by Peter Grant
“We don’t know what they look like,” Lewis pointed out.
“No, but we know what our horses look like, and they carry my brand.”
Samson came up again. “Here’s your spare horses, suh.” Behind him four teamsters each led a horse.
“Thanks.” Walt took one of the lead ropes, fastening it to his saddle as he watched the others do the same. “All right. Let’s go!”
“This’ll do nicely,” Walt decided, his voice hoarse. He pointed to a creek crossing the trail. “They’ll have to close up and bunch the horses to ford it. I’ll put two of you in those trees up top of that rise on the east side, where you can see them coming. Soon as you do, head back across the creek to join us. We’ll take them while they’re crossing the ford.”
“Ya mean we can get out o’ these saddles at last?” Lewis said wearily, his face lined and drawn. They’d ridden through the night and into the morning, taking mountains and hills in their stride, swapping their saddles from horse to horse every one to two hours, pushing them to the limit. The animals were leg-weary, breathing hard, flecks of foam crusting their chests.
“Yeah, we can. We’ll water the spare horses, then picket them behind these trees where they can’t be seen from the trail.”
Sandy asked, “How long d’you reckon afore they get here, boss?”
“I’d say we have an hour or so. We’ve made better time than they could.”
“What about the Teller County Sheriff?” Isom asked, nodding westward. “His office is in the Divide.”
“I’m going to deal with these men myself. If the sheriff wants to argue about that, I’ll accommodate him,” Walt said flatly. “I don’t think he’ll find out until it’s too late. Unless someone comes along, sees us and tells him—and remember, we’ve only seen one wagon and two riders all morning—he won’t know we had anything to do with it.”
“OK. You’re the boss.”
“Lewis, Sandy, water your horses, then head back to the top of that rise. Here, take my spyglass. It’ll help you be sure they’re driving our stock. Make sure they don’t see you. Isom and I will wait here, in those trees.”
* * *
Walt woke from an exhausted stupor to find Isom shaking him relentlessly. “Lewis and Sandy are headin’ back, boss. They must have seen them coming.”
He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain as he sat up. “Thanks.”
They splashed water on their faces, then made sure the spare horses were still securely picketed. When Lewis and Sandy arrived, they formed a line inside the trees on the west side of the creek, their guns ready in their hands. Walt favored his Winchester rifle and Isom his shotgun, while the other two relied on revolvers.
“What did you see?” Walt asked.
Lewis handed him his spyglass. “Thanks for lettin’ us use that, boss. There’s four of them, drivin’ our seven hosses an’ a pack horse.”
“Four? Not five?”
“We only saw four, boss.”
“I hope the other one hasn’t turned off somewhere. You sure those horses are ours?”
“No doubt about it. I recognized at least four of ’em through that spyglass. I’ve ridden most of ’em before. Will’s hoss is still carryin’ his saddle.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
They tensed as the riders and horses appeared at the top of the gentle rise, heading down to the ford. Walt said softly, “Wait until they’re all in the water. Lewis, you and I will be on this side of the road. Isom, you and Sandy cross to the other side and cover them from there. Let me do the talking. If any of them show fight or try to run, shoot them down. Remember, they killed Will, so they don’t deserve any mercy.”
“Got it.” “Sure, boss.” “Yes, suh.” The replies came in ragged unison.
“All right. Let me make the first move.”
They waited, the tension ratcheting higher as the group drew nearer. Walt patted the shoulder of his horse as it moved restlessly under him. It wasn’t scout-trained, and he didn’t want it neighing or making any other noise that might warn the men.
He watched as the four riders drove the eight horses into the water, one of them on either side of the small herd and the other two behind it. He waited until they were in the middle of the stream, their mounts splashing and stumbling over the rocky bottom, all their riders’ attention fixed on controlling them and the horses they were driving, then said sharply, “Now!”
The four thieves jerked upright in alarm as they burst out of the trees, weapons leveled. “Nobody move!” Walt barked. “If you try anything, we’ll kill you. Get your hands up! Higher, damn you!”
“What the hell is this?” growled one of the strangers as he slowly, sullenly complied.
“You know darn well what this is. You stole those horses last night.”
“Huh?” The man strove to sound convincingly nonplussed. “We didn’t steal them—we bought ’em from a freight outfit outside Colorado City.”
“Suuuure you did. I daresay you’ve got a bill of sale for them, all nice an’ legal?”
“Well… not with me, I ain’t, but I got one back in Colorado City.”
“Like hell you have! That freight outfit is mine, and you stole those horses. You killed one of my men when you took ’em, too. Sandy, Lewis, fetch our horses out of the river, then, Lewis, you hold them clear of the ford. They’re leg-weary, so I doubt they’ll run off. Sandy, soon as they’re out of the way, get back here. Isom and I will cover these bastards.”
“Yo!” “Yes, sir!”
The two teamsters led the horses away from the ford, then Sandy hurried back. “What now, boss?”
“Cover them.” Walt raised his voice. “You four, ride slowly—real slowly—out of the water and line up here in front of me. Remember, you’re under our guns, and at this distance we can’t miss. Any tricks, and you’re gonna die real fast.”
He waited until they’d obeyed, then said, “All right, get your hands high again an’ keep them there. You lower your hands for any reason and we’ll shoot. Sandy, ride around behind them, keepin’ out of the line of fire. Take their handguns from their holsters and their long guns from their saddle boots. Put them on their pack horse for now.”
“Got it.”
It didn’t take him long to disarm them. He returned from the final trip to the pack horse asking, “What next, boss?”
Walt raised his voice. “One at a time, get off your horses, then hold your hands high again. Move real slow and easy.” He pointed with his rifle barrel. “You first. Move!”
The first thief dismounted very slowly and carefully, then raised his hands once more. Walt said, “Sandy, lead his horse clear of him. Take it to join the others with Lewis.”
“Yo!” The teamster gave the standard cavalry response as he moved forward.
The next two thieves dismounted just as carefully, and stood waiting as their horses were led away. The last man, still mounted, was growing more and more agitated. As Sandy led the third horse clear, he demanded, “What are you gonna do with us? Why take our hosses? You expectin’ us to walk wherever we’re goin’?”
Walt shook his head. “I’m going to tie your hands before I do anything else. It’ll be easier to do that with you on foot.”
“Like hell! You’re gonna kill us!” The man’s voice rose in a shrill, desperate cry as he whipped the hat off his head with his left hand and thrust his right into its crown. Instantly there came a deep, deafening boom as Isom fired one barrel of his shotgun. The man rocked back in his saddle as a hole appeared in the center of his shirt, which instantly turned a deep blood-red. He gurgled in agony, slumped forward, and toppled to the ground. As he did so, a small gun fell from his right hand. His horse jumped forward, startled.
The action was over almost before it started. The other three thieves stood rigid, their faces turning even paler than before, their hands still in the air. Walt and Isom covered them while Sandy rode after the horse, led it to Lewis, and handed
him its reins. As soon as his revolver was helping to cover the men once more, Isom reloaded the fired barrel of his shotgun with a cartridge from his chest pocket.
When order had been restored, Walt dismounted and picked up the little gun the dead man had dropped. It was a Remington Double Derringer, its over-and-under barrels chambered for short, stubby .41 rimfire cartridges, low-powered, but capable of doing damage at close range. He dropped the gun into his pocket, then examined the man’s hat. A steel U-shaped clip had been fitted inside the crown to hold the pistol. He showed it to the others. “That’s a new trick. We’ll have to remember this when we search people in future. Nice shooting, Isom. Thanks.”
“De nada.”
“Hey, there’s someone up there!” Lewis called, pointing east up the trail to the top of the rise. Walt turned, raising his rifle. A lone rider had halted his horse, staring at them. He stood frozen for a moment, then whirled his horse as he saw Walt’s gun come up. He disappeared into the trees beside the road.
Walt turned to the three surviving thieves. “Was he the fifth man?”
Two of them merely stared at him, but the third sneered. He looked young, barely out of his teens. “Yeah. He’s my brother. He stopped to take a crap back there. He’ll tell my pa, who’ll get a lawyer for us; then you’ll see who laughs last! Pa knows all the judges round here.”
“Uh-huh. That figures. Isom, Sandy, cover them while I tie their hands.”
Walt took a ball of strong twine from his saddlebags. He ungently tied the three thieves’ wrists together behind their backs, using several turns of the twine. The one who’d spoken winced. “Hey, that’s too tight!”
“Too bad. You shouldn’t have killed Will.”
“I didn’t kill nobody, mister! I didn’t fire a shot!”
“You were driving my horses. That means you were part of the gang that stole them and shot Will. You share the blame.”
He finished tying the knot, then they walked the three men around the trees to the far side of the grove, hidden from the road. Sandy slung the dead thief over his horse’s saddle and held him there for the short ride, while Lewis brought the other horses along.
Walt turned to Sandy. “Take a rope from one of their saddles. Make three nooses and fit them to three stout branches. Make them shoulder high for a man on horseback.”
“Yes, sir!”
The three outlaws turned pale. One lost control of himself, the front of his pants turning wet as he urinated. “You c-can’t do this!” he protested shrilly. “You gotta take us to the sheriff! We got a right to a fair trial!”
“What fairness did you show young Will last night?” Walt’s voice was dispassionate. “He was just seventeen years old. He’ll never get any older, so I don’t see why you should. Besides, you heard the boy. His pa would get you off if I took you in. I don’t aim to let that happen.”
The man looked around wildly, as if searching for a place of safety. “If you run, we’ll shoot you anyways, so you’ll just die faster,” Isom warned him.
The thief looked bitterly at the younger man beside him. “See what your braggin’ about your daddy’s done? It’s gonna get you hung, and us along o’ you!” He tried to kick him, but the youngster dodged aside.
“Hold it!” Isom warned, hefting his shotgun. His voice was bleak. “You didn’t give Will no time to pray last night. You got one last chance to make your peace with God afore you die. If I was you, I’d make the most of it, ’stead of fightin’ among yourselves.”
Walt searched the men while they waited for the nooses to be strung, taking everything from their pockets, and from the dead thief as well. The two older men carried twenty to thirty dollars apiece, but the youngster’s wallet had over a hundred dollars in banknotes—probably his father’s money, Walt thought wryly. He told them, “Your money’ll go to Will’s mother, plus whatever your horses an’ gear will fetch. His pay helped keep her goin’. I reckon that’s the least I can do for her.”
He and Isom marched the men over to the nooses as soon as they were ready. “Sandy, bring me Will’s horse, on a lead rope,” Walt instructed.
When Sandy returned with the horse, he and Isom hoisted the first thief into the animal’s saddle. Sandy adjusted the noose around his neck, then Walt looked up at him. “Anyone you want to know about this?” he asked, taking a notebook and pencil from his chest pocket.
The man looked down at him, his face pale and sweating. For a moment he was silent, then he nodded slowly. “I– I’d take it kind if you was to write to my folks, back in Indiana.” He gave Walt their names and his own, and an address. “D-don’t tell ’em I died a thief an’ a murderer, mister. Just tell ’em I died fallin’ off a horse. That’s close enough to the truth, without makin’ it worse for ’em. They still think I made good out here.”
“I’ll do that,” Walt promised. “It’ll be bad enough for them to know you’re gone. No reason to make it worse. You got thirty seconds to pray.”
He waited in silence for the time to run out, then without further ado led the horse out from under the thief. He kicked and struggled at the end of the rope, slowly strangling, as Isom and Walt loaded the second man onto the horse and treated him likewise.
The third and youngest man was quivering, white-faced, as they came to him. “You mustn’t do this!” he cried brokenly. “Pa’s a big man in these parts. You can’t kill me!”
“You killed my man last night, or helped to do it. You gotta pay for what you did, boy. That’s the way of the world.”
“No! No!”
He struggled frenziedly, but to no avail, as Isom and Walt hoisted him onto the horse. It moved restlessly and neighed in protest as the boy’s feet kicked its ribs. Walt had to call Sandy to hold its lead rope as the thief wriggled and writhed.
“If you don’t stop kickin’, I’m gonna shoot you through the knees, then we’ll hang you anyway,” Sandy warned the young man. “Will was my friend.”
“You gonna hold still long enough to pray?” Isom asked, contempt in his voice.
“Damn you! You can’t kill me like this!” The boy stopped kicking, but sobbed with fear.
“Anyone you want us to tell, boy?” Walt asked.
The youngster struggled to find words.. At last he muttered brokenly, “Tell… tell my pa I died brave, would you? I know it ain’t true, but I’d like my brothers to think well of me.”
“What’s his name, and where should I write him?”
Again Walt wrote down the details in his notebook. He nodded to the dead outlaw whom Isom had shot. “What about him? Anyone need to know he’s dead?”
“He– he rode for my pa. If you tell him, he can mebbe tell his family.”
“I’ll do that. What was his name?”
“He said he was the Pikes Peak Kid. We just called him ‘Kid’. I never knew his real name.”
Walt’s lower lip curled in disgust. “That’s just like a thief, to take on a tough-sounding name to impress people. He wasn’t much. What’s your brother’s name—the one who ran?”
“Why d’you wanna know? You ain’t goin’ after him, too, to hang him, are you?”
“No, I reckon enough of you have paid for Will; but your pa might want to talk to him, maybe straighten him out.”
The youngster laughed, almost hysterically. “Pa taught us how to steal. These others were all his men. He’ll just be mad I– we– got caught. He’ll reckon it was our fault.”
“Then I guess that says it all.” Walt put the notebook and pencil back into his pocket. “All right, you’ve got thirty seconds, same as I gave those others.”
When the last thief was kicking and struggling in his tightening noose, Walt handed the lead rope to Sandy again. “Take this horse back to Lewis, then drag that man Isom shot over here. Lay him at their feet.”
He took out his notebook once more, tore out four pages from the back, and printed carefully in block letters on each one:
HORSE THIEF
MURDERER
&n
bsp; He cut a small slit in each page, and eased one over a button on the shirt of the body on the ground; then, as the hanged men’s struggles slowed and ceased, he did the same to each of them. At last they hung still and silent, twisting slowly at the end of their ropes, labeled for what they were.
Walt looked at Isom and Sandy. “All right. Let’s go.”
They walked back to where Lewis held the horses, and mounted. Walt said, “We’ll head for the top of the pass. We came without much in the way of supplies, so I’ll buy some in the little town up there; then we’ll head back to Colorado City. I’ll buy more supplies there to see us through to Pueblo.” He paused. “You did real well. I’m thanking you. There’ll be an extra month’s pay for all of you when we get back to Pueblo.” The others grinned, and thanked him.
“What’re you gonna do with their guns, boss?” Sandy asked.
“Keep them, of course.” Walt sounded surprised that he needed to ask. “They’ll go into my gun racks at the freight depot. A lot of my teamsters don’t have good guns. If any of them needs one, I reckon it’s only fitting that those who’ve tried to rob them end up arming them instead. If any of you need a better gun, exchange yours for theirs after we’ve cleaned them.”
* * *
They made camp by mid-afternoon in a farmer’s field near the trail. The horses were picketed to graze, then they settled down to a very late, and very large, breakfast of bacon, eggs and store-bought bread, which they used to soak up the bacon grease and egg yolks. They stuffed themselves, then poured coffee from a pot bubbling on the coals.
At last Walt sat back, replete. “Aaahh! That hit the spot!” He rubbed his stomach appreciatively.
Isom raised his coffee mug in a mock toast. “I’ll drink to that.” The others chuckled.
Lewis asked, “How long d’you reckon before those bodies are found, boss?”
“They may have been found already. The buzzards wouldn’t have taken long to gather. That close to Ute Pass, someone’d be sure to see them circling, and wonder what was attracting them. If they haven’t been discovered yet, they surely will be by tomorrow.”
