyo. Obviously, they were in too big of a hurry to stop and take all of their supplies. That meant, the only water they had with them was what they might have in their canteens. And, with wounded men on their hands, it would not last long. If they each had one canteen on each horse, their supply would last not even a day, assuming they would need some to clean wounds. The marshal had found the trail they took, heading off northward, and he knew the first water in that direction was about fifteen miles off, through hot barren country.

  Coburn mounted up, reined the black around, pointed him northward and kneed him forward at a steady walk.

  Captain Stowe raised his hand skyward and reined his mount in, shouting the order to halt. Sergeant Corey Dillon, repeated the order and the column of horses and riders shuffled to a stop.

  Several troopers rode at the front of the column and the rest rode at the rear with Geronimo and his followers in between. The Apaches’ horses had been tied together in a string and led by the soldiers. Each of the Apaches had their hands tied and had no control of their mounts.

  A dust cloud from beyond the ridge, to the east, had caught Hawk’s attention and when he pointed it out to Stowe, the Captain had called the halt.

  “What is it, Sir?” Dillon asked as he sidled his mount to the front of the column, next to the commanding officer.

  Before the Captain could answer, riders appeared, topping the ridge and advancing toward them, urging their mounts forward at a speed far too excessive for such a sweltering hot day. There were only eight riders, but the dust they were churning around them had made it seem as if there were more.

  As the riders approached, Hawk recognized the elderly man in front. Sun glinted off his Sheriff’s badge. Sheriff Meade. But, being a stranger in town Hawk did not know any of the others.

  The riders pulled their mounts to a sliding halt before the column. The Captain recognizing Meade also, said, “Hello, Sheriff. What brings you out this way?”

  “Hold up in town,” he answered curtly. “The Noonan gang hit the bank. Got away with the Bank’s money and took Mister Hadley’s…” he nodded toward the man in the gray suit mounted next to him. “..wife for a hostage.” Then he added., “Seen any sign of them?”

  “No,” Stowe answered, “but we’ve come up from the south. They could’ve passed by before we got here. You find their trail?”

  “Lost it aways back, but they was traveling west. With a good tracker, we might be able to pick it up again,” Meade answered, directing the last remark to Hawk.

  Hawk knew what the lawman was getting at, but he ignored it as he eyed the banker, noting his bruised face. His Apache sense told him there was something evil about this man. “Was Marshal Coburn there at the time?” He asked the Sheriff, but didn’t take his eyes off the banker.

  “Yes,” Meade sighed. “But he let them get away. I guess Brace is just getting a little too old for this business.”

  “Where is he now?” Hawk asked, knowing how wrong Meade was about the Marshal.

  “He went after them, alone. Told me not to bother with a posse. Said it would be too dangerous for Julie Hadley, but Mister Hadley, here, convinced me we should go after them ourselves.

  “I’m offering a ten thousand dollar reward to the man who brings my wife back,” Hadley interjected.

  “Dead or alive?” Hawk’s gaze bore down on the man. Hadley shifted uneasily in his saddle. “Of course I want her back alive,” he said. “But if they’ve done something to her, I want to know. So I’m paying the reward how ever it plays out.”

  “And there’s a three thousand dollar reward on Bill Noonan’s head and another thousand on each of his gang,” the Sheriff added. “How about it, Hawk? You interested? I see you already got Geronimo in tow.” He nodded toward the string of Apaches. Then to Stowe, “What do you say, Captain? Can you spare Hawk, now.”

  The Captain turned to Hawk. “I guess we can handle this from here on,” he said.

  “No Captain,” Hawk said. “I think I’ll stick awhile.”

  “You’re a bounty hunter. You mean to tell me you’re turning down a chance at ten thousand dollars,” Hadley reminded him.

  “I said I’m not interested,” Hawk practically sneered.

  Before the banker could take affront to it, Eli Cobb piped up. “I’d be glad to ride along with you, fellers. That is with the Captain’s permission, Sir.”

  “You’re not army, Cobb. Do what you want. I don’t have any more use for you.”

  Cobb didn’t know whether to be elated about the chance at ten thousand dollars or angry at the Captain’s attitude. “What about my pay?” He blustered.

  “You can pick it up at the fort when you get back,” Stowe answered bluntly.

  The patrol started on once again as they watched the posse disappear to the west. They were no sooner out of sight when Hawk spoke. “I guess I’ll be leaving you now, Captain.”

  “Change your mind? Going with the posse?”

  Hawk shook his head. “They’re a bunch of fools. Going the wrong direction.”

  “Wrong direction?” Stowe asked. “How do you know that?”

  “Didn’t see the Marshal come this way, did you?” He kicked the grayish black mora, forward into a canter and disappeared over the eastern horizon.

  Dewey Howe pitched sideways out of the saddle and rolled onto his back on the sun baked earth. The sun burned into his eyes and they pinched shut. Flies gathered around the wound in his side.

  The others halted, immediately. Tom, Charlie and Little Bill leaped from their saddles, running to their fallen comrade. Bill Noonan and Sid Denglert, both hurting with bullet wounds, refrained from dismounting. Charlie had reached Dewey first and lifted his head up to cradle it in his lap. “Hang on there boy,” Charlie choked on a sob. “You’ll be al lright.”


  Tom Noonan bent and examined the wound. He glanced up at his father, sitting his horse above him, his frame partially blotting out the bright sun. Tom shook his head, saying it all without uttering a word.

  “He’s done for,” Little Bill said coldly, looking down. “‘We’ll have to leave him behind.”

  Dewey’s face twisted. “N…No…” he tried to protest.

  “You’re gonna die anyways, kid,” Little Bill said.

  Dewey’s body shook as he sobbed.

  “Shut up!” Tom stood and faced Little Bill. “Don’t talk like that in front of him.”

  “Well, it’s true. He’s gonna die and there ain’t nothing we can do about it, except put a bullet in him and put him out of his misery.” He started to draw his gun slowly from its holster.

  Tom’s eyes blazed with fury and his fist swung out, striking his brother solidly on the left cheek. Little Bill fell backward with surprise. He fumbled his gun and it fell where his feet had been, and now out of his reach. Instinctively, as he hit the ground, his hands went beneath his back, bracing them against the hard pack and catapulted himself forward to his feet and lunging at Tom.

  Tom stepped forward, caught him with another roundhouse blow to the chin, sending Little Bill back to the ground. This time, Tom followed him forward, as he fell, and landed headlong across Little Bill’s body, pushing his brother’s back into the dirt, straddling his shoulders with his knees, and holding him down while he pounded away at his face.

  Little Bill took the punishment and at the same time brought his legs up behind Tom and buried the sharp toe of his boot into the side of Tom’s neck. Tom fell sideways, releasing the pressure of his knees on Little Bill’s shoulders, allowing his brother to wriggle a little ways out from under his attacker. Little Bill twisted his body and rolled out, pushing Tom away. He spun around and dived after Tom, this time putting Tom on the bottom and smashing his fist into Tom’s face. Again and again, he pounded at his brother; then with a surge of strength, Tom managed to grasp, Little Bill’s wrists and thwart the blows. Then with lightning speed, he released his grip on the wrists and sent a straight blow to Little Bill’s nose. He fell backward flat on his back. Tom jumped up to go after him, but suddenly felt confined as strong arms grasped him from behind, holding him back. “That’s enough, boys! That’s enough!” Bill Noonan warned. He had dismounted and stepped into the fray.

  Tom settled down as he heard his father’s voice, but his eyes still raged with anger. His body was shaking as he tried to bring himself under control.

  Little Bill got up slowly, blood gushing from his nose and bruises already swelling beneath his eyes. He stepped forward at his restrained brother, balling his fist and swinging it forward at Tom. Bill Noonan flung Tom to the side onto the ground, he caught Little Bill’s arcing arm in mid air with his left, while sinking his right fist into his son’s midsection. Little Bill doubled up and the outlaw leader brought another blow down on his back, pushing him into the dirt also.

  “Enough of this!” Noonan bellowed. “We’ve got enough problems without you two acting like a couple of school boys.”

  The two younger Noonans got to their feet, heaving for air, glaring at each other, but restraining themselves as their father held them at bay.

  “We’ve wasted enough time, already,” Bill Noonan said. “Saddle up.”

  “But Dewey..?” Tom started.

  “Forget him,” the outlaw leader commanded as he climbed with a little difficulty into the saddle and took up the reins “He’s dead.”