Guns on the Prairie

by David Robbins

  “I had one once. They do put a hole in a man. They’re also heavy and cumbersome. You can’t move them as quick as a new Colt.”

  “I may not be Burt Alacord, but I’m quick enough,” Fletcher declared.

  “Let’s find out,” Stone said, and dashed the coffee into the old outlaw’s face. Fletcher reacted as Stone hoped; he yelped and blinked and stepped back. In a twinkling Stone was on him, knocking Fletcher’s gun arm aside even as he drove his other fist into Fletcher’s jaw. But if he thought the outlaw would go down easily, he was mistaken.

  Howling in rage, Fletcher swung the Dragoon like a club. Stone ducked and planted his other fist in Fletcher’s gut. It had no more effect than his first punch. Fletcher was as tough as old rawhide.

  Grabbing the outlaw’s wrist to prevent him from using the Dragoon, Stone sought to trip him. He glimpsed Robert Grant, standing openmouthed, and hollered, “What are you waitin’ for? Lend a hand!”

  Stone got hold of Fletcher’s other wrist, and wrenched, twisting Fletcher half around. Fletcher hissed like a struck snake and arced a knee at Stone’s groin. Stone shifted and absorbed the blow on his thigh. Taking a gamble, he lowered his head and shoulders and slammed into Fletcher’s chest, seeking to bowl him over. Fletcher staggered back but stayed on his feet.

  “Your six-shooter!” Stone bawled at Grant. “Shoot him!”

  Panic lit Fletcher, and he lowered his own head and rammed into Stone, going tit for tat. Stone was knocked back and nearly lost his hold. He saw Grant scoop up his revolver and point it, but the younger deputy seemed unsure and hesitated.

  Ira Fletcher commenced to spin, hauling Stone with him, turning faster and faster to make it harder for Grant to hit him. Stone dug in his bootheels, to no avail. Fletcher weighed more than him, and although Stone was loath to admit it, Fletcher was stronger.

  “Shoot!” Stone yelled.

  There was method to Fletcher’s spinning. He was whirling them away from Grant, and from the fire. Once out of the ring of light, he could break free and flee.

  Stone clung on. He was bound and determined to either arrest Fletcher or end his outlaw days permanently. Fletcher wasn’t some drunk on a spree; he was as hard-hearted as they came, a cold killer who thought no more of snuffing a human life than he would of squashing a fly.

  “Damn you!” Fletcher roared, tugging and pulling. “Let the hell go of me!” He drove a boot at Stone’s knee.

  Sidestepping, Stone suddenly let go of Fletcher’s left wrist, balled his fist, and swung at Fletcher’s chin. In the act of pulling back, Fletcher jerked his head higher just as Stone swung, and Stone’s fist struck Fletcher’s throat, instead.

  Fletcher came to a complete stop. A startled look came over him. He clutched at his throat and gurgled, then dropped like a sack of rocks.

  Stone sprang aside, shouting, “Shoot before he can use that Dragoon!”

  “No need,” Grant said.

  Fletcher had let go of the Dragoon and pressed both hands to his throat. Thrashing wildly, he tried to say something, and couldn’t. He flung clawed fingers at Stone as if he wanted to squeeze Stone’s own neck. Then, uttering a loud whine, he stiffened, raised the whites of his eyes to the stars, and was still.

  “What in blazes?” Stone said.

  “You crushed his throat,” Grant said.

  Stone grunted in surprise. He’d never killed a man with his fist before. He’d heard of it happening, but it hadn’t been his intent. Squatting, he felt for a pulse that wasn’t there. “I’ll be damned.”

  “Another person dead,” Grant said.

  “You have to get used to things like this,” Stone advised him. He let Fletcher’s arm fall, stood, and gazed in the direction the other outlaws had gone. “There’s bound to be a heap more of it before we’re done.”

  * * *

  All Jenna Grissom ever wanted out of life was her father. Her mother was lost to her, since Jenna had no idea where to find her. But once she’d discovered her father had sent money all those years, reuniting with him became her life’s ambition. It was all she thought about. All she dreamed about. Day and night, month in and month out. Finally came that glorious day when they met, the happiest day of her life.

  Her aunt once asked Jenna why she was so anxious to see Cal again. After all, he’d abandoned her, hadn’t he? Not really, Jenna said, because he’d provided for her upkeep and schooling, and that showed he cared. To Jenna, his caring mattered more than anything else in the whole world.

  Her euphoria lasted about a month. Then her father announced that he planned to rob the Unionville Bank, and wouldn’t it be wonderful if she went along and held the horses for them?

  Jenna should have said no. She should have told him, flat-out, that she wanted no part of breaking the law. In fact, her heartfelt desire was that she could convince him to give up his lawless ways.

  But she held the horses, and later went with the gang when they struck a stagecoach.

  Her father was proud of her. He kept saying how wonderful she’d done, and gave the impression that he expected her to go on taking part in their robberies. Father and daughter, together again, living a life of crime.

  It astounded Jenna that he’d think such a thing. What sort of father, what sort of human being, saw nothing wrong with involving their children in robbing and killing and all the rest? She began to wonder if he truly cared for her. He claimed he did, but words weren’t enough. The proof was in the pudding, as the saying went, and in her father’s case, the pudding was half-baked.

  Jenna tried to persuade him to change his ways. She sat down with him one evening and explained how she would very much like for him to give up his outlawry, go away with her, and start a new life. They could be a normal father and daughter, and live a normal life.

  When he balked, Jenna was crushed. He told her he’d think about it but the truth was in his eyes. He didn’t want to give up his outlaw ways. He liked being who he was. Liked it more, apparently, than he liked her.

  Now, being led across the benighted prairie, Jenna regretted ever believing she could change her father’s ways. Between his refusal—and Willy’s unwanted affections—she had decided enough was enough and struck off on her own for North Platte. From there it would be on to California.

  Her dream had been dashed. But at least she’d tried.

  She never counted on anything like this, though. On being taken against her will, with a fate worse than death in store. For long hours, now, she had stewed and simmered, and when, toward dawn, Willy drew rein to rest their horses and scan the rolling plain behind them, she made up her mind to do something. Her wrists were still bound, but that wouldn’t stop her.

  “The sun will be up soon,” Jenna remarked.

  Willy didn’t respond.

  “We’ve been at this all night. Can’t we stop and eat and rest a while?”

  “You’d like that,” Willy said. “It’d give your pa a chance to catch up.”

  Jenna’s horse was slightly behind his, and to one side. He had hold of the reins, and wasn’t about to let go. Moving slowly so as not to alert him, she gave a slight tap of her heels to gig her mount alongside his. “Is there no way I can talk you out of this?”

  “I’ve made up my mind,” Willy said. “You’re goin’ to be mine, and that’s that. You might as well get used to the idea. I don’t want to hear anything more about it.”

  Jenna refused to let him browbeat her. “The woman doesn’t have a say? Is that how it goes?”

  “A man hankers after a woman, he should have the right to make her his own,” Willy said while continuing to study their backtrail.

  “I never suspected you felt this way,” Jenna said. “You fooled me. I took you for more open-minded and fair.”

  “I’m not any different than most men.”

  Jenna laced her fingers together and balled both
of her hands into a single fist, careful to hold them behind her saddle horn where he wouldn’t notice. “You’re wrong, Willy. Most men give their woman a choice. They ask for her hand, and if she says no, they accept her decision. They don’t drag the woman off against her will in the middle of the night.”

  “No doesn’t always mean no.”

  “It sure as hell does.”

  Willy looked at her. “Don’t cuss. It’s not ladylike. You’re mine now, and that’s all there is to it.”

  Jenna shifted in her saddle toward him, and leaned slightly out so he was within arm’s reach. “You can’t force me to care for you.”

  “Sure I can. Once we’ve been together a while, you’ll get used to it. But don’t worry. Do as I say, and I’ll treat you decent. I won’t beat you unless you deserve it. That’s a promise.”

  “A man should never beat a woman, period,” Jenna said, and leaned a little farther. “My uncle never beat my aunt.”

  “So what? There are a lot of men who beat their women all the time. It’s the only way to keep the woman in line.”

  Jenna was almost ready. “Did your father beat your mother? Is that where you get this from?”

  “I got it on my own,” Willy said. “From seein’ how some men let their females ride roughshod over them.”

  “It’s perfectly all right to hurt the one you say you love? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  Willy turned to watch behind them again. “You hurt a dog, don’t you, when it won’t do as you want? A woman is no different.”

  “Remember you said that,” Jenna said, and swung her balled hands with all her strength. She caught him on the jaw so hard it snapped his head around. He was nearly unhorsed, and clutched at his saddle horn to stay on. The next instant she’d grabbed her reins, torn them from his grasp, and slapped her legs against her mare.

  Willy let out a roar of fury.

  Bent low, Jenna rode for her life. Her only hope was to gain a quick lead and hold it.

  “Stop!” Willy hollered.

  As if Jenna would. She lashed her reins and slapped her legs some more. She was pulling ahead, and smiled. She’d show the smug son of a bitch.

  It never occurred to her that he might try to shoot her.

  Until his Colt boomed.

  27

  Alonzo Pratt was accustomed to long hours in the saddle but not to riding hard for hours on end, and not at night. When he was on his own, he always made camp by sunset and spent the night the way a man should spend it, asleep. But now the woman he cared for, even if she didn’t know it, was in peril. He’d ride all night and all the next day if he had to.

  Deputy Stone was of a similar mind. He mentioned several times when they stopped to rest their horses that he was greatly concerned for Jenna’s safety.

  Alonzo wished Stone would stop bringing it up. He was worried enough as it was. Now, with dawn close to breaking, they’d drawn rein yet again and dismounted to stretch their legs.

  “We won’t overtake them before noon, if then,” Stone mentioned.

  “However long it takes,” Alonzo said.

  “Her pa and his killers will catch up to them before we do.”

  Alonzo had a disturbing thought. “How do we know we’re still on their trail? You can’t track in the dark.”

  “As near as I can tell, Willy Boy is headin’ for the Black Hills country,” Stone said, “and this is the likeliest way.”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  “We’ll backtrack and look for sign.”

  “That’ll delay us even more,” Alonzo said, alarmed.

  “What do you want from me?” Stone said. “I’m only human.” He regarded Alonzo a few moments, then said, “Don’t take this personal, but the more I get to know you, the less I reckon you’re cut out for this sort of work.”

  “Oh?”

  “Your heart is in the right place, but you’re too timid by half.”

  “I killed those Sioux, didn’t I?” Alonzo replied, annoyed at the suggestion that he wasn’t manly enough.

  “Only because you had to,” Stone said. “But you never wanted to go after Grissom and his gang. I could tell. Now you have to because you’re smitten by his girl—not because they’re outlaws, which should be reason enough.”

  “You think you know everything,” Alonzo said. The truth was, the old lawman had him pegged.

  “Don’t fret about it,” Stone said. “Some men are cut out for law work and some aren’t. It’s good you found out early.”

  “If you say so,” Alonzo said grumpily, and then it struck him that he was arguing about how fit he was for a profession he had no interest in. He was impersonating a lawman, not the real article.

  “Let’s concentrate on Miss Grissom for now,” Stone said. “She is in more danger than just from Willy Boy.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Stone gestured in the direction they were going. “The closer we get to the Black Hills, the more Sioux there will be. The Hills are sacred to them. It’s what the Custer fight was all about.”

  “Willy Boy is out of his mind to go there.”

  “No, he’s smart like a fox,” Stone said. “There’s no law, for one thing. And there are hundreds of square miles to hide out in.”

  Alonzo was tired of talking. “Shouldn’t we be on our way?”

  They rode and they rode.

  As dawn streaked the eastern sky with pink, Stone slowed and pointed at the ground ahead of them.

  Alonzo was no tracker, but even he could see that the ground had been churned by a lot of hooves. About half a dozen, he would guess, riding hell bent for leather. “The outlaws.”

  “Cal Grissom will ride his animals into the ground if he’s not careful.”

  “It’s his daughter,” Alonzo said.

  “And your sweetheart.”

  “I doubt she knows I like her.”

  “Women always know.”

  They didn’t speak again until the sun was well up and they came to a ribbon of a creek meandering through the grassland.

  Alonzo was angry when Stone called yet another halt, but it had to be done. As their horses drank, he paced and smacked his right fist into his left palm.

  “You have to learn patience,” Stone said, “among other things.”

  “I’ve learned a lot already.” Alonzo was tired of the lawman carping about his shortcomings.

  Jacob Stone squatted, plucked a blade of grass, and stuck the stem between his teeth. His brow knit in thought, he chewed the stem, then spit it out, and stood. “I’ve thought about it and thought about it and I’ve made up my mind.”

  “About what?” Alonzo absently asked.

  “About you.” Stone put his hand on his revolver. “Who are you really? Is Grant even your true name?”

  Alonzo stopped cold.

  “I’ve had my doubts about you for a while,” Stone went on. “Somethin’ about you didn’t sit right with me. Your attitude, and all those clothes on your packhorse. Somethin’ was off, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Now I have.” He raised his left hand and pointed at Alonzo. “You’re no lawman.”

  Tapping his badge, Alonzo said, “What’s this, then? I wear it for decoration.”

  “That had me stumped,” Stone said. “It’s a real badge. An older one, and you claim to have only been a federal deputy a short while. The marshal would have given you a new one.”

  “Not if this was all he had handy.”

  “No,” Stone said, shaking his head. “You’re a fraud. And in case no one told you, pretendin’ to be a lawman is a crime. So I’ll thank you to hand me your six-shooter. I’m placin’ you under arrest.”

  * * *

  Jenna didn’t draw rein. If Willy shot her, he shot her. She wouldn’t put it past him, but she didn’t care. She’d tolerated
his abuse long enough. And she’d rather die than let him have his way with her. She hadn’t saved herself all these years for the man who would one day claim her heart only to be violated by a vile specimen like Willy Boy Jenkins.

  “Stop, damn you!”

  Jenna lashed her reins harder. Ahead grew timber. If she could reach it, she might be able to lose him. She glanced back only once, to see him in mad pursuit.

  Once she’d escaped his clutches, she’d have a whole new problem. She was lost. She had no idea where she was in relation to North Platte. Should she go south? Southeast? Southwest?

  Jenna was getting ahead of herself. First she had to lose Willy. She knuckled down to riding, and reaching that timber. Intent on getting away, she didn’t realize the blunder she’d made until Willy Boy shouted.

  “Look out! Prairie dogs!”

  Jenna looked down, and gasped. All around her were the mounds and burrows of a prairie dog town. She’d ridden right in among them. No sooner did she awaken to her plight than her mare pitched forward, squealing in pain and fright. There was the loud, sharp crack of breaking bone.

  Jenna sought to throw herself clear but only partially succeeded. A tremendous blow to her back sent her tumbling like a twig in a gale. She came down hard. The brutal thud of her impact caused her head to swim. The world seemed to have turned upside-down. Her mind darkened and she was on the verge of passing out when a strident whinny restored her jumbled senses. Dazed, her shoulder in excruciating pain, she raised her head.

  Her mare had stepped into a prairie dog hole. The force had snapped its leg so violently, the shattered bone was exposed. Struggling and whinnying, the mare was trying to rise but her leg was jammed fast.

  Jenna groaned. Not because of her shoulder, but for her mare. Rolling over, she made it to her hands and knees. Nothing seemed to be broken although her left shoulder hurt terribly. She pushed upright, swayed, and took a couple of unsteady steps.

  “You dumb girl.”

  Jenna started to turn toward the sound of Willy’s voice and received a jolting shock to her chin. He’d hit her. She staggered, her world spinning anew, and blurted, “No. Don’t.”