Forty-Four Caliber Justice

by Donald L. Robertson

  “Where you takin’ me?”

  “Why’d you kill my ma and pa?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This bullet came from an Apache. I’ve never been near your ma.”

  “Mister, I know who you are. I know who you were riding with. I can take you back to the army and you’ll end up getting hanged. Speakin’ of the army, how’d you get away? You sure didn’t tie out your own horse, for yourself, with all your gear.”

  “I had help.”

  “I reckon. Go on.”

  “An orderly. He got my gear and horse and tied them out behind the hospital. I paid him.”

  “Guess he’ll be in some trouble.”

  “Reckon not. After we got outside the hospital, he kind of stumbled and fell on my knife.”

  Keep an eye on this guy. He’s as dangerous as a rattler.

  They hit Maverick Creek and turned southwest, riding until they found a thick grove of oak along the creek.

  “Git down.”

  Clay had found the perfect limb he was looking for. “Come over here.”

  Hayes walked over. Clay could tell the ride had exhausted the man. He was still not in good shape. Clay took the end of the rope, pulling Hayes’s hands up, and tied him to an oak limb that paralleled the ground. The limb was high enough where Hayes’s arms were stretched above him.

  Clay rode back to the horse, picked up the reins, and took both horses to the creek. There, they drank their fill. Then he rode back and ground-reined them both on some good grass. Hayes had turned and was watching him.

  “What are you going to do with me?”

  “Up to you.”

  “I need to sit down. I’m tired.”

  “Why’d you kill my ma?”

  “I told you, I didn’t—”

  The sound of the slap was like a pistol shot. It caught Hayes fully on his left cheek and sent him spinning on the rope.

  “Why’d you kill my ma?”

  Hayes had regained his footing. Light was beginning to break in the east and slip through the maze of trees.

  “I’m telling you, I—”

  This time the slap caught him on the right cheek and knocked him spinning like a top in the opposite direction, flopping on the tree limb.

  “I’ve been shot. I could die. You can’t do this.”

  “Mister, I’ve got a lot more time than you. Did I tell you that I was raised by the Tonkawa? I spent nearly as much time with them as I did with my folks. They have truly fascinating ways to help people speak the truth. I’m bettin’ you’d like me to show you.” Clay pulled out his bowie knife, the blade glinting in the early morning daylight. He knelt down and pulled off the boot from Hayes’s right foot. When he did, the slim dagger on the inside of the boot came into view.

  “You’ve been holding out on me. Here I thought I had all of your weapons.” He quickly checked the other boot. Nothing.

  Clay checked the edge of the dagger. “Why, I believe your knife is sharper than mine.” With that, he slid his bowie knife back into the scabbard.

  “Now where was I? Oh yeah.” Clay reached down and pulled the man’s sock off.

  Most folks Hayes had met would think he was a brave man. He was fast with a gun and knife, and wouldn’t hesitate to use them. Now, though, he was sweating. The cool morning breeze was little comfort to him. His eyes, wide with fear, tracked the knife with the intensity of the damned.

  “Ever seen a man’s foot split? You can make a man’s toes as long as you want. Why, I could slice between, say your big toe and the next one, all the way to your ankle. It’d make it mighty difficult to walk.”

  “Why do you want to do that? I’ve been shot. I’m a sick man!”

  “Mister, I’m through funnin’ with you. You either start talking right now, or I start slicing.” Clay reached down and grabbed the man’s foot. Hayes tried to kick him with the other foot, but was too weak to lift his foot high enough.

  Clay made a slight nick between his toes.

  “All right, all right,” Hayes sobbed. “I’ll tell you, just please don’t cut me. Don’t cut me.”

  Clay dropped the man’s foot, threw the dagger into the dirt, and stepped back. He was sick to his stomach with what he’d done. That seventeen-year-old boy who loved his ma and pa would never have done this to a man. But he was afraid, deep down, that if the man had not broken, he might have cut him until he did.

  “Tell me quick, Mister. It’d better be true. If I catch you lying, I’ll start again and won’t stop.”

  “It was Gideon. He’d been going on how he was going to get your pa for killing Emmett and Micah. All he could do was quote scriptures and curse. So that was going to be our first job after getting together.

  “Gideon said we’d kill two birds with one stone, cause your pa had money. Can you please cut me down? I swear my arms are about to pull out of their sockets, and this bullet hole, I think it may be bleeding again.”

  Clay turned Hayes around till his back was to him and sliced the rope, letting the man fall in a heap at his feet.

  “Keep talking.”

  “Quint suggested to Gideon that he put Milo on the ridge overlooking the front of the house. That way if anybody went for a gun, Milo could drop them. Milo’s a dead shot with that Sharps.

  “So we come riding up, your pa walks out on the porch, recognizes Gideon, and goes for his gun. He didn’t stand a chance. Milo was already zeroed in, and it just took a squeeze of the trigger. That hunk of lead caught him right in the side of his head, though Milo was off a little. It hit just a tad low, but tore a mighty hole in him. Knocked him across the porch. What was amazing, he was still alive.”

  Clay’s hands shook. He could feel the rage building. Never had he killed a man, but this man was treading close.

  “Go on.”

  “Well, right after Milo shot, this tall drink of water—”

  “Slim.”

  “Slim steps out of the barn, and before Milo can shoot, he puts one in me. Then we all opened up and shot him to dishrags.

  “While that was happening, your ma comes running to your pa. Gideon, he’s off his horse faster’n a jackrabbit and grabs her. Funny to see a man that big move so fast. She got a shot off from her little pistol, but didn’t hit anyone. Gideon, he just wrenched that gun from her hand.

  “Gideon’s never been good with women. He’s mean.”

  Clay didn’t know if he could listen to this. It was all he could do to keep from beating Hayes to an unrecognizable piece of meat. He held himself in. I’ve got to hear this so I’ll know. Just let me be strong. It was all he could do to keep the tears from flowing. He didn’t know if it was from love or rage.

  “Gideon, he drags her into the house. We heard her screaming. By now, I can barely keep the saddle. I was bleeding pretty bad. I sure figured I was a goner.

  “Quint yells and leaps out of the saddle. Your pa had managed to get his gun out, but couldn’t quite lift it. I could see his eyes. He wanted to kill us all. Quint kicked the gun out of his hand and kicked him in the head. Then he ran back to his horse and got his rope. He tossed a loop around your pa’s neck and dragged him over to that big oak tree and strung him up. There weren’t much life left in him and he died quick.

  “Say, could I get a drink of water? I’m mighty dry from all this talking. I surely am.”

  “You keep talking,” Clay said, “and I might not leave you out here for the buzzards.”

  Hayes looked up. Hate seeped from every pore.

  “I said, keep talking.”

  “You’re hard, boy. If you live long enough, you’ll be a mean hombre.

  “The screams from the house stopped. A few minutes later, Gideon comes out, looking pleased as punch and spouting scriptures. He sees your pa in the tree and smiles like it’s Christmas time. Then he turns to us and says to git into the house and find the money. I’m just hanging onto my horse, but the other boys, including Milo, who’s just come riding up, jump off their horses and start sear
ching the house.

  “We found nothing. Boy, can you help me lean against this here tree? It ain’t far, and I’m mighty tired.”

  Clay grabbed Hayes’s hands and dragged him over to the tree and dropped him. He kept an eye on him as Hayes painfully pushed himself into a sitting position against the tree. Then Hayes looked down at the blood on his bare foot and wiggled his toes. “You’re mean, boy, mighty mean.

  “We couldn’t find anything in the house or barn. By now, everybody’s mad and Mad Dog is almost foaming at the mouth. ‘There ain’t no money here, Gideon,’ Mad Dog yells. ‘There ain’t a cent.’ He turns to your pa hangin in the tree. ‘We oughta burn ya, that’s what we oughta do.’ He turns back to Gideon and Gideon nodded. Mad Dog raced back into the house and got a lamp full of kerosene and doused your pa with it. He pulled out a store-bought match and struck it, stuck it up to your pa’s leg, and cackled like a hen when your pa started burning. That’s about it, boy. I told you true. The least you could do is get me some water.”

  Clay walked to Blue and untied the canteen. He turned back to Hayes. As he neared him, something didn’t look right. What was wrong, what had he missed? His hands. They were above his head.

  Hayes struck like a viper. He whipped the knife out of the holster hanging between his shoulder blades and threw it with all of his remaining strength. The blade buried to the hilt in Clay’s neck, the point sticking out below and behind his right ear.

  Clay’s hands flew up to the knife, but he couldn’t pull it out. It was tight and he was bleeding—bleeding bad. He felt his legs going and he crumpled to his knees. He tried desperately to get out his gun, but his hands weren’t working. Clay watched as Hayes stood up, his face covered with an evil smirk.

  Hayes sauntered over to Clay, looked down at him for a moment, and kicked him as hard as he could in the chest. Clay sprawled back on the grass under the big oak trees. He looked up at the blue sky. The sun was up, and the woods were busy, birds singing, squirrels barking, and armadillos rooting. A beautiful Texas day. But I’m dying. I’m sorry, Ma. I promised, but I’m dying.

  “How’s it feel, kid? Tide’s turned, hasn’t it?” Hayes stripped the guns from Clay, then reached up to pull his knife out of Clay’s neck. He pulled and tugged. The knife wouldn’t budge. He put his heel against Clay’s throat and pulled. No knife. “Boy, I’m gonna make a trade with you. All your gear for my knife. I’ll just leave it there while you bleed to death. Ain’t life great? I just knew it’d work out good for me. It always does.” He searched Clay’s pocket and found his twenty-five dollars. “Yes, sir, it always works out for me.”

  Hayes picked up the knife Clay had found and slipped it into his neck scabbard. “Boy, you’re just too green. You should’ve searched me better. Good for me you didn’t.” He slipped his sock and his boot on, gathered up the reins, and pulled himself up into the saddle. “You had me going, boy. I’ve got to tell you, I knew you were going to split my foot from toe to ankle. But you didn’t, and I win. I always win, boy. I always win.”

  Clay watched him cross the creek. He hated to lose Blue. Blue was a good horse and friend. They’d been together for a long time. But it didn’t matter, he thought. Time for him was about to end. He could feel the blood coursing from his neck. He wondered how long it would take him to die. It was getting darker, but he knew it still wasn’t noon yet. Why was it getting dark?

  The last thing he remembered was the coyote sitting on his haunches, watching him, waiting.

  *

  “Boy, can you hear me? If you can hear me, don’t try to talk, just blink.”

  Who was talking? Was he in heaven? No, if he was in heaven, they’d know his name. His eyelids were so heavy. He worked hard to open them. They wouldn’t move.

  “Son, open your eyes. I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me. Open your eyes and blink.”

  Clay could feel himself getting mad. How does he know I can hear him? But I can. Wait, I can hear him! Clay gradually came back to consciousness. His first sight was the captain he had run into when he tried to get into the infirmary, the doctor. He was sitting next to him, in a chair.

  “Good. I knew you could do it. You’re way too determined to die from a little knife cut. You had us worried, but you’re doing better. You lost quite a bit of blood, so you’ll be weak for a while.”

  Clay tried to ask how long he’d been there, but all that came out was a croak.

  “Listen to me. Don’t try to talk. You’re very lucky. The knife missed everything vital. It went all the way through your neck, and one side of the blade lodged in your jawbone. You’ll be sore for a while, but you’ll recover. Even your voice should return to normal. You’re one lucky young man.”

  Clay could feel reality returning. He looked around. He was in a bed in the infirmary. There were two or three soldiers scattered in the other beds. The bed felt good. It felt so good he thought he’d close his eyes for a moment. Just a moment, then he’d talk to the doctor again.

  He was alive.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was still daylight when he awoke. He looked around. Only two soldiers were in the other beds. He felt stronger. Gripping the sides of the bed, he pushed himself up against the wall. It felt good to sit up. His right hand went to his throat. He was bandaged from his chin to his chest. His neck hurt like the dickens. He tried to yawn, but his jaw was almighty stiff. The jawbone just below his ear felt like he’d been kicked by a mule, and he had a major earache.

  Clay gradually remembered what had happened. Hayes had stashed another knife in a scabbard behind his neck. What an idiot. Jake had said to be careful. He needed to learn, to build experience. I guess this is building experience the hard way, he thought.

  The door opened at the end of the infirmary and the captain walked in. He was carrying a pad and pencil, and was accompanied by Colonel Mackenzie.

  “Looks like my patient is feeling better,” the doctor said. “You shouldn’t be talking, but you can write. You can read and write, can’t you?”

  Clay nodded.

  “Mr. Barlow, I’m glad you are alive,” Colonel Mackenzie said. “Hayes knifed and killed one of our orderlies and escaped. At least, he escaped until he got to his horse.”

  Clay’s eyebrows went up.

  “Oh, yes, our Indian scouts were able to tell us exactly what happened. You can correct me if I’m wrong. Although, I doubt that my account will be anything less than accurate.

  “You captured Hayes and went west with him. When you reached Maverick Creek, you stopped and interrogated him. I would be grateful if, when you feel up to it, you would write down everything he told you. But having a kind heart, you cut him down from where he was tied. Tying him as you did was an excellent idea. However, cutting him down was your second mistake and led to your undoing. The first was not thoroughly searching him. He was able to stick a throwing knife into your throat, and with more luck than anyone deserves, the knife missed anything vital. Hayes made away with your horse and guns and left you to die. That was your second great piece of luck. He didn’t outright kill you. Your third piece of luck arrived in the form of our patrol. Again, thanks to our Seminole scouts. Your fourth piece of luck was our having Captain Dixon with the patrol. He would not have normally been there. But he successfully presented his case to me that he should be allowed on some of the patrols to provide him with more experience. Had he not been there, you would probably have died. So, young man, I take my hat off to you. With all these coincidences, I feel you were meant to stay on this Earth.”

  Clay couldn’t help but agree. He should have died. Thanks to everyone who was involved, he thought, I am still here today, listening to Colonel Mackenzie tell me how lucky I am. He started to swing his feet out of bed and stand up.

  Captain Dixon stopped him. “No, no, no. You cannot be up by yourself for several more days. You’ve lost too much blood, and you’re extremely weak.”

  Clay settled back down and picked up the writing pad and pencil.
How long? he wrote.

  Captain Dixon picked up Clay’s legs and swung them back on the bed. “At least a week, maybe more. You can stay here until you’re well enough to leave.”

  “That’s right, Clay,” Colonel Mackenzie said. “You’re welcome to stay here until you’re fit enough to move out.”

  Clay wrote again. What about my horses and gear?

  The colonel spoke up, “The gear and horse you had with you are gone, but if you’re talking about the two you stabled, they’re fine, and so is your gear. I sent someone to check on it with the hostler. You’re paid up for quite a while.”

  He didn’t happen to throw my books out of the saddlebags?

  “What books?” the colonel asked.

  I had three books, Clay wrote, Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver’s Travels, and Blackstone’s Commentaries.

  The colonel tossed a surprised glance at the captain, and said, “Who taught you to read such books?”

  Clay wrote, Ma, mainly, but Pa read Blackstone’s to me, when I was older.

  “You liked it?”

  Yes, sir, I did. I like the law, Clay wrote.

  “You can be proud of your parents,” the colonel said. “They were truly bringing you up right. When this is over, I hope you’re able to pursue your education.” the colonel said.

  Thank you. I am proud of my parents, he continued to write. Two more things. What about Hayes and when can I start talking?

  “Hayes is in the wind, I’m afraid,” the colonel said. “Our priority was getting you back to the infirmary as quickly as possible. We’ll keep an eye out for him, but he is gone for now. However, he is now wanted for murder of a member of the military. That will be turned over to the federal marshal, and when caught, Hayes will be tried in a federal court and hanged by a federal hangman.”

  Doctor Dixon spoke up. “Clay, you’ve had some damage to your vocal chords. I can’t tell you how long it will take to heal.”