by Mike McNeff
He stabbed the camp shovel into the fresh turned dirt so hard it sank half-way up the handle. Then, with a heavy sigh he lifted her ever so gently as if trying not to hurt her. Stepping into the grave he carefully laid her down.
Each shovel of dirt Jasper put over Claire tore a piece of his soul and seared into his mind. Losing his Pa and brothers was bad enough, but they died outright. Claire’s agonizing death was something Jasper could not fully comprehend. It took another hour of work to satisfy Jasper the grave site was fitting for Claire, hoping when her family came to see her they would be pleased with her final resting place. He worried that they would want to move her and see the true horror of her death.
His difficult duty finished, he sat in the saddle for a full minute staring at Claire’s grave until his mouth set in a grim, thin line. He took a deep breath then urged the big horse forward.
CHAPTER TWO
JEB NORTON LOOKED UP from his plow. A buggy escorted by four horsemen rolled toward the house. He knew who they were and his stomach tightened. He wished he’d never bought land next to that man’s ranch. Wrapping the reins around the plow handle he hurried to the farmhouse for he knew his wife’s hatred for the man. He got to the door and opened it.
“Nancy!”
Nancy, a short, plump woman with shining brown hair, came out of the back room.
“What is it, Jeb?”
“Men are comin’. Stay inside.”
“Who is it?”
“It’s him.”
Nancy’s deep blue eyes flashed. “I’ll not stay inside with that crooked snake in my yard!”
Jeb grabbed his wife by the shoulders. “Nancy, these men are dangerous. He’s already angry because we’ve turned down two offers.”
Nancy’s lips quivered. “Jeb, you’re not thinkin’ of givin’ up are you?”
“I don’t know. I have to see what he wants. But I’ll not let pride kill us.”
Nancy turned and rushed into the other room.
Jeb closed the door and turned to face the oncoming men. The buggy pulled to a stop in front of him. The horsemen pushed their mounts closer, surrounding Jeb.
“Afternoon, Jeb,” Cornell Norris said cheerfully. He was a tall man, powerfully built. He wore an all black suit with a long coat and an expensive black Stetson.
Jeb felt he was confronting the devil.
“Governor,” Jeb nodded.
“I came to see if you’ve thought about my last offer.”
“Governor, you know how hard Nancy and I have worked on our place. We’ve sacrificed much for five years and just started makin’ a profit with our crops and livestock to wheres we can start a family. I ain’t sayin’ your offer ain’t fair, but this place is our lives. Really, no offer is enough.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Jeb. See, I worry about you folks out here all by yourselves. So many things can happen; wolves, mountain lions, accidents, outlaws …”
The two men locked eyes. Jeb was working hard to suppress the seething fury inside of him. Suddenly the front door flew open and Nancy came out with a double barrelled shotgun. Jeb started for her as she raised the gun at Norris.
“Nancy, NOOOO!”
He heard the sharp pop of gunfire. Holes opened up in Nancy’s blouse and a chunk of her skull flipped off. His forward motion was now propelled by horror, love and despair. Burning lines tore through his body, his knees buckled as he caught his wife and together they crashed onto the rough-hewn floor. He lay paralyzed looking at Nancy’s upturned face, her eyes empty. It was the last thing he ever saw.
The men reined in their horses, jittery from the gunfire. Through the gun smoke they could see the riddled bodies of the Nortons lying in the doorway. The governor climbed off the buggy.
“Well, that was good target practice.” Reece Burton reloaded his pistol, then looked over at Carlos McElroy. “Hey, Carlos, you didn’t even draw!”
“I don’t shoot women.”
Reece shrugged. “All the same to me.”
Norris looked at the bodies. “Well, they’re dead.” He turned to his men. “What happened here today is I paid cash for this ranch and the Nortons decided to go back east.”
“Why are we sayin’ that, Governor?” Reece protested. “She got what she had comin’ for pointin’ that shotgun at us.”
“Shut up you idiot. No one would believe some woman would try to take on four gunfighters. The other problem is that if they have kin they could come and claim the ranch, so just do as I say.”
“Sorry, Governor, I guess I wasn’t thinkin’.”
“I don’t pay you to think, Reece.”
“Yes, sir.”
He pointed to the other two men with him. “You men go get those two horses in the corral and the wagon over there.”
“Load these bodies in the wagon then take them a couple of miles away. Make sure you bury them deep to get rid of them. We can’t have them showing up later.
“Carlos, you and Reece help me find the Nortons’ deed to this ranch. We’ll get the signatures forged and have the judge certify the transaction. That way this nice addition to my ranch only cost me the price of the ammunition. That’s what I call a good deal!”
CHAPTER THREE
JASPER STARTED EARLY THE NEXT MORNING. He continued along Arlington Creek checking now and again to make sure the gang’s trail was still on the road. He checked again at ten miles and saw no sign. Backtracking he spotted where a lone rider met the gang, then they turned west into Tully Valley. The trail appeared to be only a day old. Jasper headed west but took to the high ground, weaving in and out of the tree line.
He rode four hours before he caught a faint whiff of wood smoke. He stopped. A light breeze came from the north with the stronger rushes of air bringing the pleasant smell. He figured the smoke came from the valley north of him. Dismounting, he looped Coal’s reins around the saddle horn. He took his Winchester out of the scabbard and pocketed extra cartridges from his saddle bag.
Jasper moved down to the valley slowly so as not to spook the birds and critters around. Any savvy men riding with the outlaws would notice right off if the birds went quiet. His high top moccasins allowed him to glide through the trees without disturbing their soft song.
He reached a rock outcropping and after taking off his hat, Jasper crawled out to take a look see. A group of men and horses gathered around two campfires. The slight breeze carried the wood smoke directly towards him simplifying the aiming calculations for his shots. The men were at least eight hundred yards away. He needed to get closer. A good blanket of trees covered the approach to another outcropping five hundred yards further downhill.
Jasper slid back off the outcropping on his belly. He moved down hill, still slow and quiet, listening for any unnatural sound. His eyes searched the trees like a predator and he felt the grim determination that had set on his face. He neared the second outcropping and went low. Crawling out to the edge he surveyed the men and the horses. His eyes stopped on a sorrel. He recognized a long hank of blonde hair hanging off the saddle horn. These were the men who killed Claire Dolan. These were the men who killed his Pa and his brothers. Yet they seemed not to care about those crimes. Some were eating, some playing a card game, some talking and joking. A hawk cried above them.
The desire to exact justice by death built in Jasper. He planned his shots, gauging how the men would move when he opened fire, as he had done in scores of battles. He knew he wouldn’t get them all but he would whittle down their numbers. Patience ruled because he needed to know who might be the owner of the sorrel. He didn’t want to kill him…yet. Then he saw it.
One of the men wore an Arkansas Toothpick blade on this left hip. He walked with a swagger around the campfire next to the horses. The man thumped his chest as he strutted over to the sorrel and taking the blonde hair in his right hand, he held the scalp up and let out a war hoop.
Jasper’s temples pounded and his jaws clenched. He slid back off the outcropping and rolled over to look up
at the sky. Long deep breaths soon replaced fury with cold resolve. He rolled back over and crawled out to the edge.
He pointed his rifle at the man sitting closest to the horses at the nearest fire. Flipping up his rear sight he accounted for wind, adjusted for distance, lined the sights up and placed them on his target. Jasper squeezed the trigger. The rifle boomed and bucked into his shoulder. He smoothly worked the lever, loading another round in the chamber and fired at the next man. This action was repeated six more times and eight men lay on the ground near the horses. Other men ran in various directions seeking cover or a way to escape.
Jasper leveled the rifle again and four more men fell to the ground. Then the camp went quiet. Some managed to get to the horses and rode off. Others were hiding. Dust made it hard for Jasper to see. Sporadic shots came from the valley. Some of the outlaws were shooting blindly, a testament to their inexperience.
He eased off the rock quietly making his way back to Coal and mounted without taking the reins. He gently tapped the horse’s flanks. Coal started forward, instinctively following the tree line. Jasper reloaded his Winchester then took the reins guiding the big horse towards the valley at an angle, increasing Coal’s speed. He reached a point a thousand yards west of his ambush and three hundred yards from the trail in the valley. Four men rode away in the distance but more horses were coming. Four more men galloped after them from the east. Jasper took aim and fired two shots in quick succession. Now only two riders were galloping away and two lay in the dust, their horses stopped nearby.
Jasper listened, but didn’t hear anymore horses. He rode down to the edge of the road and listened again… still nothing. Crossing the road he urged Coal to the trees and headed east, riding slowly, listening and searching the trees for movement.
A stillness settled in the valley and the bright sun warmed the air. A ten minute ride brought Jasper just above the outlaws’ campsite. He could see dust in the distance to the east. The birds starting to sing again, an indication no one alive was in the camp and moving. Twelve bodies littered the area but one of them lay moaning and writhing where the horses had been. The others didn’t move. He looked across the road to the outcropping from where he did his shooting. Still no movement in the area. He loaded two more rounds into his rifle and dismounted.
He worked his way down to the camp. Starting with the closest man, he checked each body as he moved toward the man who was still alive. The rest were dead.
Jasper walked up to the wounded man. He realized he didn’t remember shooting him. The man was young, his holster empty. He held his stomach with his hands, blood seeping through the fingers.
“Help me, mister. I’m gut shot,” the man’s voice squeezed through his pain.
“I didn’t come here to help you.”
The man’s eyes widened and then he lay back. “Then kill me now. I can’t stand this awful hurt.”
“Who shot you?”
“That son… of a… bitch… Bart Moore.” The young man’s words came in short gasps.
“Why?”
“I told him I was... done ridin’ with him... just before you started shootin’. After you started... he ran for his horse... but I was in his way.”
“Who killed the girl?”
“That… was… Moore’s idea. I… didn’t want… nothin’ to do… with it. It made me… sick to see… what they done.”
“Is he the one with the sorrel and the Arkansas Toothpick?”
The young man nodded his head.
“Who shot the old man and the two brothers?”
“Moore and… several… others. One of them finished off the old man and the younger one. I didn’t… like that… either.”
“Why’d you ride with these men?”
“I got no kin and… nowhere to go. They… kinda took… me in.”
“Where’s Moore from?”
“Kentville.”
Jasper bent down and moved the young man’s hands. He’d seen many wounds like it during the War Between the States. “That wound’s goin’ to kill you, boy. Ain’t no doctorin’ goin’ to fix it.”
The young man took a deep, painful breath. “Just… finish me. Please, mister… I can’t take it no more.”
Jasper rose and stepped back and drew a Colt. He pointed it and the young man nodded, turning his eyes to the sky. Jasper could clearly see the pimples on the kid’s face and the scraggly thin beard starting to grow. He shook his head. “May God accept your soul.”
Bart Moore galloped towards Arlington Road with five of his men. After two miles Moore started slowing his horse down. The others followed his lead. Moore turned in his saddle and looked over their back trail.
“I don’t see no dust back there. I don’t think anyone is chasin’ us.”
“Who the hell was doin’ all that shootin’?” Dewey Cann wondered aloud.
“I don’t know,” Moore replied quietly. He looked back again.
“I hope it wasn’t Jasper Lee,” Harry Wells mused. “Arlington is his territory and whoever did that shootin’ was as good as Lee.”
“All right, you shit heads. It don’t do no good wonderin’. We don’t even know how many shooters were there. We need to keep movin’.”
“Don’t you think you’d better get rid of that scalp, Bart?” Cann asked.
Moore felt the thick golden blonde hair hanging off his saddle horn. “Hell no! I’m going to make me somethin’ out of this hair so’s I can remember how good it felt to have her squirmin’ under me while I cut her. I must a come ten times!” Moore laughed hard and loud as he spurred his horse down the road.
Moore’s laugh sent a shiver up Harry Wells’ spine, same as a sidewinder’s rattle would. He spit out his wad of tobacco. “Crazy son of a bitch!” He said out loud.
“What’d you say?” Cann asked.
“I said Moore’s a crazy son of a bitch.”
“Watch what you say about my friend, Wells.”
“Sure, Dewey. Let’s ride.”
CHAPTER FOUR
WHEN JOHNNY STEWART AND RICH DELTON stumbled into the Oak Tree Saloon in Lowell Town, cowboy Sandy James noticed they were dirty, tired…and their eyes were filled with fear. He also noticed dried blood on their pants. He started to return to his conversation with his friends when his attention was drawn by the word “ambush.”
Sandy turned to the bar. “You say something about an ambush?”
“What’s it to ya?” Stewart sneered.
“I was only asking because we got word of a posse being ambushed a couple of days ago.”
Stewart’s eyes darted around and Delton looked down at the bar and put his face in his glass of beer.
“Don’t know nothin’ about a posse. We was ambushed!”
“Well, it looks like you came out of it all right.”
“We did, but a lot of our friends didn’t.”
“What happened?”
“We was just camped out when someone opened up on us from the side of the mountain. Killed at least eight or ten of our friends in less than half a minute.”
Sandy’s interest grew. “Hadn’t you boys better report this to the town marshal?”
Stewart spun around and gave Sandy a hard look. “Why don’t you mind your own business.”
“There’s only one man I know that can kill ten men in less than half a minute.”
“Yeah, who’s that?”
“Jasper Lee. I rode with him for a year back in the cattle wars. He don’t kill men unless they need killin’.”
Everyone in the saloon looked at Stewart and Delton. Stewart’s face turned pale at the mention of Jasper’s name. Rich Delton’s knuckles turned white as his hand tightened around the handle on his glass.
“Word is someone shot down Jasper’s pa and brothers and kidnapped a girl,” Sandy continued. “Wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”
Stewart put his hand on his gun. “I’m goin’ to tell you for the last time...mind your own damn business!”
A
heavy silence descended upon the room except for the wind whispering at the swinging doors. Sandy looked over to see Jasper Lee standing just inside, the sun through the opening casting his long shadow on the sawdust covered floor. Jasper looked the saloon over. Sandy had seen the look on Jasper’s face before and a shudder went through him.
Jasper nodded to Sandy and then focused on Stewart and Delton. “There’s two horses outside that’ve been rode hard. Who do they belong to?” He looked at Stewart and Delton taking in their appearance, especially the dried blood…Claire’s blood.
“They belong to you men?”
“What are ya goin’ to do about it?” Stewart growled.
Jasper spoke in a deep, calm voice. “You men killed my pa and my brothers. Then you raped and killed Claire Dolan. For those crimes, I’m goin’ to kill you.”
Two men rose from their table and walked over to stand with Stewart and Delton. “We’re standing with these men. We fought agin you during the cattle wars, Lee. We figure we owe you a couple of bullets.”
“You heard what they did. You stand with them...you die with ‘em.”
Sandy stood, but Jasper waved him away.
Johnny Stewart pulled on his gun.
Jasper sprung to the right. By the time he reached the cover of the bar his Long Colt .45 had spit flame and lead twice.
Before Johnny Stewart could raise his gun to shoot his back erupted with blood and flesh. He collapsed to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
The man who challenged Jasper joined Stewart in death as Jasper’s next bullets slammed into his heart and gut before his gun cleared his holster. The man fell backwards, his head bouncing off the floor.
Rich Delton didn’t even draw but ducked behind the other end of the bar.
The last man fired one wild shot at Jasper and ran for the rear door. Jasper shot him in the back, the bullets lifting the man off his feet, smashing him into the wall where he crumpled into the sawdust on the floor.
