Forty-Four Caliber Justice

by Donald L. Robertson

  “Handy, you’re free to go. Hope you leave the bad side of the law alone.”

  Handy leaned over and stuck out his hand to Clay. Clay took the hand in his big grip and shook it.

  “All you’ve got’s my word,” Handy said, “but I plan on going straight from here on. I got a lot luckier yesterday than I deserve. You could have said nothing and just plugged me. I owe you. Hope you have good luck with the Pinders. They’re double bad. Adios.”

  The man swung his horse around and pointed it east, so that he would ride around San Felipe, and galloped into the morning sun.

  “By the way, Zeke, what did Pinder do with the horses you took from our ranch?”

  “Sold ’em. Ran into a Mex in San Felipe. Last I saw of ’em they were crossing the river.”

  “Well then, you won’t mind me selling yours, will you?” Clay checked his weapons one last time. He loved this country. The sun was stalking the morning sky. It was going to be a hot day in San Felipe. He looked over at Zeke. “Lead the way.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Clay and Zeke rode into San Felipe del Rio as the sun climbed midway in the eastern sky. Clay had slipped the hammer thongs from his revolvers and carried the Roper across his saddle. The town was awake and bustling with activity. It appeared the residents wanted to get their shopping done before the blistering afternoon heat set in. It looked like Clay had the attention of everyone in town. The people followed him to the marshal’s office. The crowd grew as they neared the office.

  They pulled up in front of the hitching rail. Clay motioned Zeke to get down. Zeke eased out of the saddle, his right foot reaching for the ground. He was stiff and slightly stooped as he walked toward the door. Clay stepped down and looked at the faces in the crowd. At least twenty people surrounded the horses. He recognized a friendly face. “Howdy, Rud.”

  “How you doing, Son? Looks like you been mighty busy. Nasty lookin’ feller you got there. He go by the name Mad Dog?”

  “Yep, he does. Can you get word to Don Carlos that his cattle are in the river bottom, about three miles up the river?”

  “Reckon I can. You all right?”

  “I will be, as soon as I get rid of this.” He indicated Zeke with the muzzle of the shotgun. “Why don’t you join us inside?”

  “Be glad to,” Rud said.

  The three men entered the office with Zeke in the lead.

  “Zeke, what are you—”

  The marshal shut up when he saw Zeke followed by Clay holding the shotgun trained on Zeke.

  “What’s going on here?” the marshal said.

  “Marshal, this is Mad Dog Martin. He’s running with the Pinder Gang. There’s another man hanging off Zeke’s horse. His name is Tomas. He tried to shoot me and failed.”

  The marshal looked at Clay, then at Zeke and back to Clay. “You’re racking up quite a tally, Barlow. What’s this man done?”

  Clay pulled out his dead-or-alive wanted poster on Mad Dog and passed it over to the marshal. “I’m turning him over to you. I’ll be in town at least until tomorrow. I expect you want to contact the sheriff who posted that reward and let him know you have Zeke in your jail. I’d also like payment on him by tomorrow. There’s also two more horses, guns, and saddles out front. I’d like payment on them tomorrow. To make it easy, I’ll take the same amount as before, one hundred and fifty dollars. By the way, Marshal, where’s Milo?”

  “The sheriff from Uvalde sent a deputy over, picked him up last night. Said he’d hold him as a favor till the Tarrant County Sheriff can pick him up.”

  “Thanks, Marshal. I’ll be seeing Major Jones before long and I’ll tell him how you helped me. This man needs to be locked up, and he needs a doctor.”

  The marshal looked back at Zeke, then turned to Clay and asked, “Did you shoot him?”

  Clay laughed and said, “No, seems he got in such a big hurry to get his gun out, he spilled boiling coffee all over himself.”

  Rud burst out laughing. When he had calmed down, he said, “Never heard of a man losing a gunfight to a cup of coffee. That’s mighty big, mighty big.”

  “Marshal, he’s right,” Zeke said. “I need a doctor, bad. I’m in a lotta pain.”

  The marshal walked to the door. He looked through the crowd, then yelled to no one in particular, “Tell the doctor to get down here, pronto. Got a hurt man who needs lookin’ after.”

  “Marshal,” Clay asked the man as he returned to his desk, “have you seen the Pinders in town?”

  “Yeah, came into town yesterday, probably stayed the night. It’d be my guess they’re still here. They were plenty riled when they heard that Harly was kilt. I imagine they’ll be lookin’ for ya.”

  Rud shook his head. Clay couldn’t hide his disgust. “Didn’t you arrest them? You know they killed my folks.”

  The marshal fidgeted in his chair. “Just had your word. Anyway, they ain’t wanted for nothin’ in this town. This town’s as far as my jurisdiction goes.”

  Clay walked to the window and looked out. The people were dispersing from around the horses and the dead body. Tomas was probably starting to get a little ripe, with the hot sun beaming down on him. Clay could see a man in a suit, carrying a little black bag, hurrying toward the marshal’s office, probably the doc. “Marshal, you have a duty to the citizens of this town to keep them safe. Allowing the Pinders the freedom to walk around sure doesn’t fulfill your duty. Have my money ready tomorrow, and don’t lose my prisoner. By the way, the body across the horse is starting to get pretty ripe.”

  Clay wheeled and yanked the door open. The doctor came stumbling into the room, his hand still grasping the outside doorknob. “Sorry, Doc,” Clay said. “Didn’t realize you were that close.” Clay marched out of the office before the doc could say anything. Rud followed.

  “What’s your plan, Clay?” Rud said.

  “My first plan is to take care of these horses, and then get some food in my belly. Then, I reckon I’ll go looking for the Pinders.”

  The two men walked to the livery with Blue and the buckskin in tow. Clay stripped the gear from the buckskin while Rud took care of Blue. They gave the horses a good rubdown and turned them loose into the corral. Both of the horses rolled in the dirt and then headed for the water trough. Clay forked some hay into the feed trough for later, when hunger slipped up on them.

  “I’ve got a boy who works for me around here. I’ll send him out to let Don Carlos know about his cattle. I imagine you’ve made a good friend of the don. He’ll be tickled pink to get those cattle back.”

  “He treated me right,” Clay said. “There was no sense leaving those cattle up the Devils River. Don Carlos might have had a hard time getting them across the border, considering the hard feelings around here for Mexicans.”

  “Reckon you’re right, Son.” Rud’s eyes twinkled when he said, “He’s got himself a mighty pretty daughter, don’t he?”

  “Yes, sir, he certainly has. She’ll make some man a fine wife. But it won’t be me. You mind stashing my gear in your office, again?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Rud said. “Those Mexican gals are mighty pretty. Say hi to Maria for me.”

  Clay picked up his shotgun and headed for Maria’s.

  *

  The breakfast relaxed him. He took a few minutes to check and clean his revolvers and shotgun. The Roper was in his left hand, and the two six-guns were loose in their holsters. He looked up the dusty San Felipe street. It wasn’t much of a town, as towns go. I don’t know if this town’ll make it. Many border towns popped up, lasted for a few years, and then disappeared.

  Clay walked over to the livery. Rud was out front in his chair, leaning back against the barn’s front wall, with his rifle across his lap.

  “Have a good breakfast?” Rud asked from under his hat. “You might need it. I saw the Pinders, both Gideon and Quint, go into the general store.”

  “I hear Gideon is fast,” Clay said.

  “What I’ve heard to. Supposed to be re
ally fast for a man his size. I imagine he must weigh close to two fifty. He’s drifted off to fat quite a bit, but there’s still some solid muscle under that fat. So, don’t let him fool you. He’s a tough man.”

  Clay considered what Rud had said. “You know anything about Quint?”

  “Not much. It’s my understanding he’s pretty quick with a gun.”

  Clay looked up the street again. Midday San Felipe was quiet. Most people were trying to find a cool place to escape the heat.

  Was this where his short life played out? He’d been lucky, so far. Lucky the knife hadn’t cut anything major. Lucky the bartender had missed. Lucky he had spotted Milo. Lucky Tomas had missed. He could feel the noonday sun beating down on him. Sweat was running down his back. Is it from fear, or am I just hot? Clay thought that one over for a moment. He had to admit he was afraid, not terrified, but afraid. What had Pa always said, “Nothing wrong with being afraid, as long as you keep on going.” He’d also told him that fear subsides when the cause of the fear is engaged. Well, I reckon it’s about to get pretty engaging.

  He checked the Model 3s again. They were loose in their holsters. He decided to leave the shotgun at the livery. He felt as ready as he would ever get. He wiped the sweat from his hands, rubbing them on his trousers.

  Thoughts of his ma, lying on the bed covered with her own blood, entered his mind. Then the picture of his pa hanging from the big old oak, his body burned and the bullet hole through his head, leaped to his mind. Clay could feel the rage pushing the fear away. He had chased these men who had done such awful things to his folks. Now, he had an opportunity to bring them to justice. His mind was cool in the hot sun. Now was the time.

  “I’ll be joining you,” Rud said.

  “No, I reckon not. This is my fight. I aim to finish it.”

  The old man nodded. “I surely understand your feelings. I’ll just meander up the boardwalk and make sure your back is clear.”

  “Much obliged, Rud.” Clay handed him the Roper. “Mind putting it with my gear?”

  Clay turned and started up the street.

  “Clay?” Rud said. “I’m sure they’re expectin’ you. I saw the marshal scurry up the street, shortly after you went into Maria’s.”

  “Thanks, Rud.”

  Clay continued walking. It was a good day in Texas for justice. I made a promise to you, Ma. I aim to keep it. He passed the marshal’s office. He caught movement through the window. If that’s a problem, I’ll have to leave it to Rud. He continued his walk. He glanced to each side of the street. He could see faces peering through the windows. A lady had rushed out, holding her skirt up to keep from tripping, and dragged her eight-year-old son out of the street. Another man had walked out of the general store, saw Clay, and trotted to the bank, closing the door behind him.

  Clay had almost reached the general store when two men walked out. They had to be the Pinders. They looked like brothers, except one was almost a third again as big as the other. The smaller was Quint, and the huge man was Gideon. Clay stopped, facing them.

  Quint stepped off the boardwalk and started moving into the street.

  “That’s far enough,” Clay said.

  Quint stopped. “You looking for us, boy?”

  “Not any longer.”

  “What do you want with us?”

  Gideon had said nothing. He stood, a giant wearing a black suit with black hat, black vest, and black boots.

  “You know what I want. You shot, hanged, and burned my pa, and shot Slim to pieces.” Clay looked into the soulless eyes of Gideon Pinder. “And you attacked my ma. Reckon there must be a special place in Hell for a monster like you.”

  Gideon swelled up like a huge toad. “And he executed the justice of the Lord, Deuteronomy 33:2—I am the sword of justice, boy. You must be prepared to meet your Maker, for today, you shall surely die.”

  “As much as I would like to kill you both, I’ll make you one offer,” Clay said. The rage had turned him cold. All he could think about was seeing the two men before him dead in the street. But he could still hear his pa telling him to control the rage or it would take him over. “You two drop your guns, and you’ll get a fair trial and a fair hanging.”

  “Keep thy tongue from evil; do good and seek peace, Psalms 34:13.”

  “Mister, if you don’t drop your guns, the next scripture that comes out of your filthy mouth, I’m gonna send you straight to Hell.” Clay had been watching both men.

  Clay saw it. Quint’s eyes contracted just a fraction before his hand started for his gun. Clay’s hand immediately started moving.

  When Quint began his draw, Gideon cried out, “Vengeance is mine!” and his hand flashed down to his revolver.

  Clay took it all in. He felt like he was one of the onlookers watching from behind the windows. Quint was in a crouch, turned slightly sideways. His dark green vest was unbuttoned and hanging open, exposing the third button on his red shirt. Clay could see Quint’s revolver clearly. It had the round barrel of a Colt New Model Army. He knew the caliber, forty-four. He watched the barrel clear the holster, but it would be too late for Quint. He saw, like Hayes, that the man realized he was too slow. Clay could see the fear in his eyes, but determination also. Clay squeezed the trigger when he sensed the barrel was correctly aligned. The first bullet hit a little high, between the second and third button. The bullet that followed drove the third button into Quint’s body. Quint was backpedaling, but still trying to level the Colt. Clay could see Quint’s eyes start to glaze over as the third bullet struck between the first two. Quint’s hand went slack. The Colt fell to the ground, and the man, dead before he hit, followed the Colt.

  But all this time, which seemed so long to Clay, was only fractions of a second. He had also followed Gideon’s actions. The big man’s face was red with anger. Like Handy had told him, for a big man, Gideon was fast. He too was shooting a Colt New Army, and he was just leveling it when Clay’s first bullet drove into the middle of his shirt. He didn’t budge. Clay eared back the hammer and squeezed the trigger again, then dove to the ground, rolling to his left. The second bullet followed the first into the same hole, as Gideon fired his first shot. Still the man stood like a statue, following Clay with the muzzle of the Colt. Clay saw the smoke from Gideon’s Colt. Because he had dove to the ground, Gideon missed.

  In his dive, Clay had holstered his empty Model 3 and drew the second one from his crossdraw holster. He was a little slower with this draw. I should have been practicing with the left-handed holster like JT said.

  Gideon got off his second shot.

  Clay felt the slam of the bullet, but now he also felt the comforting weight of the revolver in his hand, and his instinct took over. He squeezed the trigger, once, twice, and watched both shots strike within an inch of each other.

  Pinder’s legs could no longer hold him up. His knees collapsed and he knelt on the boardwalk. He tried to lift his Colt but couldn’t bring it up. The weapon dropped from his hand, and he watched Clay stand. With his fading strength, he motioned Clay over to him.

  Cautiously, Clay moved up next to the mountain of a man. When he was sure Pinder had no weapon, he dropped down next to him. How can this man still be alive?

  Pinder reached for his collar and pulled him close. A grimace of pain crossed his face, only to be replaced by an evil grin. “You got us, kid. If I’d known you were following us, you’d have been dead a long time ago.”

  Clay still felt the rage. “If takes you to Hell, Pinder. Go quote scriptures to the Devil. This ends it!”

  Pinder coughed.

  Blood spattered on Clay’s vest.

  “Wrong, kid. There’s one more.” Pinder was racked with a spasm. Blood now gushed from the holes in his body and his mouth.

  Clay grabbed the big man by his lapels, desperate to know. “Who?”

  The light started fading from the black eyes. Pinder summoned his last strength and whispered, “He paid us.”

  Clay shook the big man. “Tell
me, tell me.”

  Gideon Pinder gave one last gasp. He relaxed in Clay’s grasp, his face now frozen in mortal terror as if he had seen into the gates of hell itself.

  Clay stood and looked around. No other threats were standing. Two bloody men lay dead in the street of San Felipe. It was his doing. Without thinking, he snapped the Model 3 open. The tinkle of metallic cartridges hitting the boardwalk could be heard like bells in the stillness of the morning. The sound reminded him of the bell in the Brackett General Store, and Lynn, when he first saw her. Funny I would think of her now. Pulling cartridges from his gunbelt, he dropped them into the revolver, holstered it, and reloaded the other.

  People were emerging from the stores and offices, slowly gathering around the dead men. Clay felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to look into the old eyes of Rud.

  “Relax, Son. It’s over. I need to get you to Maria’s. You’ve been shot.”

  Clay slid the other revolver into its holster and looked down at his right side. He remembered now. Gideon Pinder had been able to get a shot into him. Blood was all over his side and had run down his leg. He raised his eyes from his waist to Rud. “Reckon I’ve gone and ruined a good shirt and pair of trousers. At least it’ll wash off my boots, if I get to it quick.”

  Clay allowed Rud to take him by the arm. He was starting to feel a little dizzy. They turned together and walked past the marshal’s office and the stable, toward Maria’s.

  “I’ve got some clean clothes in my panniers, Rud.”

  “Don’t you worry about them clothes, Son. I’ll take care of ’em.”

  Clay looked down the road. Why, there’s the don, Arturo, Juan, and Diana galloping toward me. He lifted his leg to take the first step onto Maria’s porch. But his leg didn’t lift. He looked down at it, willing it to move, but it wouldn’t. Clay looked over to Rud. Rud was standing there holding his arm. Why was he holding his arm? He felt himself falling into a soft, clean bed. A bed would feel so good. Clay collapsed on the porch.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  He opened his eyes. His eyelids felt like they weighed as much as a young calf. Finally, one came open, then the other. He looked around the room. He was in a soft, clean bed. It felt good to lie here, the sun streaming in through the open window, the clean smell of sheets. A light breeze chased the sunlight into the room. A quail called to its brood, and chickens clucked and scratched just outside the window. He could hear a wagon and team moving up the road. Must be going to the general store. Wait a minute, what am I doing in bed? It’s daylight. He threw back the sheet and started to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but a sharp, intense pain stabbed him in his right side. He relaxed back onto the bed and looked down at himself. A clean, white bandage was wrapped around his waist, and that was the only covering he had on his body. He yanked the sheet back up to cover himself and looked for his clothes. Fresh, clean clothes were laid out on the back of the chair, across the room.