Colorado Crossfire

by Patrick E. Andrews

  They stood alone on the darkened porch of the cabin on this last night he would be home. Paxton kissed her cheek. “If we don’t dig for that gold, we ain’t gonna get it, darling,” he said. “We got to sweat and strain to pull it outta the earth before we can take it to the assayer’s for cash money. It won’t just jump up and foller us here. So that means we got to leave now and then and go back to the diggings.”

  “I know, I know,” she said wiping at her tears.

  “But ain’t there some way that the rest of the family could go stay with you there?”

  “Now, Mae, that ain’t a fit place for a nice woman like yourself,” Paxton said. “And think o’ the awful things that Willie might see.”

  “I reckon you’re right, as always,” Mae said.

  “Sure I am, darling. Now go on inside and see to Willie,” Paxton said. “I’ll be in directly after me and Bill have some man talk about what we’re gonna be doing out there.”

  “Alright, Mae said. “I’ll see to your packing.” She walked back into the cabin.

  A few minutes later, her brother Bill Hays came out. “Mae’s feeling sad, is she?”

  “Yeah,” Paxton said. He grinned. “Same ol’ story.”

  “That’s the way womenfolk are,” Hays said. “I ain’t bound to be married myself. It ain’t worth the aggravation.”

  “I don’t feel aggravated,” Paxton said.

  “I know. You been good to my sister,” Hays said. “And that’s the truth of it.”

  “We ain’t got time to talk family stuff now,” Paxton reminded him. “We got to decide how we’re gonna get Lefty McNally and the Kiowa Kid.”

  “What do you have in mind, Milo?”

  Paxton lit a cigar, his mind turning over the options opened to them. “The first thing is to scout out Pan-And-Weep.”

  “Right,” Hays said in agreement. “We got to be sure if Lefty and Kiowa is there or not. If they ain’t we’ll play hell finding ’em.”

  “I think they’ll be there,” Paxton said. “Them two is gonna be wherever the gang is.”

  “Then it’s Pan-And-Weep,” Hays said. “But how’re we gonna find ’em there without them knowing we’re on to ’em?”

  “The best feller to send is Ned Darnell,” Milo said. “He can find them two sonofabitches, then meet us outside o’ town and let us know where they are.”

  “Ain’t Pud Barlow and Ben Clackum and Craw Mindon already there?” Hays asked.

  “They’re supposed to be,” Paxton answered. “That’s something else Darnell is gonna have to find out. It could be that Lefty and Kiowa has already done ’em in.”

  “If they ain’t, then there’s gonna be six of us against Lefty and Kiowa,” Paxton said.

  “That may not be enough,” Hays said.

  “Sure it will.” Paxton snapped. “I ain’t planning on a fair fight when we go against ’em. Once we find ’em, we get ourselves in a good position and gun them two down.”

  “It still ain’t gonna be easy,” Hays said. “I think you oughta think on hiring some help.”

  “You’re forgetting one thing,” Paxton reminded him. “Up to now, they been the hunters. That way they purty much called things their own way. Now we’re the hound dogs and they’re the coons.”

  “And we’ll tree ’em before we shoot ’em, right, Milo?”

  “That’s the best way to put it. And we’ll blow lead into ’em in the back, in the front, or anywhere else,” Paxton said. He was thoughtful for a few moments. “But if the circumstances is right, we will get some help. Don’t worry none about that.”

  “By the way, are we taking Orly with us?” Hays asked.

  Paxton shook his head. “Not this time. He’s starting to have them fits too close together. We might have to leave him at home all the time now. He seems to be getting sicker, Bill.”

  “Yeah. I noticed that, too,” Hays said. “Too bad. His share of the take always came in handy. Well, c’mon. Let’s go back inside for supper.”

  When the two joined the rest of the family, they noted Orly Hays sitting on his bunk slowly and methodically sticking his belongings into a pair of saddlebags. Milo Paxton and Hays went over to him.

  “We won’t be needing you this trip, little brother,” Hays said. “But we’ll hurry back to get you.”

  “Don’t worry, Orly,” Paxton said. “You can go next time.”

  Orly, displaying no particular emotion, understood what the two were saying to him. Without a word, he stopped packing and slowly got up to walk over to the table.

  Mae was puzzled. “Why aren’t you taking Orly with you this time?”

  “He’s been getting hit by the conniptions oftener and oftener. Besides, we want him to stay around with you,” Paxton said. “Ol’ Dad is almost blind and Willie is still too little in case something goes wrong.”

  Zeb Hays peered with squinted eyes at his son-in-law. “Hell. Willie is already more help than Orly.”

  Willie, already sitting at the table, piped up. “Yeah! I’m a big feller now.”

  Bill Hays picked up his nephew. “Sure you are, ol’ partner. We Just think that Orly oughta be here to help you out if you need it.”

  Willie tried to look serious. “Well, I reckon I could use a extry hand around the cabin.”

  “I want a able-bodied man – even if he’s a dimwit to be around here,” Paxton said smiling at what his son had said. “He might be enough to keep any bad things from happening.”

  Mae dished out some yams on the plates. “What are you talking about, Milo? Nothing’s gonna happen. We’re too far off the beaten path to have anybody stumble across us here.”

  “I don’t want no argument, Mae,” Milo said.

  She finished dishing out the food. “Darling, I got an idea that there’s something special going on. You and Bill been whispering together like a coupla scheming schoolboys.”

  Milo forced a smile. “Nothing to worry about, honey. We’ll keep things going our way.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now let’s eat!”

  “You bet.” Bill Hays said. “I always get a appetite when got a big job to do.”

  ~*~

  Russ Wilson stared into the campfire. He shook his head slowly. “Eight men killed in one fight by them two.”

  Jim Bigelow, sipping on a cup of strong coffee, nodded. “Now you know why I got ’em for the job.”

  “It’s kinda surprising, though,” Wilson said. “Sometimes Lefty and Kiowa don’t act like the smartest fellers that ever come down the pike.”

  “Maybe not,” Bigelow said. “But out here, they know their stuff. Kiowa has been raised as an Injun as he’s taught just about ever’thing he knows to Lefty. Both of ’em are natural shots and nothing in this world scares them two yahoos enough to quit.”

  “Maybe they ain’t got the good sense to be scared when they should be,” Wilson said.

  “That’s right possible,” Bigelow opined.

  “But eight men,” Wilson said again.

  “And don’t forget they already got Tom Foyt and some of his pals in Luckville,” Bigelow reminded him. “They’ve got more’n a dozen notches on their guns from this job alone.”

  “I sure wouldn’t want to go up against them two,” Wilson said. “And lemme tell you, if I ever had to, I’d sneak around and backshoot ’em. It sounds like a yeller thing to do, but that’s the way I’d handle fighting them two.”

  “A sensible gunfighter takes whatever advantages he can get,” Bigelow said. “Whether it’s making sure the sun’s in his opponent’s eyes, or catching the sonofabitch when he ain’t ready, or shooting him fast and quick – front or back.”

  “That ain’t the way they do it in dime novels,” Wilson said. “The heroes fight fair in them stories.”

  “That’s why I don’t read the damn things,” Bigelow said. He finished the coffee and poured another cup being careful to wear a glove when he picked up the hot pot.

  “How long’re we gonna wait here?” Wilson asked.
<
br />   “We got to give Lefty and Kiowa time to move into Pan-And-Weep,” Bigelow said. “Then we can go in behind ’em.”

  “You mean play backup for ’em?” Wilson asked.

  Jim Bigelow shook his head. “That’d be as dangerous for us as it would be for Paxton’s boys. I’ve always found that them two work better if you stay clear of ’em. They don’t like help.” He chuckled. “And they don’t take instructions and orders too good either. It’s best to keep things simple.”

  “You know ’em better’n I do,” Wilson said. “But maybe I oughta go in on my own. I’ll take a quick look and get back to you.”

  Bigelow was thoughtful. “That wouldn’t be a bad idea. I couldn’t go in there anyhow, now that I think of it. Somebody that knows I’m a detective for the railroad might recognize me. I doubt if any of ’em know you.”

  “Right,” Wilson said. He stood up. “I’ll saddle up and meander into the settlement.”

  “Be careful,” Bigelow advised him.

  “Of who? Milo Paxton’s gang or Lefty and Kiowa?”

  “Either and all of ’em,” Bigelow said.

  Seventeen

  Ned Darnell was tired and angry. Milo Paxton had not shown the proper gratitude for the important information he’d brought him about Lefty McNally and the Kiowa Kid. Then he had piled extra work on him. Now, after damned little rest, Ned rode into Pan-And-Weep to do his part in putting Paxton’s preliminary plans into reality.

  The settlement was a hodgepodge of shanties, tents, and camps where men working the digs and panning Blackfoot Creek lived and relaxed. The place didn’t have a permanent shape to it. With the constant coming and going creating temporary residences, it might be packed one week, sparse with a small population the second, and the third week might again find an influx in the number of inhabitants that could range from as few as fifty to as many as five hundred men.

  A half-dozen women were also among the residents. They lived in some miserable cribs where, well past their youth, they sold their used up bodies cheap to prospectors who had gone too long from civilization and attractive females to find the old harlots physically unappealing.

  This bucolic bordello was run by a married couple named Mahoney who, like their employees, had seen better times. Many years ago they’d conducted their business while following the soldiers of the Army of the Potomac through their Civil War campaigns. Bad luck, robbing drunken customers, and making enemies had reduced them to their present, miserable state.

  Pud Barlow, having dropped two bits for one of the Mahoneys’ women and satisfying himself, stepped out into the muddy space that served as a street. He’d just finished buttoning up his trousers and was headed back to the tent he called home, when he heard his name being called. He looked up to see Ned Darnell riding up.

  Pud was surprised. “What the hell are you. doing? I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Has Milo got another job lined up?”

  “Big doings, Pud,” Darnell answered. “Any place we can talk private-like?”

  “Sure. Over to my tent. It ain’t far,” Barlow answered. He led the way through the mud until they reached his canvas domicile.

  Darnell, after tying up his horse, joined him inside. “Where’s Craw and Ben?”

  “Shit, I don’t know,” Barlow answered. “Them two always run through their money fast. I think they went broke.”

  “I don’t see how you fellers spend all your damn money in such a Godawful place like Pan-And-Weep,” Darnell said.

  “We got to stay here ’cause Milo makes us,” Barlow said. “And a man can spend his money on rotgut whiskey and old whores here as fast as he can on better stuff in Helena. And that’s exactly what Craw and Ben done.”

  “They better not be out somewhere pulling a job,” Darnell said. “Milo wants you boys here now.”

  “I can’t vouch for ’em, Ned,” Barlow said. “Now how about you telling me what this is all about. I’ll bet Milo has got word on another train that’s good pickings.”

  Darnell shook his head. “Tip Tyler, Tom Foyt, and Selby Turner have been kilt.”

  Pud Barlow was silent for a moment. When he spoke, there was an icy tone in his voice. “How’d that come about?”

  “Lefty McNally and the Kiowa Kid done ’em in.”

  “Now why would Lefty and Kiowa do that?” Barlow asked.

  “We think they turned bounty hunters,” Darnell answered. “For the railroad.”

  “The Northwest and Canadian?”

  “Yeah. Who else we been robbing all this time? And that means we got this information straight from the horse’s mouth,” Darnell said. “They been hired to track us all down – one by one.”

  “They don’t know you got anything to do with the gang,” Barlow said.

  “Maybe I’m lucky,” Darnell said grinning. “Or else they would’ve shot me like the others.”

  Barlow’s expression was serious. “I reckon they would have at that. Them two are more’n just a little handy with their irons. What’s Milo got in mind?”

  “I don’t know how he thinks he’s gonna do it, but he’s of a mind to kill Lefty and Kiowa,” Darnell said. “And I’m supposed to take you, along with Ben and Craw, to meet him. There’s a place he’s picked outside o’ Pan-And-Weep where he wants us all to get together.”

  “I’m anxious to find out what’s going on,” Barlow said. “I'll get my horse.”

  Within a quarter of an hour, both men were riding through the settlement. They reached the outskirts and turned east. After going less than a mile, they met Ben Clackum and Craw Mindon riding toward them.

  “Where you two been?” Barlow asked.

  “We just got some money,” Craw said.

  Clackum laughed. “From back East.”

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” Barlow asked.

  “We’ll explain later,” Clackum said. “Right now we’re right anxious to visit the Mahoneys then get damn good and drunk.”

  “It’ll have to wait,” Darnell interjected. “We got to make a meet with Milo and Bill.”

  “What the hell for?” Mindon asked. “Another job?”

  After Darnell explained what was going on, the four men headed off in the same direction for the meeting with Milo Paxton and Bill Hays.

  ~*~

  Lefty and Kiowa paused at the edge of Pan-And-Weep. They surveyed the scene as best they could, trying to spend a few seconds studying each person they saw.

  Lefty laughed. “I see them Maloney women ain’t got any purtier.”

  Kiowa chuckled, too. “And no younger neither. But don’t worry. If we stay here long enough, they will.”

  “I hope to God we ain’t in Pan-And-Weep that long,” Lefty said. “Let’s ride through the place real slow and see if we can spot any o’ Milo’s gang.”

  “Who’s left?” Kiowa said thoughtfully. “There’s Ben Clackum, Pud Barlow, and Craw Mindon. Right?”

  “Right,” Lefty said. “But don’t discount Milo and Bill.”

  “They ain’t gonna be around here,” Lefty said. “At least I don’t think so.”

  “You’re right,” Kiowa said. “We’ll have to do some real tracking to run down them two.

  The pair allowed their horses to amble slowly as they wound through the shanties and tents. Now and then they spotted someone they’d known during their days of prospecting. After an exchange of greetings and a casual inquiry about Paxton’s gang, they continued their slow search.

  They finally came to a stop in front of a typical open-air restaurant. The proprietor, with his back to them, was trimming his beard with a pair of scissors while looking into a mirror. Lefty read the sign above the establishment aloud for Kiowa’s benefit. “It says ‘Nolan’s Flapjacks’,” he said.

  Kiowa laughed. “Hey, you old Nolan you!”

  The man working on his beard turned at the sound of his name. Gray-haired and with a wind-burned face, his grizzled features broke into a wide grin at the sight of the two. “Lefty! Kiowa! A
re you back to try your luck again?”

  They dismounted and walked up to the counter. Kiowa shook his head. “We gave up on finding gold, Nolan. How’re you doing?”

  Nolan Batcher offered his hand. “I’m doing damned good since I done like you two and stopped digging and panning.” He indicated his business with a wave of his hand. “The boys allus said I made the best damn flapjacks in the world. So I decided to sell ’em.”

  Lefty, feeling the pangs of hunger, licked his lips. “We ain’t had any flapjacks since we was at Dawson’s Meadow. He had honey for his.”

  “I got wild honey, boy,” Nolan said. “You two want a batch?”

  “How much are they?” Lefty asked. Price fluctuations were notorious in the gold country. Things that were cheap one day would suddenly soar in value the next.

  “For you boys, it’s on the house,” Nolan said. “You done me a coupla favors as I recall.” He poked up the coals under his homemade grill and stuck in some faggots to get a small fire going. “If you ain’t looking for gold, what brings you up here? The scenery?”

  “Naw,” Lefty said. “We’re looking for some old pals.”

  Nolan, a perceptive man, didn’t say anything as he stirred up his special mixture of flour, water, and seasonings. He knew nobody rode all the way up to Pan-And-Weep simply to give a howdy to friends. “Who might them pards o’ yours be?” he asked. “Maybe I seen ’em.”

  Lefty tried to sound nonchalant. “Oh, we’d like to talk to Ben Clackum maybe.”

  “Yeah,” Kiowa said. “Or Craw Mindon.”

  Nolan knew they were Milo Paxton’s boys. “They’re around,” he said. “So’s Pud Barlow. You want to see him, too?”

  “Sure. Why not?” Lefty remarked.

  At that point, Nolan was certainly not going to get involved. He knew something serious was going on. He’d learned early that a man who minds his own business in that part of the world might not necessarily return to civilization wealthy, but at least he’d return.

  Lefty, Kiowa, and Nolan engaged in small talk as the meal was cooked and served. The restaurateur was generous with both the flapjacks and the honey. By the time the food was consumed, Lefty and Kiowa were full.