Colorado Crossfire (A Piccadilly Pulishing Western Book 15)

by Patrick E. Andrews

“Sure, honey. We’ll take care of him,” Paxton said. He and Bill Hays held onto Orly as the seizure ran its course. Finally, after a few intermittent but violent twitches, Orly was still. His eyelids fluttered and he swallowed.

  “How’re you doing, little brother?” Bill Hays asked.

  Orly, unaware of what had happened, only smiled. “Uh-hello, Bill.”

  They helped him up on his feet and led him over to his bed and laid him down. Paxton looked over at Mae. “He needs a doctor.”

  “Yeah, sister. He’s been having these things more’n more lately,” Hays added.

  Mae, sobbing a little, nodded. “If we don’t get him to one, he’s gonna die on us someday.”

  Bill Hays thought quickly. “Another season in the goldfields will get us plenty o’ money for that.”

  “Is there really a doctor that could help him?” Mae asked.

  “I’m sure there is,” Paxton said. “But not around here.”

  “Yeah,” Paxton said. “We can take him to Californy. There’s good doctors out there.”

  Mae regained her composure. “I think maybe you’re right. Perhaps that’s why the Lord in His mercy led you to that gold. It’s his way of helping poor Orly.”

  Paxton grinned. “Sure. One more year, Mae. Just one more year.”

  Twelve

  Lefty and Kiowa ambled through Luckville, carefully glancing into every saloon to see if they could recognize any of Milo Paxton’s men that might be in town. It took only fifteen minutes of prowling the primitive drinking spots before they spotted a couple of the train robbers relaxing in a place called the Crescent Moon.

  Kiowa had caught sight of them after walking carefully up to the entrance. Trying to see without being seen, he’d kept hidden as much as possible by peeking around the door jamb. At the same time, Lefty was out on the street holding onto their horses doing his own bit of scouting by checking on men passing by. Kiowa quickly hurried back to him.

  “Tip Tyler and Selby Turner is in there,” he said in a low tone.

  ‘If I knew them two, they won’t be leaving the place for quite a while,” Lefty said. “They both tend to settle in for long hours of drinking. Let’s do some more looking around to see if there’s any more here in Luckville.”

  “Good idea,” Kiowa said. “That might save us both a back-shooting if any of their pards snuck up behind us.”

  Lefty laughed. “Or an ass-shooting.”

  “That ain’t funny,” Kiowa said.

  “I reckon not,” Lefty replied in a more somber tone. “Either way, you’re plugged, ain’t you?”

  “You bet you are!”

  They made the rounds of the other saloons, either peering into the dim interiors or, wanting to be more certain, walking into the places for a closer look. It was during one of the more careful inspections that Lefty spotted someone they knew from the six months they’d spent scouting for the U.S. Cavalry. “Dougherty,” he said.

  Jack Dougherty, lounging at a table with some other men, looked up with an expression of alarm on his face when he heard his name. When he saw Lefty, he didn’t relax too much. “Howdy, McNally.”

  “We was wondering whatever happened to you,” Lefty said. “Some o’ the boys figgered your hair was decorating a Sioux lodge about now.”

  Dougherty smiled weakly. “Nope. I made it outta there alright.”

  “This is the first time I seen you in civilian clothes,” Lefty said.

  Dougherty nodded. “I don’t think a uniform is the best thing for me to wear under the circumstances.”

  Lefty chuckled. “You shoulda seen that sergeant when he found out you’d run off. He was fit to be tied.”

  “I suppose he was,” Dougherty said. “But it was his fault I deserted. If he hadn’t been picking on me, I wouldn’t have gone.”

  “He started yelling and cussing at us like it was all our doing,” Lefty said. “He wanted us to track after you. We went so far as to saddle up before the colonel hisself put a stop to it. Seems the old man had some place to be at a certain time, so you got away.”

  “You’d gone out and run me down, huh?”

  “Nothing personal, Jack,” Lefty said. “It was our job. But it don’t matter now. Me and Kiowa didn’t stay around more’n a coupla months ourselves after that. We got paid off and away we went.”

  “Is Kiowa with you?” Dougherty asked.

  “Yeah. He’s outside,” Lefty said. “We got some things to do. Maybe we’ll see you later. I’d like to hear how you managed to get through the Sioux without getting caught. Will you be here awhile?”

  Dougherty shrugged. “I might. It’s better if I keep moving.”

  Lefty laughed. “Prob’ly. But don’t worry. They ain’t gonna come all the way up here to look for you.” He went back outside to Kiowa. “Remember Jack Dougherty? That trooper that deserted over in Wyoming? He’s in there.”

  “I figgered he’d been did in by the Sioux a long time ago,” Kiowa said.

  “He made it,” Lefty said. “We can get together with him for a few drinks later when we got the time. He can tell us all about it. C’mon. There’s only a couple o’ more places to check out.”

  When they were fully satisfied that Tip Tyler and Selby Turner were the only members of the Paxton Gang in Luckville, the two settled down to figure out what to do. They leaned against a hitching rail, talking together in lowered voices.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Kiowa said. “I don’t want to just charge in there and start trouble.”

  “Me either,” Lefty said. “But how’re we gonna get ’em outta that damn saloon?”

  Kiowa was thoughtful for several moments. “What’d bring ’em out normally?”

  “When they’d drunk their fill,” Lefty said.

  “I don’t want to wait that long,” Kiowa said. Now Lefty gave the matter some thought. “What if we went in there and said that Milo Paxton wanted to see them?”

  Kiowa liked that one. “Yeah! Then we could lead ’em outta town and throw down on ’em when nobody else is around.”

  “We could truss ’em up and wait for Bigelow and Wilson to come along,” Lefty said. “They shouldn’t never be more’n two or three days behind us.”

  “That’s a long time to hold ’em,” Kiowa complained.

  “Well, what do you want to do? Wait a day or two before we nab ’em?” Lefty asked.

  “We better do it now,” Kiowa said. “There’s a chance they might be moving on.”

  “Right. C’mon.”

  “Just a damn minute!” Kiowa said. “I told you we got to plan this out. Now how and when are we gonna throw down our iron on ’em?”

  “Hell! We won’t do nothing ’til we get ’em out to the edge o’ town,” Lefty said. “I already told you that.”

  “We need a signal or something,” Kiowa insisted.

  “Looky,” Lefty said. “When I do this—” He tipped his hat onto the back of his head with his right hand and feigned drawing his pistol with his left, “— we pull our guns on ’em. Is that alright?”

  “Sure,” Kiowa said happily. “Now let’s get to it.” They walked back down the street and tied their horses up in front of the Crescent Moon. After a careful look up and down the muddy avenue as a final precaution that there weren’t more of Paxton’s men around, the two went inside.

  Tip Tyler and Selby Turner were huddled together at one end of the bar. A bottle of whiskey, three-quarters empty, sat between them. Lefty, with Kiowa slightly behind, walked up to them.

  “Howdy, boys.”

  Tip gave Lefty a decidedly unfriendly look. “Howdy.”

  Selby at least nodded when he spoke. “Howdy.”

  “Me and Kiowa – both of us – well, we got a message for you two,” Lefty said.

  “Yeah?” Selby was interested.

  “Milo Paxton wants to see you,” Lefty said abruptly. “And purty damn soon.”

  “He does, huh?” Tip said.

  “Yeah,” Lefty said. “We’re suppo
sed to take you with us to meet him.”

  Selby sneered. “Listen, you!”

  Tip grabbed his arm. “If Milo wants to see us, we’d better go, Selby.”

  “But—”

  “C’mon.” Tip took his partner’s arm and pulled him away from the bar.

  Selby grabbed their bottle. “Lead the way, Lefty. We can’t keep ol’ Milo waiting, can we?”

  “You better not,” Lefty said for effect. “He’s got a nasty temper.”

  “You’re telling us!” Selby said.

  The four men went out the saloon and into the street. A few minutes later, the quartet – with Lefty and Kiowa in the lead – rode slowly toward the edge of town. When they were into the woods, Lefty made the signal to Kiowa by tipping his hat onto the back of his head. When they turned around, they saw that both Tip Tyler and Selby Turner had already drawn their guns and were aiming the weapons straight at them.

  “Milo’s got a way of getting ahold of us,” Tip said coldly. “And sending you two yahoos ain’t it.” Selby’s scowl was menacing. “What’re you dumb shits up to? Talk and talk fast or you’ll be getting a double dose of lead poison.”

  ~*~

  “Whoa!” Jim Bigelow shouted holding up his hand.

  Russ Wilson, behind him on the narrow mountain track, reined in sharply. “What’s the trouble?”

  “The goddamned trail is gone,” Bigelow exclaimed.

  “Are you loco?” Wilson asked. He edged up beside the other railroad detective. “You’re right!”

  The path abruptly ended for no apparent reason. It appeared as if it had been purposely formed to go straight into the side of the mountain and end there.

  “Ain’t you rode this trail before?” Wilson asked.

  “Hell yes! And I don’t recall it petering out before it gets to Luckville,” Bigelow replied. He stood up in the stirrups and looked around. “Maybe we took a wrong turn.”

  “There ain’t been no kinds of turns – right or wrong,” Wilson said. “And there ain’t been no forks neither.”

  “We ain’t gonna get nowhere standing here and complaining,” Bigelow said. “Maybe we can find the trail higher up.”

  They urged their horses up the hill to find a place where the track resumed. After more than a quarter-hour of traversing back and forth, they returned to the same spot.

  “Maybe it’s down that way,” Wilson said pointing.

  “It’s worth a try,” Bigelow said.

  Going off the other side, they allowed the animals to practice their natural caution as they eased their way down the side of the mountain. Once more Bigelow abruptly pulled on his reins.

  “Looky over there!” He dismounted.

  “What the hell are you staring at?” Wilson asked. “There’s a fellow’s hand sticking up through the dirt,” Bigelow said.

  Wilson also got out of the saddle. He joined his companion. “Now ain’t that a hell of a note?”

  “There’s something I’m beginning to notice,” Bigelow said. “Look how ever’thing is a mess here. There’s trees tipped over and bushes pulled outta the ground.”

  “Sometimes that happens during winter freezes,” Wilson said.

  “This is too damn fresh,” Bigelow said. “And no damn freeze and thaw made this mess.” He snapped his fingers. “Hell, yes! There’s been an avalanche!”

  Wilson looked around. “Yeah!”

  Bigelow took another look at the hand. “I wonder what would cause the side of a mountain to suddenly collapse?”

  Wilson shrugged. “Who knows?” Suddenly he grabbed Bigelow’s arm. “You don’t suppose—”

  “Lefty and the Kiowa Kid?” Bigelow laughed. “You mean make the side of a damn mountain that’s been here for a thousand years suddenly cut loose and roll down on a trail?”

  “Yeah,” Wilson said.

  “Do you think them two could completely obliterate that trail that was the only sign of civilization between El Campo and Luckville?” Bigelow asked.

  “Yeah,” Wilson repeated.

  Bigelow laughed again. “Hell, I think so, too! Who else? If anybody could, them two loco bastards could do it.” He nudged the hand. “Let’s dig this jasper out and see if we know him.”

  The two went to work on the soft soil and excavated the body. That led to another, then another until three filthy cadavers, their mouths filled with dirt lay stretched out in an untidy row.

  “Know ’em?” Bigelow asked.

  Wilson shook his head. “I never seen ’em before.”

  “Looks like they been through the mill before this damn avalanche ever fell on ’em,” Bigelow said noting the condition of their bodies and clothing.

  “Phew! They smell like they been dead awhile already,” Wilson said. “But I reckon it’s on account o’ they’re so damn dirty.”

  “Well, let’s stick ’em back in the earth and try to find some way around this mess so’s we can get to Luckville,” Bigelow said.

  They wiped at the sweat on their faces and went to work.

  ~*~

  When two men like Lefty McNally and the Kiowa Kid have faced many perils together, hunted dangerous game on the prairie and in the mountains, and been through countless escapades as both juveniles and adults, they develop a rapport.

  It was this ability to communicate silently and unconsciously that made their defense against Tip Tyler and Selby Turner simultaneous and coordinated in a crazy sort of way.

  Lefty rolled to his right in the saddle, dragging his pistol free from its holster. Tip Tyler reacted with a quick shot, but the bullet flew off harmlessly into the sky.

  At the same time, the more agile Kiowa grabbed his carbine from the saddle boot and rolled backward over the rump of his horse. This time both train robbers made snap shots. Once more Tyler’s slug hit all air and no substance while Turner’s slapped across the cantle of Kiowa’s saddle. Whinnying, the Indian’s mount leaped to one side before galloping away from the noisy disturbance.

  Lefty’s horse was doing its own misbehaving as it bolted. The rider held on desperately with one hand while firing with the other. He missed Turner, but hit Tyler in the hand. The power of the bullet threw the train robber’s arm backward with so much force that the man was twisted in his saddle. Unable to keep his balance, Tyler fell to the ground.

  By then, Lefty had given up trying to stay mounted. Rather than risk the danger of a disabling fall, he slipped off the back of his horse. Kiowa cocked his carbine and made an attempt to shoot at Turner, but the other man was having none of that. He fired wildly, but rapidly, forcing Kiowa back into the woods. Lefty, now shooting at Turner, joined his friend in the trees.

  “How’re you doing?” Lefty asked.

  “I’m fine,” Kiowa said peering through the branches of brush he was using for cover. “Uh oh! Them bastards has run into the woods over there. I think Tyler’s been hit. He’s holding his wrist. There’s a damn good chance you got him, but I ain’t real sure about that.”

  “I shot him alright, straight in the hand,” Lefty said. “It knocked him on his ass, but Tyler’s still full o’ vinegar I reckon.”

  “Paxton didn’t pick him ’cause he’s a softy,” Kiowa pointed out.

  “Well, it sure as hell ain’t gonna do us any good to squat here,” Lefty said. “We can’t see shit.”

  Kiowa pointed with his carbine. “They’re over that way.”

  “Let’s go get ’em,” Lefty said.

  Keeping apart, but close enough to maintain sight of each other, the pair moved slowly through the trees. Their eyes and ears strained for sight and sound of the other two.

  The sighting was simultaneous for both groups.

  A furious exchange of shots blasted through the woods as the gunfighters instinctively pulled back for better cover. The fusillades died off and silence settled in over the scene. Lefty gave a low whistle to catch Kiowa’s attention. Then he signaled that he was going to attempt to move around to the left and get behind Tyler and Turner.
r />   Lefty worked his way slowly through a thick stand of brush in a pine grove. The vegetation was so thick that he couldn’t judge the terrain beneath it. After traveling a few yards, he inadvertently stepped into a deep ravine.

  “Oh, shit!”

  He bounced and rolled down the depth of the gully, getting scratched and bruised in the process. When he reached the bottom, he sat up and desperately scrambled around until he found his pistol.

  Tyler and Turner, hearing the disturbance, took advantage of the situation to charge forward with a thundering volley. The incoming bullets, pinging and slapping, forced Kiowa to retreat before the onslaught.

  “Looky there,” Turner said pointing to the spot where Lefty tumbled into the ravine.

  “If the dumb bastard fell down that way, hell pop up in the same place,” Tyler said. His hand, bleeding and ripped, had started to throb. “Wrap my bandanna around it,” he told his partner.

  Turner quickly complied. When he finished, he was just in time to see Lefty’s head appear in the foliage at the top of the ravine. Both men opened up, sending Lefty tumbling back to the bottom.

  “Do you think we got him?” Tyler asked.

  “We can wait here,” Turner said. “That Kiowa Kid is gonna be showing up—”

  The bullet from Kiowa’s carbine hit him in the side of the skull, blowing brains and blood out the other side. Tyler, now thoroughly frightened as well as hurt, panicked. He made a break for it. After running a few steps he spotted Lefty who had crawled out from another side of the gully. Tyler fired, the bullet hitting Lefty’s right boot top, burning and grazing his leg. Lefty was staggered by the bullet and went down emitting an angry howl.

  But Kiowa, who had taken off after Tyler, was quick to react before the train robber could fire again at his friend. He shot Tyler between the shoulder blades, knocking him over on his face. After some twitching, the train robber settled into absolute stillness.

  Kiowa, while still keeping an eye on Tyler, spoke out to Lefty. “You alright?”

  Lefty, worried, rapidly pulled his pant leg out of his boot and examined his wound. “It ain’t deep.”

  “Can you wiggle your toes?” Kiowa asked.

  Lefty, bracing himself for a stab of pain, got his toes to move. “It seems I can.”