by Lou Bradshaw
We rode out the following morning, six lawmen with one purpose, and that was to make this part of the country just a little safer and less violent, even if we had to kill or die to do it. Picking up their trail wasn’t much of a problem. They hadn’t been trying to hide it. So we rode along at a pretty good clip. It was open country, broken up here and there with a ridge or a gully. There were a few low hills and rocky projections, which looked like huge chunks of rock had been pushed right up out of the ground.
After a forty mile ride, both men and horses were ready to stop. We found a small spring with some grass and set up camp. I had been watching the country change most of the afternoon. It had gone from being mostly flat and open with sparse grass and scrub to quite a bit more broken with more grass than scrub. It all looked familiar, but then again, it didn’t.
Then I got it… this was about where Sam and I were attacked, but this was on the south side of the breaks and the cap rock. I called the boys together and told them, “I gotta hunch that I know where they’re headin’. They got themselves a neat little plan to herd their victims into a canyon on the other side.” Then I went on to tell how they had hit us and what they tried to do with that sniper and that buffalo gun.
“We’re not more than a couple of miles from their neat little ambush spot.” I told them. They’ll wait for their prey to get into that old water course and hit them from behind driving them into a little canyon. So they’ll be spread out to cut them off from either direction. Once they’re in that canyon, they can be cut to ribbons, or left without their weapons, money, or anything else of value and probably afoot.”
Since this was the easiest route from Amarillo to Santa Fe, there would be traffic coming and going, but it couldn’t be considered a road, it was more like a well used trail. Sooner or later the word would get out and folks would either find another way or start traveling in well armed bunches. But for now those outlaws ruled the route. We had a notion to depose the rulers.
There wasn’t much we could do at that late in the day, it was almost dark, so we decided to wait for daylight and move with a great deal of caution.
At first light, we were in the saddle with Carson, who was the best man on the trail, at the point. The rest of us were strung out with at least twenty yards between riders. All gear was carefully lashed down to keep any kind of noise at bay. A fryin’ pan in the same bag as a coffee pot can sound like a tinker’s wagon coming down the trail. It’s hard for a brass band to sneak up on anyone.
We rode like that for about a half hour, but held up when Carson raised his hand and dismounted. I was second in line, and I knew immediately why he’d stopped. I smelled it too. The smell of damp charred wood was in the air. I moved up and took his reins while he disappeared into the brush. He was gone about five minutes, and then he reappeared.
“They’re done gone.” He said as the others gathered around. “But they’re a comin’ back… left food and saddle bags and their pack pony’s picketed up the slope a ways.”
“Could you tell which way they went?” Branchard asked.
“Yep, they went down the slope tword the bottom.”
“Let’s go on in to camp and see if we can spot ‘em down there.” I suggested, digging out my field glasses. Millburn had a pair also, so between the two of us, we were able to spot four men. Two were in a little cove to the far west, and the other two were below us and slightly to the west.
“That’s only four,” Ethan said, “What about the other two?”
“Unless I miss my guess,” I answered, “there’ll be one in that little canyon across the way to catch the prey in a crossfire…. And the sixth man will be on that high point over here to the left. He’ll be the one with the Sharps and will try to drive them into the canyon.”
Millburn swung his glasses around to the little promontory and watched for a minute then said, “I can’t tell much, but there’s movement up there.”
“What I’d do,” I told them, “is work my way down and around and get behind those boys at the bottom. I think if you can stay close to the top, you can work your way right under that boy on the high point. He won’t even know you’re under him. There’s plenty of cedars for cover, or you could go around him to the south… take a little longer. Your choice…. I’ve got a score to settle with that boy on the point, so I’m goin’ up there and throw him off or drag him off… his choice…. If you hear any shooting from up there…. Take care your yourself. If I can, I’ll give you cover.”
No one seemed to anxious to go up there, so there wasn’t any argument.
“What about the fella in the canyon?” Branch asked.
“Oh, he’s surely got himself a nest in there, so I wouldn’t expect him to come out. He’ll be waiting for the shooting gallery ducks to come to him. But if he comes out just shoot him or drive him back in. He’ll be easy enough to get at from the top of that cap behind him.” I told him.
Millburn and Jenkins opted for the two in the cove to the west, so we rode together till I turned off at the promontory. After a few hundred yards, I dismounted and led my horse through the cedars. Finding a place to tie him where he could get a little grass and not be seen from the top. Taking my rifle, I moved on to where that fella with the long gun was set up. I could move from tree to tree among the cedars without too much fear of being seen until the last twenty of so yards before I came to the rock formation that made up the promontory. After that, I would be all open for over a hundred feet.
That promontory was one of those massive chunks of rock, which jutted out from the slope. I didn’t know how far back into the ground it went, but it was all of fifty feet wide at the base and about half that at the far end. It sloped upward as it extended out into the open. The sides were sheer and there was no way up them without ropes. I was going to have to walk or crawl to the end with very little cover. Oh there were rocks and boulders along the way, but nothing a man could hide behind without being flat on his belly.
My only hope was to Injun up there without him turning around or glancing over his shoulder. If that happened, then it would be a shootout, with me hoping to find something to get behind or under. I could see pieces of him up there at the end. He had built a little place for himself. I could see where he’d moved some limestone pieces into a little bit of breastwork. But most of it was facing the other way. I guess he never figured some fool would try to sneak up on him.
I had jacked a cartridge into the chamber when I left my horse, but I’d lowered the hammer. I cocked it again and moved out from cover. Standing there with nothing to shield me from a fifty caliber slug but a cowhide vest and a wool shirt… I might as well been naked.
Taking those first few tentative steps were tough, but the third and fourth were just as bad. Holding my Winchester with both hands, at the ready, I took step after step always keeping my eye on what I could see of the sniper. Folks have told me that they seemed to know when someone is watching them. I don’t know how much stock I put into that sort of thinking. Some call it a sixth sense others call it nothin’ but nerves. I was just hoping that the fella up there in those rocks didn’t have none of it.
I thanked whatever Guardian Angel looked after big red headed goobers for telling me to put my moccasins on when I got out of the saddle back there. I’d never be as quiet walking across this big rock as the clumsiest Indian, but at least I wouldn’t have to keep watching my feet. I could keep an eye on the sniper and feel my way along. Even though this was one big piece of limestone, that didn’t mean it was a smooth and flat surface. There were cracks, dips, and bumps to contend with, aside from lose rocks and gravel.
Gravel was my biggest worry. I had to place each foot fall squarely, or else there could be the scraping and crunching of gravel. The soft soles of my moccasins seemed to absorb the pebbles to keep them from crunching, and lifting each foot straight up held the scraping noises down. It wasn’t an overly warm morning, but I was doing a fair job of sweating.
The man on the point shift
ed his weight, and my heart stopped. I raised my rifle, but I didn’t bring it to my shoulder. I preferred to be ready to shoot at anything that showed rather than a distinct target. If you can keep your eye on what you want to hit, in most cases, your hands will do the rest. It’s like catching something that’s thrown to you.
The sniper twisted his shoulders a bit, and then he kinda scooted around to where he could rest his back against one of those pieces of limestone. I guessed he was getting stiff just sitting there. If he was getting crampy muscles, it could work for… or against me. He could be too concerned with his discomfort to be mindful of what was creeping up at him from behind, or it could cause him to twist around and catch me in mid-creep.
Creep creep creep…. step step step…. I wasn’t getting anywhere real fast. My biggest hope was that I’d settle something up here before he spotted any of my friends down below. I had a job to do, but I sure hated that is was such a long drawn out slow grinding job. I don’t mind telling you, that the thought of shooting him in the back had crossed my mind… although he certainly deserved it… I just couldn’t do it… unless he suddenly took aim at something down below. He wouldn’t be aiming to shoot his own friends.
The sun was bright and the breeze was blowing. It really was a nice morning, but I couldn’t enjoy any of it creeping along like a glacier. I seemed to be moving at about an inch a minute and sweating at about a gallon every few minutes. At that rate, it would take me a week to reach the point, and I’d be as dry as the desert when I got there.
He was sitting there with his back resting on that limestone slab. Facing away from me, his legs were stretched out in front of him, and his Sharps was in his right hand with the barrel pointing strait up. I couldn’t see any of his face; all I could see was his beat up high domed, broad brimmed hat. I kept thinking, that was a northern hat, and not one you saw too often in this part of the country.
I wasn’t but about twelve or fifteen feet from him, when my concern with his Montana hat nearly got me killed. I was trying to imagine what that hat was doing here in the panhandle and kicked a small rock and sent it rattling across the surface of that big slab of rock. There was that moment when we both knew that something had just happened, and someone was going to get hurt.
Swinging around was impossible, since he was sitting flat on his butt, so he had to roll and twist to get around. By that time, I had reached down and picked up a fist sized rock and flung it at him. I didn’t have a prayer of hitting him with it, but I wanted to disturb him enough to move in and have him cold. I wasn’t that good of a rock thrower, but I got lucky and it hit him right in the chest, causing him to lose his grip and the sharps clattered away a few feet.
He was a big man, nearly as big as me, but he was wirier and damned quick. Not wasting any time introducing himself, he had bunched his muscles and came off the ground with a leap right at me. There was an Arkansas tooth pick in his right hand, and was twelve inches of pain to anyone who got in the way of it. He held it low, with the sharp edge up. That could catch a man at belt level and his own weight would rip him to the rib cage.
Leaving the ground, he sprung off that limestone slab like a stepping stone, and he was coming at me from a higher angle. All I could do was let go of the rifle stock and use it as a club in my left hand. I swung the rifle from right to left hoping to crack his skull, and at the same time I dodged to my right.
My club only got a glancing blow, but it wrecked his Montana hat, and caused him to have to change his position. His left forearm caught me in the chest sending me farther right than I wanted to go and down. He went left and down, but we were both up damned quick. Circling, we both vied for an advantage. My Winchester was on the ground where it had been knocked out of my hand. The thong was still on my sixgun, so that wasn’t an option. If I went for it, I’d be gutted before I could get it out. Moving my hand back to get my own Bowie gave him the opportunity to take a couple of swipes with that big blade. I took a step back and another. Every time I’d make a move for my knife, he’d attack. His idea seemed to be to keep me disarmed and backing up until he got lucky and put a hole in me. I didn’t exactly like his idea.
I kinda had it figured that this wasn’t his first knife fight, which was more than I could say. But then, I wasn’t exactly in a knife fight, since only one of was using a knife. He flicked that thing at my face and I backed off again. He was tall and lean with a raw boned face and dark stringy long hair. He was much quicker than I was, and I knew it. I figured that I could probably overpower him if it came to that, but right now it wasn’t coming to that… I needed an advantage, and I didn’t have the luxury of looking for one.
Suddenly, he made his move. He was a little to my left as we circled and closer than I felt was comfortable. He lunged trying to cut me low and across the belly with his right hand, while his left hand was going for my face. Instead of backing up again, I moved in and to the left.
I was able to slip inside his knife hand. His momentum brought him under my left arm, which I quickly brought up and under his elbow. He still had a grip on his Bowie, but he was unable to do much more than move his wrist. Then I put the pressure to it and raised my left shoulder. Grabbing his left wrist and squeezing, I was able to get his fingers away from my eyes and off my face.
Quickness had its advantages, but this was a matter of strength and fear… I was scared enough to fight like a giant. Soon, I had his left arm bent behind him and we were face to face.
“Drop that knife, or I’ll break your elbow.” He only stared into my eyes, but I didn’t hear the knife drop. I raised my left hand bringing additional stress on the elbow. All he did was allow his eyes to grow wider and sweat. He was hurting, but he was game… maybe too game. He could walk away from this rock with two good arms and take his chances in court, but he was too stubborn.
I put a little more pressure on the elbow and said, “Mister, I really don’t want to do this…but I damned sure will.” I added a little more pressure. His eyes got wider, and his yellow teeth were bared against the upcoming pain. “This is your last chance… I’m going to count to three and you’d better let go of that knife before I finish.”
I was getting tired of trying to go easy on a man who had just tried to slice me up like a ham. So I started counting, “One”…… I paused and gave him a few seconds, then I pursed my lips to form the word, two, but before I did, I yanked up on his forgotten left hand. The result was his left shoulder was out of its socket, and he was in a good deal of pain.”Two!”
There was a sharp intake of air and a strained “Aaaach!” the knife rattled as it skidded across the rock surface. Then I let go of his right arm. He stood there looking at me, with one arm completely useless and the other hanging like it didn’t know what it was supposed to do. I grabbed a fist full of shirt front to steady him and gave him a shot with my big right fist that should keep him out of trouble for a while.
Taking his belt off, I wrapped it around his waist including his good arm, at the elbow, and cinched it up good and tight. Without the use of his other hand, there was no way to get his good arm free. Then I dragged him back up to his post and dumped him where I could keep an eye on him.
I went back and picked up the fallen weapons and carried them up to the point. Looking down on my friends and enemies alike, I could see that they were all in position. Picking up that outlaw’s sixgun, and was just about to pull the trigger when a shot rang out from below. I could see the puff of smoke still hanging in the air.
One of the outlaws had caught sight of one of the rangers and cut loose on him. Then the lawmen returned fire. It all got hot very quickly. There was shooting going on from both ends of the ambush area. There was plenty of cover, so no one had been hit… yet. The firing was running hot and heavy for a spell, but it dwindled down to a more sporadic off and on rhythm. I could see just about everyone, and had some easy shots if I’d wanted to take them, and I was tempted. But I had a bit of hesitancy about sniper shooting. I didn’t have a
ny problem with spooking some of those boys out from their cover though, and that big Sharps 50 would do the trick.
The Rangers on my left were having a problem flushing those two out of their cove. So I just eared back the hammer on that big gun, sighted, took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. That thing made an awful noise and sprayed limestone bits in the face of one of the outlaws, and then that slug ricocheted off the opposite wall of the cove. Reloading, I waited until he showed himself again, and I did it again with the same results. Then I took my Winchester and sprayed a half dozen wild shots at the back wall of the cove, and let those angry bees fly around in there for a while.
Those boys came storming out of there, with one riderless horse running wild, and the other carrying two. The one riding on the back took a ranger’s bullet and went down. The second man pulled up and raised his hands.
At the other end of that old riverbed, both sides had the other pinned down. I slipped another cartridge into that canon and went through my routine. It took three close shots and one man down to convince those fellas to give up, but they did. Now there was only one more left to root out of that that little canyon.
Ethan rode up to the base of my position and yelled up to me, “Hey, Red, what took you so long?”
“This old boy didn’t want to give up the claim he’d staked out up here. He was real stubborn about it.”
“Anybody hurt or dead up there?” he asked.
“I’m scuffed up a bit; this feller’s got loose parts hangin’ off of him. I’m not sure if I know how to put him back together.”
He chuckled and said, “Got any ideas about gettin’ the other one out of his canyon?”
“Somebody should go over to the mouth of that canyon and tell him to come on out. If he don’t I can give him a little searching fire with this long shooter. If that don’t do it, then we can put someone up on that cap rock and shoot down on him… he’ll come out.”
