Wanted: A Western Story Collection

by Robert J. Thomas

  “Stay put and we won’t kill ya!”

  McAllen put his hand on Maggie’s shoulder and none-too-gently shoved her to the ground. They all picked up their rifles and scurried behind the grave sites. The thin tree trunks provided poor cover, so the mounds were a godsend. McAllen suddenly felt grateful they hadn’t brought a shovel.

  To shoot, they would have to raise their heads above the rock piles. McAllen removed his hat and waved it until Dancy and Eli removed theirs. By the time he turned back around, Maggie’s hat was on the ground as well. Whistling low to get their attention again, he made a show of scrubbing dirt on his forehead and cheeks. They followed suit.

  McAllen yelled to the rustlers. “If you come for those horses, you’ll be the ones dead!”

  “We got a bead on that little girl. One shot, and she’s dead.”

  Maggie lay behind a pile of stones, so McAllen knew the voice was lying. Dancy pointed to a spot along the tree line on the opposite bank. It was the only position from which they could have seen her when she was exposed. McAllen nodded agreement.

  Without discussion, they both started shooting at the most likely hiding positions. By McAllen’s third shot, Maggie joined in. Then Eli started to shoot, but with careful deliberation. Dirt and rocks flew up all over the opposite bank as nearly thirty rounds searched for a live target. McAllen believed in meeting force with force. If someone threatens, believe the threat and strike before they do.

  When Dancy had first arrived from New York City, his timidity had put himself and his companions at risk. McAllen had taught him to survive by reacting with speed to danger. His aggressive reaction in this situation proved he had taken McAllen’s admonitions to heart.

  No one shot back. As McAllen finished reloading, Maggie made gimme motions with her hand. McAllen remembered that she didn’t carry cartridges in her riding skirt. He passed over a half dozen from his belt and looked at their horses grazing idly in the meadow about fifty yards away. The saddlebags held boxes of ammunition. He examined the tree line and saw that they would partially block the view from the other side of the creek. Since he wasn’t about to abandon Maggie’s side, he glanced at Dancy and was pleased to see that he was already crawling toward the horses.

  Still no one shot back. Eli said they had previously played possum to draw out their quarry. McAllen had no problem remaining still, but he worried about Maggie and Eli. He whispered for them to stay down and be patient. Both nodded concurrence. After checking Dancy’s progress, he returned his attention to the opposite side of the creek. No motion. The first fusillade kept the rustlers heads down and told them they would not be easily subdued, but without clear visual targets, further shots would be a waste of ammunition. He waited, ready to shoot if they shot at Dancy or his daughter.

  A single report rang out from the opposite bank. McAllen had been glancing back at Dancy and failed to spot the shooter’s location. Maggie fired a single return shot, and McAllen heard a distinct yelp of pain. He immediately reached over and forced her head down. A barrage of bullets tore up the grave mound. Damn. There were at least three rustlers over there, and if the wounded one wasn’t the shooter, maybe four.

  He examined the other bank. There were even fewer trees over there. How had the rustlers snuck up on them? The only answer was that they hadn’t. They must have been lying on the other bank the entire time. Why hadn’t they killed them as they scurried back and forth with rocks from the creek bed? He scanned up and down the creek but couldn’t spot the rustlers’ horses. Where could they be hidden? Again, only one possible answer: their horses had to be some distance away, hidden in a swale or far down the creek where more trees provided better cover. After a visual search of the terrain, McAllen decided that in either case, their horses were at least a hundred yards away, more likely two.

  The rustlers had ambushed the Chapmans from the same position and then hung around waiting for something. What could they be waiting for? Why linger around their murder victims? Why didn’t they chase after the boy and the horses? He couldn’t have been a big hindrance to their rustling the herd. Not four against one.

  He looked hard at Eli.

  Dancy plopped down next to Eli behind the other grave. He had used the distraction of the shooting to scurry across the grass in a bent-over run. Now he rolled over onto his back, breathing heavily. When he caught his breath, he threw one of the saddlebags over to McAllen, who swung it between him and his daughter. As Maggie rummaged through the bag for ammunition, McAllen tried to get a look at Eli, but he was partially hidden behind Dancy.

  McAllen no longer believed the kid’s story. He was never with the Chapmans. That was bullshit. Quick-witted bullshit, but bullshit nevertheless. He rode with the rustlers. Probably the junior member of the gang, so they sent him to round up the horses and bring them back. In the meantime, they took a nap. Or maybe they just rested. Eli had been the one lugging rocks up from the creek bed. Perhaps his movements or the trees interfered with a clear shot at the rest of them. Or perhaps they wanted the bodies buried and waited for them to finish the task. Whatever the reason, they had been waiting on the other side of the creek the whole time. Then a thought struck him—if the boy was lying, then he had probably made up the name Chapman too. McAllen had no idea whom they had just buried. Or even if the two were related.

  For now, it was best to play along. Both Dancy and he were between the boy and Maggie, so he didn’t present an immediate threat to his daughter.

  “Eli, how many over there?” McAllen asked in a loud whisper.

  “Five or six, I think. Maybe more,” Eli whispered back.

  Another lie. McAllen had been shot at enough to know there were only three gunmen. It was possible a few didn’t shoot, but he doubted it. Maggie tugged on his sleeve.

  She whispered so low, McAllen barely heard her. “Eli’s lying.”

  He nodded in reply.

  “He’s one of them,” she whispered.

  That surprised McAllen. He assumed her first statement had to do with the number of rustlers, but she had figured out the bigger picture. Okay, now he had to alert Dancy.

  Then one of the rustlers called out. “All we want is the horses. No use ya dyin’ for someone else’s property. Leave yer rifles where we can see ’em and ride off. Ya can keep yer pistols.”

  Dancy looked over and shook his head no. McAllen had no intention of replying. They had already killed two men. A few more wouldn’t bother their conscience. Eli had lured them back here because they could identify him. He wanted three more mounds of rocks alongside this creek bed. McAllen wasn’t too worried about Eli. His life had often depended on judging people, and Eli was a talker, not a shooter. He probably wanted his friends across the creek to do the job for him. McAllen guessed Eli would bide his time unless pushed into a corner. For the time being, McAllen would concentrate on the men across the way. For sure, they were killers.

  He rolled onto his back and thought. If this was a waiting game, he could outwait any man, but Dancy tended to leap before thinking, and his daughter had all the impatience of a sixteen year old. One of them would get edgy and do something stupid. Because they had been lying in wait, the rustlers probably had food and water. The saddlebags contained food, but Dancy had forgotten the canteens. Eating would make them even thirstier. Waiting gave the advantage to the rustlers. He reluctantly decided to force a confrontation.

  They wanted horses. They probably also wanted Eli. But how much did they want the boy? Unless he was related, less than they wanted the horses. Except Eli could identify the gang members. They had no clue to his intentions. Had he joined forces with these new men? If he had told some story, would it hold? If found out, would he talk? In McAllen’s experience, bad men didn’t trust others. They wouldn’t trust Eli.

  In a conversational tone, McAllen said, “Eli, you know they want you dead.”

  “They want us all dead,” the boy responded. “Damn them to hell, anyway.”

  “Yep, all of us … or at
least you.” He paused.

  “What are ya talkin’ ’bout? They want Mr. Chapman’s horses. Maybe they’ll go away if we let ’em have ’em.”

  “They killed two men. Can’t get around that. It’s done. Now they gotta take care of you as well.”

  McAllen could see from the way Dancy shifted that he understood. His new position allowed him access to his Colt, which would be handier in close quarters.

  “They was far away last time. I never saw ’em.”

  McAllen said, “You ride with them.”

  Silence.

  “Are you related to any of those men?” McAllen asked. “Might help.”

  “No!”

  “Too bad,” McAllen said with sad finality.

  Dancy scooted back for a better position on Eli and so McAllen could also see the boy. All of them had their heads below the rock mounds. Dancy raised up just enough to see across the creek and did not draw shots. When he lowered himself back to the ground, he signaled McAllen that he saw no threat. Everybody lay in wait. Time was not their friend. After dark, they might be able to crawl over to their horses to get water, but the rustlers would also have an opportunity to sneak up on them or change positions. He needed to know what faced them.

  “Eli, been thinkin’ ’bout what I said?” McAllen asked.

  “No. No reason to think on it. I don’t know those men.”

  “You do. You’re gonna start tellin’ me ’bout them, or I’m gonna shoot you. Choose a side. Get up and walk across the creek or start talkin’.”

  Eli, who seemed never at a loss for words, didn’t utter a sound.

  Finally, he asked, “How’d I screw up?”

  “You didn’t. Your story just don’t hold up with those men on the other side of the creek the whole time.”

  “They sent me to round up the herd while they drank in celebration,” Eli said. “Told me to bury the bodies when I got back. Said two graves wouldn’t raise an eyebrow, but dead men might get a posse up.”

  “How long have you been riding with them?” Dancy asked.

  “Couple months. Ran away from home. Not a gang so much as a crew of men. Ain’t done nothin’ too bad till now.”

  “How many?” McAllen demanded.

  “Four.”

  McAllen nodded, then asked, “Where’re their horses?”

  Eli pointed down the creek to where it bent north. It was less than a hundred yards, but McAllen still couldn’t see the horses.

  “They’re tethered in the creek bed. The banks are deeper and wider down there. The horses got food and water.”

  “What will they do?” McAllen asked.

  “Hell, I don’t know. They never kilt no one before. I think that little girl shot one of ’em. That’ll make Big Chuck mad as hell … especially if it was his brother.”

  “Big Chuck the leader?”

  “He is. Nice enough till he drinks. Then mean as a grizzly.”

  “And you say they been drinkin?”

  “Since they kilt that old man and his hand.”

  “Hand?” Maggie said. “Not his son?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “Everything you told us was a lie,” Maggie said. “How do we know you aren’t still lying?”

  “Because he hasn’t really said anything yet,” Dancy said. “He’s lulling us into believing him.”

  “I did lie, but now I’ll tell the truth. I don’t want no part with killin’.”

  “Did you shoot at those ranchers?” McAllen asked.

  “Those men shot at us,” Eli said.

  “Self-defense then, clear and simple,” Dancy said.

  “Damn right,” Eli said, oblivious to Dancy’s sarcasm.

  The kid was trouble. McAllen might have coldcocked him if he hadn’t been so far away. Then Dancy did something that impressed the hell out of McAllen. In a rolling movement, he took the boy’s pistol with his left hand and snatched his rifle with his right. As he completed the roll away from Eli, he flipped both guns over to McAllen’s side.

  “Hell, give ’em back,” Eli hissed, startled.

  McAllen put the weapons between him and Maggie, and then said, “Knife.”

  Dancy rolled back with his Colt in hand. When Eli’s eyes opened wide, Dancy cocked the pistol an inch from his nose. Eli gulped and slowly reached behind his back and pulled out a knife. He gingerly handed it to Dancy, who threw it into the creek.

  “Is Eli your real name?” Maggie asked, in a snit.

  Good question. McAllen still assumed some of what he had said was true.

  “Sam,” he said, as he rolled onto his back and crossed his arms over his chest. “You figure out how to get outta this ambush. I ain’t gonna help ya now.”

  “Don’t want your help,” McAllen said. Then he yelled to the other side of the creek. “You got a man hurt over there? You can leave to take care of him if you want.”

  A single bullet came back in reply. McAllen glanced at Dancy and saw that he was ready.

  “Big Chuck, sure you want to fight? If you call it off now, we’ll let you go on down to your horses. Make up your mind. No second offer.”

  This time two shots rang out just before another came from across the creek—one from Dancy and the other from Maggie. No yelp this time. The shooter was dead or both shots had missed.

  “You son of a bitch, ya killed Big Chuck! Yer gonna die for this!”

  “That his brother yellin’?” McAllen asked.

  “I’ll see ya in hell!” the voice yelled.

  “From what I hear, you won’t get bored awaitin’ our arrival. Got lots to keep your mind on your own sufferin’ down there.”

  “Stick yer head up, grandpa, and ya can go see if what ya heard is true.”

  “There’s three of us against two and a half of you. Give it up.”

  “Johnny’s okay, just a new crease in his neck. A girl don’t come close to one of him, even if that bullet had pierced his chest.”

  “I put that crease in his neck!” Maggie yelled.

  She opened her mouth to say more, but McAllen put a hand on her arm and shook his head no. He didn’t want her the target of a vendetta.

  “If ya killed Sam, ya did us a favor. He ain’t nothin’ but a traitor.”

  “Damn ya, ya stupid old man,” Sam/Eli fumed. “You called Big Chuck by his name and mentioned a brother. They think I’m in cahoots with ya.”

  “I’m old, not stupid,” McAllen said. “If you want to live, you better hope we win this fight.”

  “Shit.” The boy realized the truth of the statement.

  No one spoke or shot for many minutes. A standoff. McAllen wondered if Johnny really was in the fight. Best not to count him out. He signaled to Dancy to roll over behind their grave site. When the three of them lay tightly together behind one mound, McAllen whispered his plan to Dancy and Maggie.

  ***

  Dusk brought bugs to the creek. McAllen swatted the critters away as he scooched backward in line with the rock mound. Dancy did the same, while Maggie kept her rifle at the ready in case there was renewed shooting from the other side. As they crawled backward, they picked up twigs and branches along the way. When they had as much as they could hold, they crawled forward and deposited them in a pile between the grave sites. They made three more trips, each further away from the mounds. Darkness increasingly hid their actions. Next, Dancy made a hunched-over run to the horses and brought back three canteens. Time for supper.

  Cold beans, jerky, biscuits, and warm water made a boring meal, but McAllen wolfed it down hungrily. He gave a biscuit and water to Sam or Eli or whatever the hell his name was. They had limited food, and McAllen didn’t want to waste it on the enemy. He hoped they were drinking whiskey on the other side of the creek. He preferred drunk combatants. After they ate, McAllen took a nap while Dancy watched Sam. He told Maggie to sleep as well, but she seemed too keyed up.

  Dancy shook him awake after an hour. It was completely dark and time to get busy. They had a large
stack of sticks situated between the grave sites. Maggie put a match to the kindling, and a blaze caught immediately. McAllen had already turned his back to the fire and started a crawl toward the creek. He needed to move quickly because the kindling, even with some held in reserve, wouldn’t burn long. He wanted to check behind him to make sure Maggie was secured behind the rocks, but that would ruin his ability to see in the dark. He told himself to concentrate on his job and trust Dancy to protect her.

  By the time he reached the bank, he was probably thirty feet up-creek from the rustlers’ hiding place. Then he both heard and saw shots ring out. That meant Dancy and Maggie had started sliding hats on sticks in and out of the light from the fire. The rustlers were fooled. He needed to move now, while they focused on the burning twigs. As they continued to take potshots, he ran down the bank, across the creek, and up the other bank. He made some noise, but not enough to hear over the gunshots. He didn’t crawl but ran in a crouch around to the backside of the rustlers. He hoped all three had shot at the supposed targets around the fire. After looking into the light, they would have difficulty seeing his approach in the dark. His biggest problem was bugs. He wanted to swat or wave them away but couldn’t expose his position. Hell, a few bug bites never killed anyone. He ignored them. Moving carefully, he got within twenty feet without being noticed.

  McAllen took a slow, deep breath, soundlessly lay his rifle on the ground, and drew his long-barrel Smith and Wesson .44. Averting his eyes from the fire, he stood tall at an angle to the rustlers, whom he could barely make out in the light of a half-moon. If he hunched down, he would make a smaller target but would have a poor sight line to all three. He took another long, slow breath … and then yelled.

  “Throw down your weapons. Now!”

  All three flipped around, rifles at the ready.

  Each reacted with a slight difference in speed. McAllen shot the fastest in the middle of the chest, then he shot the other two. Three loud blasts came from his hand and one from the ground in front of him. He saw a muzzle flash and felt a tug at his arm. He fired a fourth time as he shifted to his left and dropped to one knee.