Vigilante Dawn

by Ralph Compton

  Jarrett nodded.

  “Looks like there was just the two of them left behind,” Edgar said. “We’d best get out of here, though.”

  Jack was nearby as well, bearing the weight of his friend without the slightest bit of exertion. Stan’s eyes were open and he walked like a drunk while taking in the sight of the body lying on the ground. “What the hell is this?” he asked in a stupor.

  Tucking the guns under his belt, Jarrett replied, “It’s a good start.”

  Chapter 9

  “We shouldn’t be here,” Edgar said.

  The sun had breached the eastern horizon and hung low in the sky, casting the early morning in a bright yellow-and-orange light. Although the flames had eaten everything they could, smaller fires were still scattered among the remains of the Lazy J. One of the smaller buildings, a shed used to store tools and such, was nothing more than a pile of cinders that were still hot to the touch. Jarrett sifted through them, kicking aside larger chunks of scorched wood before driving his hands into the smoldering remains. “If you want to go,” he said as a few embers hissed against his hands, “then go.”

  “It’s not what I want,” the old ranch hand replied. “It’s not what any of us want. It’s what we got to do. It ain’t safe here.”

  “The fires are out.”

  “That’s not the kind of safe I mean.”

  Stan stood nearby, rubbing the back of his head. “He’s right. Them rustlers could come back.”

  “Why would they?” Jarrett asked. “There’s nothing left for them to steal.”

  “That’s right,” Edgar said. “There’s nothing left. Ain’t no reason to stay here.”

  Finding what he’d been searching for, Jarrett pulled a shovel from the ash. Its blade was charred and the cracked remnant of its handle was scorched, but there was enough left for it to still be a viable tool. “My brother’s here. My family’s here.”

  “No. They ain’t. They’re gone.” Pulling back a step when Jarrett wheeled around to face him, Edgar added, “And they wouldn’t want you to stay until someone comes along to send you to meet ’em.”

  “I’m not going to just leave him lying there,” Jarrett said. “If you don’t want to help, then get off my land.”

  Jack stepped forward to take the shovel from Jarrett’s hand. He used it to scoop away the blackened cinders until he uncovered another shovel and a pickax. Having found those two things, he handed the first shovel back to Jarrett, gave the second shovel to Stan, and kept the pickax for himself.

  “Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” Edgar grumbled as he started kicking aside some more of the ashes. As soon as he found something he could use to lend a hand with digging, he hurried to catch up to the others in a small patch of empty land about sixty yards from the house.

  That piece of land had always caught Jarrett’s eye. After completing the last part of his house, he thought he might expand his business by building on that land. He’d had big plans for those couple of acres. Perhaps he might add a chicken coop or a pen for some hogs. He could hire on a blacksmith and put his shop there so he was even more self-sufficient. Now those plans had all been whittled away until only one course remained. He and his three workers rolled up their sleeves and started digging graves.

  First, they laid Norris to rest. Then, while Jack and Stan kept digging, Jarrett and Edgar picked through the rubble of the main house. Part of its frame was still standing, but it was just a skeletal reminder of what had been. Most of the first floor was buried beneath the second, which was consequently almost lost beneath the roof. As they went through the blackened mess of shingles, wooden beams, and broken furniture, neither man had much of anything to show for it.

  “Maybe this ain’t such a good idea,” Edgar said.

  “If those gunmen haven’t come back by now,” Jarrett replied, “they’re not going to.”

  “I’m not talking about that. I mean . . . what exactly do you expect to find in here?”

  “I . . . they were . . .” Jarrett looked down at the mound of rubble under his boots and thought about the loved ones that had been trapped inside that house when it burned down. He knew he wanted to put them to rest, but actually finding them was something else. Finally he said, “Yeah. I suppose you’re right. Still, I can’t just leave them.”

  Edgar rubbed his lower back and propped his shovel on a shoulder. “When I lost my wife and little boy some time ago, the preacher gave me a whole lot of platitudes and advice. He meant well, but it wasn’t nothin’ I hadn’t already heard. I’m sure you’ve heard the same things yourself once or twice, so I’ll spare you the sermon. I’ll just remind you that you ain’t leaving them. They’ve already moved on.”

  Slowly Jarrett climbed down from the rubble. “We need to ride to the east gate. Matt and Pete were killed out there. At least we can give them a proper burial.”

  “They was good boys. I’ll go with you.”

  Even though the stables had burned down along with most everything else, the rustlers hadn’t gotten all of the horses kept there. A few of them had bolted and escaped into the night amid the chaos of the fire and the moving of the herd. Those horses had returned to the fields near the stables, looking at their former home and idly watching the men they’d come to know.

  When he saw one of those horses standing by itself with its head bowed, Jarrett smiled. “Come here, boy,” he said as he approached the gelding.

  Twitch’s brown coat was dusted with so much ash that the white patch on his nose had turned gray. The horse scraped his hooves against the dirt and shook his head nervously, but he allowed Jarrett to approach and eventually rub his neck. After a bit of that, the gelding calmed down.

  “That’s it. You up for a little work?” Jarrett asked.

  Twitch might have preferred an easier alternative, but he didn’t object to Jarrett climbing onto his back and grabbing him by the mane. They rode out to the fence and traced it back to the spot where the road met up with the eastern gate. It took a bit of searching for Jarrett to find the bodies of his two workers, and by the time he did, Edgar rode along to help load them onto the horses’ backs.

  “Damn shame about these two,” Edgar said. “I hope whoever did this gets strung up to a high branch for what they done here.”

  “It’ll take more than hopes to see that through,” Jarrett said grimly.

  “What are you doing?”

  Stooping down, Jarrett dug through some of the bushes growing against the fence. When he stood up again, he held a pistol in one hand and a rifle in the other. “Those boys won’t need these, but I will.”

  “Maybe sooner than you think. Take a look.”

  Jarrett had just spotted the silhouette past the fence line. It was a single man on horseback standing just as still as the rocks and trees around him. Cursing himself for riding out before finding his saddle or the bags containing his spyglass, Jarrett dropped the pistol so he could grip the rifle in both hands. “Get down,” he said to Edgar.

  The old man was quick to drop and sat with his back against one of the fence posts. “You think it’s one of them gunmen?”

  “If it was a neighbor, he’d probably be riding up to introduce himself.”

  “Probably. What should we do?”

  “If things get too rough,” Jarrett said while checking to make sure the rifle was loaded, “start shooting.”

  “If I get a clear shot, I’ll—”

  “Any chance you can hit that bastard, just do it. Don’t worry about me.”

  Edgar sputtered something out of frustration, but Jarrett wasn’t listening to him. He was too busy climbing over the fence.

  As soon as his boots hit the ground on the other side, Jarrett brought the rifle to his shoulder. “You there!” he shouted. “If you’re looking for your friends, they already left. It’s just us here!”

  “Jarrett,” Edgar his
sed from his hiding spot. “That may not be such a good idea. If they thought you were dead, it might be best to just let them keep thinkin’ it.”

  “Too late,” Jarrett said. “If you want to go, just go.”

  The old man poked his nose out from behind the fence post to get a look at what lay beyond. So far, the horseman in the distance was holding his ground. While that might have suited Edgar just fine, it didn’t satisfy Jarrett in the slightest.

  “Come on!” Jarrett said as he fired a rushed shot that didn’t come anywhere close to hitting anything. “You enjoy picking off men from a distance? Here’s your chance!”

  The rider’s horse stirred as lead whipped through the air in its vicinity, but it was obviously no stranger to such a thing. The man in its saddle was even less disturbed by the gunshot.

  Jarrett levered in a fresh round and then sent it flying. “I said come on!”

  That one must have gotten a little closer to its mark, because both horse and rider reacted to it. Settling his horse with a few tugs on the reins, the rider brought his own rifle to his shoulder and took quick aim. He fired a shot before Jarrett had a chance to voice one more taunt.

  “That’s it!” Jarrett said as a mound of dirt was kicked up several inches away from his left boot. “I’m not afraid of you.” He fired again. “You hear me? I’m not afraid!”

  When Jarrett fired his third bullet, the horse in his sights reared up and churned its front legs through the air. He lowered his rifle a bit so he could get an unobstructed view if the rider fell from his saddle. Instead the horse dropped back down onto all fours and turned away from the fence.

  “Come on, you coward!” Jarrett shouted in a voice that strained his throat to the point of burning.

  Whoever the rider was, he didn’t seem interested in a fight. Jarrett glared at him with the same intensity he would have had if the man was two feet in front of him. Edgar kept his distance, holding his tongue until his employer tucked the rifle in tight against his shoulder and carefully sighted along the top of the barrel.

  “Hold on, now!” Edgar said.

  “Shut up,” Jarrett snapped.

  “You’ve made yer point. Now back away.”

  “Why?”

  “Because for all you know, that’s just someone coming round to check on all the commotion or the smoke from the fire. Maybe he knows something about the herd! Anyone that wasn’t locked up when they were taken has got to know which way they went.”

  “It’s a good-sized herd of cattle,” Jarrett replied. “It won’t be difficult to catch up to it.”

  “Fine. Then we’ll do it and tell the law about what happened.” By now, the older man had worked his way up to where Jarrett was standing. When he spoke again, his voice was lower and deliberate. “We’re still licking our wounds, boss.”

  “Which is why we can’t afford another fight in close quarters.”

  “Go to the law about this,” Edgar pleaded. “Sheriff Rubin will put together a posse and there’s no reason he won’t let you go along with them.”

  Jarrett stared at the distant rider through his rifle’s sights. So far, the other man was just getting his horse to calm down fully after the near misses that had been fired at him. As if sensing he was being so closely scrutinized, the rider straightened in his saddle and looked back at Jarrett.

  “I can take this one down right here,” Jarrett said. “Right now.”

  “That could very well be the sheriff. Putting a bullet in him wouldn’t be a smart thing to do under any circumstances.”

  “The sheriff would have announced himself.”

  “Then maybe one of his deputies. The point is that you don’t know who that is! Ain’t there been enough senseless killings for one day?”

  Jarrett leaned his head to one side so he could work out a kink amid the wet crunch of tight joints. “Killing one of those bastards isn’t what I’d call senseless.”

  “But . . .”

  “Yeah,” Jarrett said as he let out his breath and lowered the rifle. “You’re right. I don’t know for certain if that’s one of them or not.”

  Edgar had been holding a breath as well. When he let it out, he needed to rest a hand on Jarrett’s shoulder for support. “You really had me goin’ there, for a moment. I thought you was gonna shoot that man from his saddle without even gettin’ a look at his face.”

  “So did I.”

  “With everything that happened, it’s understandable. Just seein’ Pete and Matt the way we found ’em got me riled up as well.”

  Jarrett couldn’t take his eyes off the rider. When he saw the glint of sunlight off glass near the other man’s head, he knew he was being studied through a spyglass or something similar. “If that sheriff was good for anything, he would have been here already.”

  “Then let’s go have a word with him.” Stepping forward, Edgar raised a hand over his head and waved it back and forth. “That could still be him or one of his men right now!”

  When the rider turned his back to them and headed away from the Lazy J at a full gallop, Jarrett said, “I doubt that’s any lawman, but I think I’ll be seeing him again real soon.”

  Chapter 10

  Matt and Pete were brought back to the house and put into the ground with all the proper respect and reverence that the four exhausted men could muster. A few solemn words were spoken over the short row of graves, but Jarrett hardly paid any attention. His eyes remained fixed on the mound of dirt covering his brother. Always at the edge of his field of vision was the heap of rubble marking the spot where his brother’s family would remain. Once the words were spoken, Jarrett just wanted to collect as much of his things as he could and put that smoking hell behind him.

  Apart from Twitch, only two more horses could be found wandering the Pekoe lands. The rest had bolted for calmer pastures, which wouldn’t be hard to find. Stan took one while Jack and Edgar doubled up on the other. Jarrett had offered to carry one of them on his horse’s back, but none of the men were comfortable with Twitch’s ever-changing moods. They rode the two miles into town and made their way down Main Street. As soon as he caught sight of the sheriff’s office, Jarrett steered toward it.

  “If it’s all the same to you,” Stan said, “I’ll head down to see the doctor.”

  “After that, I’d say drinks are in order,” Edgar added.

  “We’ve got more important matters to tend to,” Jarrett said.

  “We should all see the doctor,” the oldest of them insisted. “That should be at the top of the list.”

  “I’m fine,” Jarrett replied. “The rest of you were in good enough shape to do a full day’s work digging them graves, so that means you don’t need any doctoring.”

  “We also got the hell knocked out of us,” Stan said. “Some of us more than once. I was plenty happy to help back at the ranch, but my head feels about ready to split in half. And as for you,” he added while looking at Jarrett, “you even caught some lead.”

  “Just got grazed is all,” Jarrett said. “I’ve had worse cuts from splitting logs and won’t hear another word about it.”

  “Suit yourself. We’re gonna see what the doctor has to say.”

  Jarrett turned away from them and continued toward the sheriff’s office. “Fine. Once that’s over, you’ll have a word with the sheriff to tell him whatever he needs to know.”

  “If he wants to talk to us,” Stan said, “you’ll know where to find us. Either at the doctor’s or at the Chip.”

  “Go on, then. But if you’re needed and you’re too drunk to answer me, all I have to say is . . . God help you.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  Jarrett pulled back on his reins to bring Twitch to a stop. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “Just consider it a fair warning.”

  Before the tension between those two could get any worse, Edgar stepped i
n by saying, “Ain’t nobody threatening no one. We’re all just tired after being put through hell. Both of you is right. Someone needs to talk to the sheriff and we sure could all use a stiff drink. The boss will tend to the first while the rest of us see to the latter. After both things are done, we’ll all feel a whole lot better. Don’t you men agree?”

  Stan was quick to voice his approval, but all Jarrett could manage was a grunt and a nod before steering Twitch back to his original course. The ranch hands spoke among themselves as they turned a corner onto Prosser Avenue, where both the doctor’s office and a few of Flat Pass’s saloons could be found. Jarrett continued along Main Street, stopped at a small building with a star painted on the front window and tied Twitch to a post near a half-full water trough.

  The times he’d been to see Sheriff Rubin could be counted on one hand. Only one of those had been in an official capacity, and that was just to pay a fine to get one of his former ranch hands out of jail. The rest had been simple efforts to foster goodwill with the local law. It never hurt to be on a lawman’s good side, and now Jarrett hoped some of his efforts would pay off.

  “There you are, Mr. Pekoe!” the sheriff said. “I was just about to pay you a visit.” He was a couple of inches shorter than Jarrett and fancied himself as being cast from the same mold as Wild Bill himself. In the years Jarrett had known him, Sheriff Rubin had always worn his hair long with a mustache to match. Although he didn’t wear a sash about his waist like the gun-toting legend, he did wear his pearl-handled .45 on proud display. “Saw some smoke coming from the direction of your ranch,” he said while getting up from his desk to shake Jarrett’s hand in an overly strong grip. “Hope that had nothing to do with you or your spread.”

  “It did, Sheriff.”

  Rubin slowly circled back around his desk and placed his hands on top of it. “You lose anything?”

  “The ranch is gone,” Jarrett said with hardly any inflection in his voice. “Burned. Herd’s gone. Stolen. My family . . .” He swallowed hard as his eyes turned icy-cold. “They’re gone too.”