Cursed Bounty

by Besser, Rebecca

  CURSED BOUNTY

  By Rebecca Besser

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novella are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text Copyright © 2013 Rebecca Besser.

  Art Copyright © 2013 Rebecca Besser.

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 1

  The wind blew dust wildly around the group of four men as they rode out of town on their already tired horses, but the men didn’t slow down. They’d robbed the bank and murdered a few citizens during the event. They knew they needed to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the posse that would soon follow; it was worth risking the storm to be free.

  Communication was impossible under the conditions. As soon as they opened their mouths to speak, they were filled with the gritty sand blowing freely in the dessert despite the bandanas they’d tied over their noses and mouths.

  Cut Throat Bill Thackard – the leader – reined his horse to a halt, and after almost running into him, the other three men in the band of outlaws did the same. Tugging his rope off his horse’s saddle, he tied one end around his saddle horn and tossed it to the man closest to him – Quick Shot Dan Westville.

  Getting the idea, they all did the same and tied in another rope when they needed more length.

  Now tied together so they wouldn’t lose each other in the storm, Bill once again took the lead, drawing them away from town and toward the canyon where they’d made their camp.

  The ride through the windstorm was arduous and the already over labored horses had a hard time making their way, but they made it to their destination without any of them collapsing, to the shock of the men riding.

  The outlaws had been living slim and hard for weeks, which was why they’d decided to rob the bank in Bristleton; the money was supposed to help them continue their escape to Mexico. Having broken out of prison, stolen horses, and hidden out in the dessert to evade authorities and bounty hunters, they’d had little food for themselves and nothing for the horses. Even water was scarce, causing exhaustion in man and beast.

  Once they were safely in the canyon the assault of the wind abated and they could breathe easier since the natural stone walls shielded them from the gritty sand onslaught.

  Bill tugged his now tan bandana off his face and grinned back at the other men.

  “Almost clear, boys!” he yelled in a hoarse voice.

  The rest of the band each raised a hand in a silent cheer, agreeing with their fearless leader, before tugging down their bandanas as well.

  Hugging the red lined sandstone canyon wall, they slowed their exhausted horses to a walk, heading toward where they thought their camp was located; it wasn’t until almost an hour later that they realized they were lost.

  “Where da hell are we?” Scofield Sam Cuthburt asked.

  “We’re lost,” Mountain Man Matt Lander jeered, and spit a stream of tobacco juice into the sand. “Bill lost his bearings in the dust, me thinks.”

  Sam laughed, and joked back, “Not da firs’ time dat’s happened.”

  “You know I can hear you, right?” Bill asked, turning to glare at the two men.

  They fell silent and wouldn’t meet his gaze. There was a reason Bill was called cut throat. Despite being the best “educated” and “proper” one out of the bunch, he’d killed many men back in the prison for “cutting” on him. He didn’t like to be jeered about or made fun of, and he didn’t let anyone get away with it.

  “They’s jus’ tryin’ ta ease some o’ da tension,” Dan said, guiding his mount up beside Bill’s. “We be tired, hungry, and hell, we jus’ robbed a bank. Ya can’t blame a man fo’ needing a little laugh. ‘Sides, being lost ain’t the greatest t’ing fo’ us right now either. Where we supposed ta hide out and res’? Horses can’t take much mo’e. . .”

  Bill glared at Sam and Matt for a couple more seconds before facing forward again and surveying the landscape. He couldn’t place any of the landmarks and knew for certain they were lost – he just didn’t want to admit that he’d messed up.

  “What we gonna do?” Matt asked, spitting on the ground again. “We be almost outta water and I canna take much more of this grit in me mouth.”

  “What’s wrong wit’ a lil bit o’ dessert flavor?” Sam asked, elbowing Matt.

  Matt spite again and glared at Sam.

  Sam laughed, and teased, “I know, ya’d ratha be in da mountains wit’ all dat clear, col’ air.”

  Matt nodded and turned his attention to the two men in front of them, who were now talking quietly amongst themselves.

  “What we doin’, boys?” he called out. “That posse is gonna be on our tails as soon as the wind dies down.”

  “We knows dat,” Dan threw back over his shoulder, “but dey won’t fin’ a trail so dey won’ knows where we gone – dat’s da good t’ing ‘bout da winds’orm. Da bad part be that we’s now los’ because o’ it and need ta fin’ a place to res’ and hopefully fin’ water.”

  “We’re going to search for someplace to hole up,” Bill said, nodding. “There are a bunch of caves in the walls of the canyon. Let’s go see if we can find one to hide in – one that hopefully has a stream running through it.”

  “Dat’s no’ as’ing fo’ much,” Sam muttered.

  Matt elbowed Sam so hard that he almost fell off his horse.

  Sam scowled at Matt, who was grinning broadly.

  Dan and Bill spurred their mounts and started down the steep bank between them and the canyon floor; the other two followed close behind.

  Chapter 2

  Sheriff Bob Granger stood in the doorway of the bank, glaring out into the swirls of sand blowing in the wind; it slammed against the windows of the small building, rattling them violently. The storm and the robbery grated on his nerves the same way the little granules grated on his skin as they blew in through the open door. He wanted it all to stop, to disappear, but he knew he was powerless in making that happen; he couldn’t erase the robbery or murders any more than he could change the weather. He wasn’t God, but he was all the town’s people had and God wasn’t showing him any grace or favor at that moment.

  He’d heard of the prison escape a week ago, and he knew that the news had been a week old when he’d received it, but he hadn’t expected the outlaws to visit his little town. If he had, he would have been more prepared for the attack and he might have been able to do something about it. Assuming the outlaws were making a run for the boarder and not hiding out in the dessert had been a big mistake – one that had been paid for with the lives of innocent people he should have protected. The weight of his choices were tormenting his soul and causing him to doubt himself and his abilities as Sheriff.

  With a sigh, he turned back and surveyed the mess the band had made when they’d robbed the bank. The bodies of the bystanders had been removed, as well as that of the cashier; dark stains from their blood still marked where they’d lain on the wooden floor and taken their last breath
s. Four people had been killed for a couple of hundred dollars and he was shocked by the violence of it all. Sure the town had drunken brawls that sometimes involved knives and guns – most times leading to death – but never had he seen such reckless disregard for innocent human life. Two of the victims had been female – one of them only eleven years old.

  Bob spun around and his hand shot up like a snake to rest on the butt of his gun when he heard footfalls on the dry, worn boards of the walk right outside the bank; he relaxed when he saw the approaching person was his deputy.

  “What do you want to do, Sheriff?” Deputy Madison Griffin asked. “Do you want to wait until the storm clears? I have a posse ready to go – they’re in the saloon building up a good rage.”

  Bob smirked, and asked, “Building up a good rage, huh? Don’t let them get too drunk. We’ll need them to be able to sit straight in a saddle when it’s time to ride.”

  Madison nodded. He was a young man, having just turned seventeen. After his parents had died of the pox he’d been taken in by his aunt and uncle in town. He’d always been fascinated by the badge and the men who wore it, and was over the moon that Sheriff Bob had deputized him at such a young age, despite his inexperience.

  “I’ll try to keep them under control,” he said, and turned to go.

  “Deputy!” Bob called, causing the young man to turn back. “Could you ask Jeffery to come see me?”

  Madison nodded and rushed off to do the Sheriff’s bidding.

  With another sigh, Bob looked over the bank again, and waited for the man he’d asked for; he didn’t have to wait long.

  In less than five minutes, Bob heard boots thunking on the board walk at a slow, steady pace. When he glance up his eyes had to go a little further than normal – almost until his head was completely leaned back.

  “Thanks for coming, Jeffery,” Bob said, and smiled. “I have a special job for you.”

  Jeffery Wright nodded, his dark eyes intent on the smaller man in front of him.

  “I need you to ride to the capitol building in Vickstown and give a message to the Governor. Can you do that for me?” Bob asked, looking up at the large, muscular, dark-skinned man.

  There were rumors about Jeffery having been a slave, and from the lines of scars on his brown flesh, no one questioned the stories of his past, even though no one knew for sure if they were true. Most were, because that was where most of the dark-skinned settlers had come from – a life of slavery. Bob always had a hard time reading him, since he didn’t talk much.

  Jeffery nodded again.

  Bob smiled, and asked, “Can you leave now, during the storm?”

  “Yes’sa,” Jeffery said, and blinked, still looking directly at the Sheriff.

  “Okay. Go fetch your rifle – you might need it – and come to the jail to get my message for the Governor before you ride out.”

  With yet another silent nod, the big man turned and disappeared.

  Bob marched out of the bank after him, but instead of following him further, he jogged across the rutted dirt road to another small wooden building, holding his arm up to try and keep the blowing sand out of his eyes.

  He slammed into the door with the force of the wind pushing him from behind and opened it as quickly as he could, before stepping inside and closing it securely behind himself.

  Coughing, he took off his hat, hung it on the peg by the door, walked around his desk, and sat down. Once he blinked his eyes clear, he set to work writing a letter to the Governor, telling him that the escapes had made a bloody appearance in the town of Bristleton.

  He’d just finished writing and was waving the paper in the air to dry the ink when the door of the jail flew open and a wild gush of gritty wind tore through the small room and almost dislodged the sheath of paper from the tenuous grasp between his fingers.

  Jeffery stepped inside and closed the wooden door firmly behind himself.

  “Just in time,” Bob said with a grin; he stood, folded the paper, and handed it to Jeffery. “This is really important and the sooner you can get there the better. I know the storm will likely slow you down.” He reached into his pocket and took out a few coins, handing them over as well. “Here’s a couple dollars in case you need them.”

  “Yes’sa,” Jeffery said, nodding and taking what was offered to him. “I’ll do my bes’.”

  Bob smiled. “You always do. I know I can count on you to get this done for me – that’s why I asked you to do it.”

  He didn’t say that he couldn’t take him with them for the posse because there were some men going who didn’t like the idea of him coming along. But Jeffery’s skill with a rifle made him a very useful man and Bob didn’t want that to go to waste because of the ignorant prejudice of the town’s men. The Governor assignment was perfect for Jeffery and his skills, and Bob was glad he had him – a man he could count on – to do the job.

  Bob shook Jeffery’s hand, opened the door for the man, and watched him mount his horse and ride out of town. After he was sure Jeffery was safely on his way, he closed the door and stepped over to the single window facing the dirt street. The storm was still blowing strong and he stared out into it for a long time, wishing he could go out and search for the men who’d torn apart his peaceful town.

  Chapter 3

  “I thin’ I foun’ somethin’!” Sam hollered.

  The other three men, who were close-by, turned their heads in his direction to see him dismounting his horse; he waved at them and headed toward the wall of the canyon.

  They steered their horses in his direction and dismounted as well when they arrived where he’d indicated.

  “What is it?” Bill asked, sounding a bit annoyed.

  Sam suddenly vanished into the rock wall of the canyon and then his head reappeared again, wearing a huge grin.

  “A cave!”

  “Thank Gawd,” Matt said, rushing forward to disappear with Sam.

  Dan and Bill glanced at each other, knowing that it was pointless to get too excited just yet, until they found out what kind of cave it was. Many in the region were nothing more than shallow rooms carved out of the soft sandstone by the floods during the rainy season. Others had no floors because they were situated over small springs that ran underground and sometimes surfaced in odd places, leaving a riddled mess of holes that could swallow a man, or at least cause a broken arm or leg.

  They entered more cautiously than the other two, watching their step and keeping their hands pressed to at least one of the walls; the space was dark.

  “Hey, watch it!” Matt exclaimed when he was bumped from behind by one of the newcomers.

  “We needs a torch o’ somethin’,” Sam said.

  “Ya t’ink?” Dan asked sarcastically.

  “Gimme a second,” Matt said, and the others could hear him rustling around a bit; he struck a match and held it up in front of his grinning face. The light made his face look more ghastly and ugly than it already was; his black, chipped teeth looked even more disgusting and sinister in his generously bearded, dirty face.

  The match burned down to his fingers quickly and he yelped in pain, shaking his hand and dropping the burnt splinter of wood.

  The other three men laughed.

  “Smart one, Mountain Man,” Sam teased.

  “Let’s head back out and see if we can make a torch,” Bill said, thinking the cave might have promise; it smelled damp and he thought he could hear a faint trickling of water. The best quality the space had so far was that they’d all fit inside and weren’t plastered against each other, and that they hadn’t fallen down a chasm.

  Bill was the first one out, with Dan following close to his heels; they waited somewhat impatiently for the other two to join them.

  “Why do we keeps dem ‘round again?” Dan asked Bill quietly.

  “Because we’ll need them as decoys later,” Bill said, grinning and winking.

  “Shh! ‘Ere dey come!”

  “What can we make a torch out o’?” Sam asked,
looking around at the dessert with a dumb expression on his face.

  Bill rolled his eyes. “Look for a bone or stick, or something we can wrap cloth around.”

  Matt shook his head and pulled the leg bone of a deer out of his saddle bag.

  “Always be prepared,” he said with a grin. “When ya live in the mountains, ya die if ya don’t think ahead.”

  Sam made a blah, blah, blah motion with his hand and rolled his eyes.

  “Ain’t ya jus’ special,” he snapped. “What we going ta use fo’ cloth, oh, great Mountain Man Matt?”

  “Dat ratty ass shirt ya’s wearin’,” Dan said, pointing at the filthy, hole riddled garment covering Sam’s torso.

  “My shirt?” Sam asked in a hurt tone. “But den I’ll ‘ave nothin’ ta wear but my Sunday bes’ one.”

  Matt burst out laughing, knowing Sam’s “Sunday best one” wasn’t any better than the one he had on, other than it wasn’t as filthy because he hadn’t been wearing it nonstop for two weeks. The rags they were all wearing were stolen from a clothes line at a farm, and they were all threadbare and worn to the point of being see through.

  “Just take off your shirt so we can make the damn torch,” Bill snapped.

  Sam hurriedly did as he was told. He was a quick and crazy man with a gun, but he knew he didn’t stand a chance against three men as insane as he was.

  Matt took the material and wrapped it around one end of the bone.

  “Does anyone have any lamp oil or animal fat squirreled away?” he asked while focused on his task.

  “I has a small bit o’ lamp oil,” Dan said, walking over to his horse and retrieving a mason jar with a yellow tinged liquid inside; he twisted off the lid and held it out to Matt.

  After dipping the shirt end into the jar and holding it there for a couple seconds to absorb some of the oil, Matt pulled it back out and lit it by striking a match with his thumbnail.

  “I’ll take that,” Bill said, reaching for it.

  Matt drew it back and glared at him.