Guns on the Prairie

by David Robbins

  Kent grinned, remembering the time he stood at the rail of a ship, watching a pod of porpoises swim by. How different his life was now.

  Low hills appeared. Only a few had trees on them.

  Kent rode to the top of the first hill he came to, and drew rein. From his vantage it was like standing in a crow’s-nest. He really could see for miles. The sun was almost gone, and the red and yellow were giving way to the gray of encroaching twilight.

  Kent saw something else, too. A stick horse with two stick figures on its back, going around a far hill.

  “Got you!”

  29

  Willy Boy Jenkins was fit to be tied. Things weren’t going well. The stupid woman had gone and killed her horse by running it into a prairie dog town, and now his own animal was flagging from having to bear both of them. With sunset not far off, his horse was hanging its head, close to exhaustion.

  “Damn you, anyhow,” Willy growled.

  “What are you upset about now?” Jenna wearily asked.

  “The same thing as before,” Willy said.

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t do it on purpose. I was trying to get away from you.”

  “I’m beginnin’ to regret takin’ you,” Willy growled. He’d noticed that, although he’d forced her to ride double, she’d made it a point not to let her body touch his, except for her hand on his shoulder. Now and again he’d leaned back against her, wanting to feel her bosom on his back, but she always pulled away. Her message was plain, and he resented it.

  “Then let me go,” Jenna said. “Just leave me and ride on. When my father finds me, I’ll convince him not to go after you. You can get clean away.”

  Willy snorted. “Your pa won’t agree to that. I know him. He’ll want me dead, and he won’t give up this side of the grave.” More likely, Willy thought, Cal would send a couple of the others to do the actual deed. Burt Alacord and Weasel, maybe. Alacord was the shootist of the bunch, although the others were deadly in their own way.

  “I can persuade him, I tell you.”

  “Just shut up,” Willy said in disgust. “I’m not lettin’ you go. Not after all the trouble I’ve gone to.” He looked over his shoulder at her, and smirked. “In fact, later on, you and me are goin’ to become better acquainted than ever.”

  “Touch me in that manner and I’ll kill you,” Jenna said coldly.

  “You gave your word,” Willy said. “To do as I please for puttin’ your mare out of its misery.” All afternoon he’d been daydreaming of him and her under the blankets. It stirred him, down low. He was hungry to consummate his desire. “I expect you to abide by your promise.”

  “I didn’t think you meant that,” Jenna said.

  “Yes, you did,” Willy called her lie. “You knew exactly what I meant.”

  She said nothing.

  They were winding among low, grassy hills, and Willy was on the lookout for a spot to camp. Somewhere not in the open. Somewhere he could have his way with her and not worry about being interrupted.

  They went around yet another hill and Willy grinned in pleased surprise.

  Long ago, part of the hill had collapsed and a large swath of earth had cascaded to the bottom. A dirt avalanche, as it were, leaving a gap about fifteen feet wide and twenty feet deep that ran from near the top to the bottom, with a flat space in the middle. The grass had since regrown, creating a pocket perfect for his purpose.

  “There,” Willy said, and gigged his horse. “Our own little love nest.”

  “I’m warning you,” Jenna said.

  Willy laughed. He took delight in putting her in her place. She needed to learn that she must do as he said.

  They climbed to the flat space and Willy alighted. Grabbing hold of Jenna’s arm, he went to pull her off but she resisted. To teach her a lesson, he wrenched, hard, and had the satisfaction of seeing her tumble to earth and lie gritting her teeth in pain.

  “Quit fightin’ me, and you won’t be hurt.”

  “I’ll tear out your throat with my teeth if you lay a finger on me,” Jenna said. “So help me.”

  Willy had to hand it to her; she was a scrapper. He believed she’d do exactly as she threatened, so he’d make it a point to gag her when the time came. “Keep makin’ things difficult and you won’t like what happens. There’s only so much bother I’ll let you put me to.”

  “True love, is it?” Jenna mocked him.

  “I wouldn’t know true love if it bit me on the ass,” Willy admitted. “All I know is that I want you like I’ve never wanted a female before in my whole life, and I’ll have you, one way or the other.”

  “They call that lust,” Jenna said in contempt.

  “Lust. Love.” Willy shrugged. “It’s all the same to me.”

  “It would be.”

  Willy almost kicked her ribs in. He was tired of her insults. “Sit up and rest while I strip my saddle. We’re not making a fire. It would give us away.”

  “What about food?” Jenna said. “I’m starved.”

  “Jerky, and water from my canteen.”

  “Wonderful.”

  There she went again, Willy thought. She pricked and she pricked. He’d have to knock that sass out of her once they were in the clear.

  Tucking her knees to her chest, Jenna draped her bound arms over her legs and rested her chin on her knees. “I never imagined I’d say such a thing, but I hope my father kills you nice and slow.”

  “Keep makin’ me mad. That’s real smart.”

  “I don’t care how you feel.”

  “You will,” Willy said.

  Spreading his bedroll and hobbling his horse didn’t take long. The jerky had been in his saddlebags for months, and the pieces had become more brittle than he liked. After only a few bites, he stopped. It wouldn’t hurt him to go hungry.

  Jenna didn’t have much interest in hers, either. She ate part of it, and went back to sulking.

  As much as Willy would like to throw her down and have his way, keeping his hide intact came first. “If you’re not goin’ to eat, you can crawl under those blankets and turn in.”

  “And have you crawl in with me once I’m asleep? No, thanks.”

  Rising, Willy stood over her, his hand on his Colt. “I wasn’t askin’. You do it, and you do it now, or so help me, I’ll knock you out and throw you under them.”

  “I hate you,” Jenna said, but she did as he’d demanded, lying on her back with the blanket up to her chin. “Happy now?”

  “Not a peep from here on out, you hear me?”

  “What are you up to?”

  Willy didn’t answer. The sky had darkened to where stars were blossoming. Retreating into a patch of black shadow, he hunkered.

  The trap was set.

  * * *

  Jenna Grissom was tired and hungry and miserable. She needed rest but she refused to go to sleep. Not with the threat of Willy forcing himself on her. She would stay awake, and when he tried, fight him tooth and nail.

  She half-expected him to come swaggering over the moment she lay down. When he didn’t, when he moved off into the shadows where she couldn’t see him, she assumed he was heeding Nature’s call. That he was being polite about it and not doing it in front of her was a welcome surprise.

  Minutes went by, and Willy didn’t reappear. Jenna wondered what he was up to. After all his talk about ravishing her, this made no sense.

  Jenna wished her father would hurry up and overtake them so she could be free of the nightmare.

  The moon rose, casting the prairie in a pale glow.

  Jenna’s eyelids grew heavy. She had gone without sleep for so long, she dearly needed rest. Her eyes closed, and she started to slip under. With a start, she snapped them open and gave her head a vigorous shake. Should she fall asleep, she might wake up with Willy on top of her.

&nb
sp; Jenna craned her neck but couldn’t spot him. Here she was, out in the open for anyone to see, and he was hiding somewhere. Then it hit her. Willy wasn’t hiding. He was lying in wait, and using her as a lure to draw her father and the others in.

  No sooner did the truth dawn than Jenna heard a rustling that suggested furtive movement, from below. Raising her head to peer over the blanket, she nearly gasped at the sight of something or someone slinking toward her on its belly. She took it for an animal, a cougar, maybe. She went to yell for Willy to come to her aid when the “cougar” rose on its elbows.

  It was several seconds before Jenna recognized Tom Kent, without his hat. He looked all around, and resumed crawling. The glint of metal told her he had a knife in each hand.

  Jenna knew how skilled he was with those knives. She’d seen him practice throwing them into trees and stumps. He never missed.

  Her hopes soared. If Kent was there, her father and the others must be, too. She imagined they were covering Kent while he snuck in to cut her free and get her out. Kent was taking an awful chance.

  Jenna needed to warn him about Willy. Sliding her arms out from under the blanket, she motioned to get Kent’s attention. He didn’t seem to notice. She dare not speak; Willy would hear. Rolling onto her side, she wriggled around so she faced Kent and moved her arms back and forth. Once again, no reaction.

  Jenna took a gamble. “Don’t come any closer!” she whispered. “Willy is nearby.”

  To her consternation, Tom Kent kept coming.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Jenna anxiously whispered. “Willy could be anywhere.”

  At last Kent stopped. He nodded to show he understood, then put a knife to his lips to enjoin her to silence. And on he came.

  Jenna glanced at where she had last seen Willy. Was it her imagination, or was there a hint of movement? Frantic that Kent would come to harm on her account, she slid out from under the blanket and crawled toward him. She would meet him halfway.

  Tom Kent stopped, apparently in surprise.

  Expecting at any instant to hear the boom of a six-shooter, Jenna crawled faster. She scraped a knee, and didn’t care.

  Kent was waiting for her, an arm cocked to throw a knife should he have to.

  Jenna looked over her shoulder. No Willy anywhere. She wondered if he had fallen asleep. But that would be too easy.

  Kent was scanning the darkness.

  Pumping her arms and legs, Jenna scrambled the last several feet. “Mr. Kent,” she whispered. “Where’s my father?”

  “Hush, girl,” Kent whispered, and began to slide backward. “We have to get you out of here. Follow me.”

  Jenna eagerly complied. Soon she would be reunited with her father, and her ordeal would be over. She stayed close to Kent, her face inches from his. “Thank you for coming for me.”

  “Quiet, I say,” Kent whispered.

  Jenna nodded, and swallowed. A feeling of dread had come over her. She wanted to rise and flee. But Kent stayed down, so she did, too. They were on the bottom part of the slope, moving faster now.

  Tom Kent pushed up into a crouch, slid his left-hand knife into a sheath, and held out his hand for hers.

  They ran.

  Jenna looked for her father and Burt Alacord and the others, and the awful truth dawned. “Are you alone?”

  “You don’t listen worth a damn, girl,” was Kent’s response.

  Jenna could go faster if her hands were free. It was awkward with them tied. “Cut me loose,” she urged. “Please.”

  Without breaking stride, Tom Kent flicked his right-hand blade and the loops around her wrist parted.

  Jenna flinched, thinking he would cut her, as well. But the knife never broke her skin. Marveling at his prowess, she moved her arms in rhythm with her legs. They flew on down the hill to a waiting horse—her father’s bay—its reins wrapped around the saddle horn.

  “Get on,” Kent said, turning to watch the slope behind them.

  “It is just you,” Jenna said.

  “Your father sent me on ahead. I’m taking you to him.”

  “More of you should have come.”

  To Jenna’s annoyance, Kent shoved her. “Climb on the damn horse.”

  Grabbing the saddle horn, Jenna swung up and slid back to make room. “Now you.” She was anxious to get out of there.

  Tom Kent gripped the saddle horn with his free hand, and mounted. He was careful not to hit her with his leg. Once in the saddle, he unwrapped the reins and wheeled the bay. “Soon you’ll be safe and sound with your father,” he said, and smiled.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Jenna said. He sounded proud at having rescued her. “But I won’t breathe easy until we’re there.”

  “Quit your worrying, girl.”

  Those were Tom Kent’s last words. A revolver cracked, a single shot, and the side of his face sprayed every which way, showering her with gore. Jenna recoiled in horror. “No!” she cried.

  Kent was falling, his body gone limp. Jenna felt sorry for him but she had to think of herself. She pushed and sent him tumbling, and grabbed the reins. All she had to do was jab her heels and she would be gone.

  That was when a grim apparition materialized beside the bay, a revolver pointed at her head.

  “I’d think twice, were I you,” Willy Boy Jenkins said.

  Her legs half-bent, Jenna froze. She didn’t doubt for a second that he would shoot if she made him.

  “Good girl.” Willy took a step back. “Now climb down.”

  “Are you fixing to kill me?”

  “Why are you still on that horse?” Willy thumbed back the hammer. “You don’t want to make me madder than I already am.”

  Fearing the worst, Jenna alighted. She had been so close. So very close. Her eyes moistened, and she blinked tears away.

  Willy stepped to Tom Kent and kicked the body. “Silly man with his silly blades. Only a jackass brings a knife to a gunfight.”

  “What now?” Jenna said. “You have your way with me?”

  “I should, but no.” Willy gazed to the south. “Your pa and the others must be close. They’ll have heard the shot and come on quick.”

  “I pray they do,” Jenna said.

  Willy Boy Jenkins did a strange thing. He grinned and said, “You and me both.”

  30

  “We should stop,” Weasel Ginty said. “Our horses need rest.”

  “No,” Cal Grissom curtly replied. “Not until I have her back safe.”

  Weasel glanced at Burt Alacord, thinking Burt would side with him, but as usual, whatever Cal wanted, Burt did. Weasel refused to let it drop. “Somethin’ must have gone wrong. Kent should have been back with her by now.”

  “I have a hunch we’ll catch up to them soon,” Cal said.

  Weasel could have pointed out how foolish it was to rely on a feeling, but he held his tongue. It wouldn’t do any good. When it came to saving his girl, Cal was like a wolf after a bone.

  They were winding through low hills, a canopy of stars sparkling in the firmament. From time to time coyotes keened, and once a wolf gave voice to a long, wavering howl.

  Cal pulled ahead, which suited Weasel just fine. He brought his horse alongside Burt’s and said so only Burt would hear, “This is a mistake and you know it.”

  “Could be,” Burt said.

  “Why aren’t you speakin’ up? He’ll listen to you if he’ll listen to anyone.”

  “Cal does trust me more than anyone else,” Burt agreed.

  “Then tell him,” Weasel said, inadvertently raising his voice.

  Cal glanced over his shoulder. “Something the matter back there?”

  “We’re fine,” Weasel said. To Burt, much lower, he remarked, “If you don’t count ridin’ into the gun sights of a natural-born killer.”

  “Are you sayin’ I ca
n’t take him?”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth. Willy Boy doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell against the four of us. . . .”

  “Five,” Burt corrected him.

  “Four,” Weasel insisted. “If Tom Kent was still kickin’, he’d have brought Jenna to Cal by now.”

  “I’m afraid you might be right.”

  “That’s not all. Our horses are beat. They could give out on us anytime. You need to talk to Cal. Tell him our animals need rest.”

  “So it’s the horses you’re worried about,” Burt said, “and not your own skin?”

  “That was harsh,” Weasel said. Even if it was true. “Just remember I was against this when it turns sour.”

  “You and your sunny disposition.”

  Weasel was about to say that he knew a lost cause when he saw one when Cal Grissom drew rein.

  “Look yonder!”

  The hills were coming to an end. Beyond spread more prairie. And not a quarter-mile off, a fire flickered.

  “Willy the Boy made camp, ja?” the Prussian said in that thick accent of his.

  “Out in the open like that?” Weasel scoffed. “Willy is a lot of things, but stupid ain’t one of them.”

  “That’s where we’ll find Jenna,” Cal said. He stopped and waited for them to come up on either side. “I’ve changed my mind about whittling on Willy slow. We’ll gun him down like the cur he is.”

  “It could be a trick,” Weasel said. “It could be he’s waitin’ for us.”

  “You fret and you fret,” Cal said.

  “Doesn’t he, though?” Burt agreed, chuckling.

  Weasel resented their smugness. Whether from worry or lack of sleep, Cal Grissom was making a rare mistake. “Will you listen to me? Can we do this slow and careful?”

  “We should charge,” Spike Davis suggested, “like Prussian cavalry.”

  “You hardly ever say two words to anybody,” Weasel said, “and now you decide to throw in your two bits?”

  “I like his idea,” Cal said, drawing his revolver. “We charge in and it’s over, and I have Jenna back safe.”

  “Burt?” Weasel made one last try.