Colorado Crossfire

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “We thank you kindly for the grub, Nolan,” Lefty said.

  “Yeah. It were delicious,” Kiowa added.

  “Glad you enjoyed it, boys,” Nolan said.

  “By the way, Nolan,” Lefty said. “If you see them fellers, don’t mention we’re looking for ’em. Me and Kiowa kinda want to surprise ’em.”

  “I’ll just bet you do,” Nolan remarked as they went back to their horses. “If I see Ben or Craw or Pud, I’ll just keep this old mouth clamped up tight, boys. Don’t you worry none about that.” He called out, “I hope to see you again.”

  They mounted up to continue their circuit of the settlement. Lefty glanced over at Kiowa. “You figger Nolan knows we’re gonna have trouble here?”

  “Sure he does,” Kiowa said. “And let me tell you something else. I also figger that Milo Paxton has heard about what’s been happening. I got a feeling we’re gonna have one hell of a showdown here in Pan-And-Weep.”

  “I been getting nervous, too,” Lefty admitted. They had almost ridden a complete circle of the place when they spotted Russ Wilson riding in from the west. Lefty emitted a loud whistle to attract his attention.

  Wilson rode over. “How’s things look?”

  “There’s three of ’em in town now,” Lefty said.

  “Clackum, Barlow, and Mindon.”

  “Yeah,” Kiowa said. “But it’s about time ol’ Milo and Bill Hays are gonna be poking their noses into this mess. Me and Lefty need backups now.” Wilson agreed. “Me and Bigelow knew the time was coming. I’ll ride on back and fetch him. You two carry on ’til we get here.”

  “Don’t tarry,” Lefty said.

  “We’ll be back in plenty o’ time,” Wilson promised. “Don’t let ’em get away. If need be, throw down on ’em and let the devil take his due. Me and Jim Bigelow’ll be here directly.” He turned his horse around and rode back up into the forest.

  “Well, Kiowa,” Lefty said. “Let’s hunt ’em down.”

  Loosening their guns in holsters and the rifle boots on their saddles, Lefty and Kiowa went back through the town to start what they hoped would be the end of the job.

  ~*~

  Milo Paxton, holding court from the fallen log that served as his throne, languidly smoked his cigar as he looked over his men.

  Bill Hays, alert and angry, fidgeted with one of his pistols, brushing imaginary dust off it and spinning the cylinder from time to time.

  Sitting beside him, Pud Barlow was solemn and angry. Learning of the death of three of his closest friends had put him in a determined mood for vengeance.

  Ben Clackum and Craw Mindon, with the money from their latest murder and robbery in their pockets, were both anxious to get on with the job of killing Lefty McNally and the Kiowa Kid. With any luck, after Lefty and Kiowa were killed, Milo would reward them by letting them go down to Luckville for a real blow-out of a celebration.

  Taking a bite from his plug of tobacco, Ned Darnell worked it up into his cheek before his spoke. “It’s God’s truth, boys. Them two sonofabitches killed eight men back there at Luckville.”

  Bill Hays finally reholstered his pistol, “They’re good, Milo.”

  “Goddamn it! I know they’re good,” Paxton said. “Why do you think I ain’t just riding back into Pan-And-Weep for a showdown with ’em?”

  “We know you can handle it, boss,” Craw Mindon said respectfully. “We’re just kinda anxious to do ’em in.”

  “Well, so am I,” Paxton said. “Do you and Ben know many fellers in that pile o’ shanties?”

  “We know a few,” Clackum said.

  “Any good guns in there?” Paxton asked.

  Clackum glanced at Mindon then back to Paxton. “Nobody special. But ever’body knows how to use one, I reckon.”

  “There’s some that could be hired for a fight,” Mindon quickly added. “You can always find somebody down on his luck and looking for a grubstake.”

  “That’s right, boss,” Clackum said. “And they’d be willing to risk their necks if the price was right.” Paxton lapsed back into a pensive mood for a few minutes.

  Bill Hays looked at him in anticipation. “You got something in mind, Milo?”

  The gang leader didn’t answer for a few moments. Finally he said, “Yeah. It’s an idea that Bill gave me before we got back here. The more I think about it, the better I like the plan. I want Ben and Craw to go into Pan-And-Weep and get us about a half-dozen more fellers. Tell ’em it’s ten dollars gold to take down a coupla bastards that done dirt to us.”

  “Right, boss,” Clackum said glad to see something finally happening.

  “But I don’t want ’em shot down,” Paxton said.

  “Why the hell not?” Craw Mindon demanded to know.

  “Because, shithead,” Paxton said, “we need to find out who’s putting them up to hunting down the gang. How do you know there ain’t more bounty hunters out there someplace, huh? Maybe there’s a whole damn posse that’s been sent for us. It’d be purty damn dumb to do in Lefty and Kiowa only to find out there was twenty more follering them.”

  Properly chastised, Mindon said, “You’re right, boss. That’s why you’re ramrodding this outfit.”

  “And don’t you forget it, goddamn it!” Paxton snapped.

  Bill Hays, as smart as his brother-in-law, elaborated more. “The Northwest and Canadian might have put out big rewards on us, boys. On the other hand, maybe it ain’t the railroad at all. Maybe them two boys is deputy marshals and have warrants with our names writ all over ’em.”

  “It’s complicated alright,” Pud Barlow agreed.

  “Them two don’t know that Ned is part o’ the gang,” Paxton said. “He can look ’em up and tell ’em that Ben, Pud, and Craw is out hunting. Then he can take ’em someplace to wait for ’em.”

  “Where should I take ’em, boss?” Ned asked.

  “I know,” Ben Clackum interjected. “There’s a likker tent near the edge o’ town on this side. We can have the hired galoots waiting for ’em there. Lefty and Kiowa won’t suspect nothing. When Darnell gives the signal, them other fellers can jump ’em. Then me and Craw and Pud can come on in and bring ’em back out here where the boss and Bill is waiting.”

  Milo Paxton patted Clackum on the shoulder. “You’re getting smart in your old age, Ben.”

  Clackum grinned. “Thanks, boss.”

  Paxton gave his attention to Ned Darnell. “You know what to do?”

  “Sure, boss,” Darnell answered. “I’ll hire about six down-and-outers and have ’em go over to the likker tent. Then I’ll look up Lefty and Kiowa and bring ’em over there. After we jump them two, we’ll drag ’em back out here.”

  “It’ll work,” Bill Hays said with a tone of finality in his voice.

  “You’re damned right it will if it’s done right,” Milo Paxton said. “Lefty and Kiowa is good, but they ain’t good enough to fight their way outta getting grabbed by six men if they’re surprised.”

  “Let’s get moving,” Ben Clackum urged. “I ain’t gonna be happy ’til I’m pissing on Lefty McNally and the Kiowa Kid’s graves.”

  Eighteen

  Jim Bigelow stood concealed behind the ponderosa pine with his carbine locked and loaded. Alert and ready, he listened as the unseen horse approached him on the trail. When Bigelow spotted Russ Wilson, he stepped out into view.

  “How did it go?” he asked.

  “I found Lefty and Kiowa,” Wilson answered. “And there’s plenty going on, believe me.”

  “Should we get ready to move into Pan-And-Weep and lend a hand?” Bigelow asked.

  Wilson shook his head and dismounted. “Nope. They said three o’ the gang – Clackum, Barlow, and Mindon – has left Pan-And-Weep and are headed back to Luckville.”

  Bigelow was puzzled. “But I thought it was pretty certain that them three was well established in the settlement.” He pondered the situation for a few’ moments. “Damn! I wonder what made ’em leave.”

  Wilson shrugged. “Hell,
I don’t know. Maybe there’s some special business they got to tend to in Luckville or something. But when Lefty and Kiowa say that’s where them three is headed, you can believe it.”

  “Sure,” Bigelow agreed. “It just don’t make sense. That’s all. Ever’thing added up to one big final showdown in Pan-And-Weep. I even half-expected Milo Paxton and Bill Hays to show up. Surely they musta got the word by now about what’s going on.”

  “Believe me, Jim,” Wilson said. “There ain’t no reason for you and me to go to Pan-And-Weep. But it ain’t a total loss. Lefty and Kiowa learned the route them three is gonna take to Luckville.”

  “I ain’t surprised,” Bigelow said “It’s hard to keep anything from them two. They’re like a coupla ol’ bloodhounds once they’re on a scent.”

  “Clackum, Mindon, and Barlow is gonna go the long way around,” Wilson said.

  “What the hell for?” Bigelow asked in puzzlement.

  “Maybe they got to see somebody,” said Wilson. “More’n likely, though, it’s just to keep from getting spotted. They’ll cross the Blackfoot and travel south on the west side o’ the diggings.”

  “Then we better hightail our own butts down to Luckville,” Bigelow said. “And I mean now.”

  Wilson shook his head. “Relax, Jim. It’ll take them three a week to get down there. We can go back the reg’lar way and be there long afore anyone else shows up. We got plenty of time. Anyhow, if Lefty and Kiowa is dogging Paxton’s boys, they ain’t gonna make it nohow. Chances are that them two will show up down there with the story of how they done Barlow and Mindon and Clackum in.”

  “I suppose,” Bigelow said.

  “And if they don’t catch up to ’em, then ever’one will be there together,” Wilson said. “And that includes us sitting there waiting for ’em.” He took his horse’s reins and led the animal off the trail toward their camp. “Either way there ain’t no hurry.”

  Bigelow, following, went over to the cold embers of their fire and sat down. “Things just ain’t adding up.”

  “I don’t see no problems,” Wilson said.

  “The pattern of the hunt’s been broken,” Bigelow explained. “The trail was purty clean from Helena to Dawson’s Meadow. After that, ever’thing moved into El Campo and on up to Luckville. It seems logical that there’d be another showdown in Pan-And-Weep, but it looks like the trail took a sharp turn and we’re on our way back to Luckville again.”

  “A manhunt ain’t necessarily an orderly affair,” Wilson pointed out. He began to unsaddle his horse. “Either way, we don’t have to pull out ’til the morning.”

  Bigelow had doubts. “I’m thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “About going into Pan-And-Weep to look around,” Bigelow said.

  “That’d be dumb!” Wilson snapped. His hand reached for his Colt, easing it up out of the holster. “There ain’t nothing there to be seen. I already checked ever’thing out.”

  “I’d still like a look-see for myself,” Bigelow said.

  Now Wilson put his thumb on the hammer, ready to draw it back. “But what if Mindon, Barlow, and Clackum is gonna meet up with Paxton and Hays to pull another raid on the railroad?”

  “You’re right,” Bigelow said. “I reckon I’m just impatient. We’ll head back for Luckville in the morning.”

  Wilson reholstered the pistol.

  ~*~

  Ned Darnell walked his horse into Pan-And-Weep. He looked around feeling a bit nervous as he scouted through the town. He didn’t want to talk to anybody who looked busy, prosperous, or in a good mood. The outlaw was searching out desperate unhappy types who needed money and were willing to do anything to get it.

  Darnell didn’t see anyone who caught his eye until he wandered into the north side of the settlement. There, in abject misery and poverty, lived some down-and-outers in living quarters that would have been termed nothing less than a hobo camp down in the civilized world.

  He came to a halt and looked around. Some of the more fortunate in the area had constructed lean-tos of blankets and branches. But most were out in the open, forced to sleep in their clothing for warmth. Several of the men, unshaven, gaunt, and angry-looking, gazed with open hostility at the new arrival.

  Darnell cleared his throat and spoke up loudly. “Anybody looking for a grubstake?”

  Now the animosity turned to friendliness. A couple of them got to their feet and hurried over.

  “Yeah, mister. That’s all I need,” one said speaking while displaying a wide smile. “That claim o’ mine only needs about six more weeks o’ good work. Then she’ll pay off and pay off good. You’ll get more on your money than you ever dreamed of.”

  The man behind him pushed his way forward. “Don’t listen to this feller. He’s been milking folks for years on that useless hunk o’ ground. I got the motherlode. And I’m so close I can smell it.”

  The first prospector grabbed the other. “Listen, you sonofabitch!”

  Darnell got in between them. “I’m looking for six men. You two just might do. And it’ll get you ten dollars gold.”

  The two simmered down, grinning happily, as a third came up. “Count me in, mister.”

  Another appeared. “It’s either get a grubstake or leave these damn mountains flat broke,” he said. “I’m at the end o’ my tether.”

  Now several more joined the throng that had gathered in front of Darnell. The outlaw held up his hand for quiet. “I’m offering work that won’t take too long. But I want you to know it’s risky and maybe you’re gonna be using a gun.”

  One of the miners laughed sardonically. “I ain’t got nothing to lose, mister. If I don’t get a chance for another six months, then I’m walking out on five hard years up here. I’ve already risked ever’thing. It’s just a matter o’ carrying on or dying. So either way, I ain’t got a lot to lose.”

  A prospector called out, “You’re at the bottom o’ the barrel here, mister. All you got to do is throw out a few dollars and scrape us up.”

  Another, not quite so desperate, asked, “What’s the job you’re hiring for?”

  “A man’s been done dirt,” Darnell explained. He decided not to make things any sweeter than they were. He wanted to make sure the men he hired were willing to face down Lefty and Kiowa. “And he’s got to have help to go up against two damn tough hombres.” Darnell paused.

  “What’d they do?” somebody asked.

  “That ain’t none o’ your business,” Darnell said. “But I can tell you they kilt eight men in a matter of less’n an hour in Luckville. A half-dozen or so went down in El Campo. It’s tough and risky. So if you ain’t willing to fight for the ten dollars gold, step back.”

  Nobody moved.

  “I trust you got some sort o’ plan,” a miner asked. “Or are you planning on having us just rush at ’em shooting?”

  “Yeah. We got a plan, don’t worry about that. And if it’s done right, none o’ you will be getting hurt,” Darnell said. “And you’ll be getting that grubstake you need.”

  “We all got guns,” a prospective gunslinger said. “But most of us has either shot up or sold off our bullets.”

  “We’ll buy you some more,” Darnell promised. “Now enough o’ this palaver. Who wants the job?”

  Dozens of dirty hands shot up. Darnell, after carefully looking them over, picked out six of what he considered to be the best. After tapping them on the chest, he turned and led them toward the liquor tent where the main action was to occur.

  ~*~

  Lefty took a drink of the whisky and winced. “My God! That’s the worstest likker I ever drank.”

  The man who owned the whiskey leaned against his shanty. “I got no doubts o’ that, pard. Want another swig?”

  “Yeah,” Lefty said. He held out the communal tin cup that belonged to the proprietor and had it refilled. Tipping his head back, he drained it, then looked over at Kiowa. “You want a drink?”

  “Yeah.” He fished out two bits. Tired of walki
ng around Pan-And-Weep looking for Paxton’s men, he and Lefty had decided to treat themselves to a couple of belts of whiskey.

  The man poured some swigs into the cup and gave it to Kiowa. “Drink up, Injun. This stuff’s fresh as a daisy. Fact is, the batch is still dripping outta the still.”

  Kiowa took it all in a swallow. “Here,” he said in a husky, wheezing voice as his throat reacted to the raw liquor. “That’s all I can stand.”

  “Don’t worry, boys,” the man said. “The longer you stay in Pan-And-Weep, the sweeter it’ll get.” He burst out in laughter. “Just like them women over to the Mahoneys’ place.”

  Lefty and Kiowa walked away. “This job is getting me down,” Lefty said. “I’ll be glad when it’s over and we can get back down outta these damn mountains.” He, like Kiowa, cradled his carbine in his arms. They wanted all weaponry handy – pistols and long guns included – in case of a surprise meet with Paxton or his men.

  “Unless Phineus finds El Capitan,” Kiowa reminded him.

  “That’s one thing I’m counting on,” Lefty said. Kiowa sighed. “I reckon we might as well stroll around some more. We ain’t gonna find nothing hanging around here.”

  The scene around was that of men engaged in the various chores and activities common to such impermanent mining communities. Some were cooking at their campfires, others lounging and taking their ease as they waited for grubstakes, friends, supplies, or other things they needed to continue their prospecting projects.

  Lefty and Kiowa had seen several of these on numerous occasions during their tours of the settlement. They finally spotted a man they hadn’t seen before. They walked up to him hoping the newcomer had seen something of Paxton’s men. “Howdy,” Lefty said.

  “Howdy,” the miner said, tying down the load on his burro’s back.

  “Fixing to go back to your digs?” Lefty asked setting his carbine on his shoulder.

  The prospector shook his head. “I’m leaving Pan-And-Weep. There’s got to be more gold higher up the Blackfoot. It’s panned dry here.” Making a gesture of disgust, he said, “Look at all these damn fellers. All they’re doing is stumbling over each other, fighting and squabbling, and getting poorer every day.”