High Valley Manhunt: Laramie Davies #1

by B. S. Dunn

  With the confrontation over, the warriors backed their paint daubed ponies away from where Lonesome stood and rode off. The old man watched them go before he turned and went back inside.

  Once he was back indoors, Laramie eased the hammer down on his gun and holstered it.

  “What did they want?” asked Laramie curiously.

  “It seems,” Lonesome started before he turned his angry gaze upon Slate, “that someone killed their chief's brother. And his brother's wife.”

  Laramie's gaze shifted to Slate, “What else did they say?”

  “They said there were six of them that done it. Killed the warrior and done bad things to the woman. Their names were Lame Bear and Lost Dove. The braves are on their way to join up with Black Elk,” Lonesome paused, “Now considering the circumstances that bring you here, I got to wonder if this feller here is involved somehow.”

  Laramie nodded, “I'm thinkin' the same thing. How about it Slate? Were you involved?”

  Slate's eyes grew wide, “No, not me! I didn't do anythin' Laramie, I swear!”

  “But you were there,” it was a statement, not a question.

  Slate's shoulders fell and he looked at the floor like a child being lectured for doing something wrong.

  “Yeah, I was there,” he conceded before he lifted his gaze to look the gunfighter in the eye, “but I didn't do anythin' wrong”

  Laramie shook his head sorrowfully, “Hell Slate, just bein' there was wrong.”

  The outlaw nodded silently.

  “So, what happened?”

  Slate heaved a sigh, a look of pain crossed his face as he began to relate the events, “We came upon them when we was headin' to Four Trails. They seemed friendly enough, a little wary, but we didn't give 'em any cause to be scared of us. I thought we was goin' to ride right on past 'em, but when we was level with 'em, Blackie just pulled his gun and shot the Indian Brave point blank.”

  Slate paused, his expression now crestfallen, “Then there was the woman. Hell I ain't never seen anythin' like that before, what they did to her. I close my eyes and I can still see it.”

  “Who did it?” asked Laramie.

  “It was Blackie and the kid, Benny,” the outlaw answered, “I tried to stop 'em Laramie, honest I did, but Blackie told Cato to hold a gun on me until they were finished.”

  Lonesome snatched up his Hawken, “I oughta put a lead ball in you right now, you blasted...”

  Sally gasped as Slate leaped back when the old man swung the Hawken around and pulled back the hammer.

  “Hold it Lonesome!” Laramie cried.

  The mountain man had moved so quickly that it surprised them all, and now he had the rifle pointed at Slate's head with his finger curled on the trigger, “Why in hell should I?”

  “Well, the way I see it, he has two choices.”

  “What choices?” Lonesome's aim never wavered.

  “We can cut him loose right now and he can take his chances with the Blackfeet,” Laramie explained, “or he can come back to Mountain Pass, talk to the law there and take what they give him.”

  “Not much of a damn choice,” Slate sneered.

  “Damn it boy, let me shoot the varmint,” Lonesome snarled.

  The outlaw held both hands out in front, “No, wait! Wait! I'll go back. I'll talk to the law, just don't let that crazy old coot kill me.”

  Laramie nodded, “Okay then, go and get the horses ready to leave. We should have been gone ages ago.”

  “And don't get no idea's about runnin' either sonny. I may be old but I can still shoot straight.”

  Slate said nothing as he walked out the door.

  “You should've let me shoot him boy,” Lonesome opined.

  “Do you think he will go through with it?” Sally questioned.

  “I guess we'll find out.”

  A while later the horses were saddled and all three were ready to depart, “Are you sure you don't want to come with us? You know they'll be comin' this way.”

  Lonesome gave a raspy chuckle, “Son, I've fought Indians and faced down grizz. You don't think a bunch of pesky old outlaws is goin' to scare me any do ya? Besides, this is my home and this is where I plan on dyin'.”

  Laramie held out his hand and Lonesome took it in his firm, rough grasp, “I'll see you when the snow flies.”

  “You damn well better,” the old man said gruffly.

  “When they come, tell them which way we went. Don't get mixed up in it as it's not your fight.”

  “Don't you worry about me.”

  They turned their horses and rode away, and left the old trapper where he stood and watched them as they went.

  “Do you think he will be alright?” Sally asked, a hint of sadness in her voice.

  “I hope so Sally, I sure hope so.”

  *

  There were ten of them altogether but only nine were lined up in front of Lonesome Lane. The other, a Crow Indian walked a wide path, and looked for sign. Since Laramie and the others had gone, the old mountain man had sat and waited for the pursuers to come. Now he faced them with the Hawken pointed in their direction, its hammer on full cock.

  “Are you blind old man?” asked Jeb Coltrain in frustration, “Can't you see this badge? It says Sheriff.”

  Lonesome smiled coldly, “It's right purty. Now, have you ever seen what a lead ball can do to one of them nice shiny badges you're wearin'?”

  The Sheriff was out of patience, “I asked you a question. Were they here and where did they go?”

  “No they weren't here and I don't know where they went and that was two questions.”

  Benny moved his horse forward, “Damn you old man...”

  The Hawken moved and its gaping muzzle settled on the kid, “Now sonny, just you pull them horns of yours in before I go and teach you some manners.”

  “Back off kid, let the sheriff handle it,” said Harbin.

  “He ain't goin' to tell us squat Blackie,” Benny whined.

  Lonesome redirected his gaze until it rested on the boss outlaw, “So you're the great Blackie Harbin. You and yours are the ones the Blackfeet is lookin' for.”

  Blackie's eyes hardened.

  “Did he tell you what he did Sheriff?”

  “Shut up old man,” Harbin grated.

  “He killed himself an Indian. Not just any Indian, the brother of a chief no less.”

  Harbin pulled the flap of his duster aside, and exposed one of his pearl handled Colts, “I told you to shut up, I won't tell you again.”

  The old trapper ignored the killer's threats and continued, “But it didn't stop there. He had himself a great time with the braves' wife before he cut her throat!”

  “Damn you,” Harbin cursed and his hand blurred. The Colt cleared leather and before the old man could bring the Hawken into line, a single shot crashed out. The .45 calibre slug caught Lonesome in the chest, and knocked him back. As he went down, the mountain man lost grip of his prized possession and it fell into the grass beside him. As Laramie had told Sally, Lonesome was tough, and the old timer struggled back up to his knees. He looked Harbin in the eye and tried to speak. No words came forth and after a few hard fought seconds of trying to stay erect, Lonesome Lane fell face first into the grass and remained still.

  “No, what have you done!” cried the Judge.

  “What in hell did you go and do that for Harbin?” cursed the Sheriff.

  “He talked too much,” shrugged Harbin.

  “Is what he said true?” questioned the Sheriff.

  “And what if it is?” the outlaw challenged.

  “It damn well explains a lot.”

  Before more could be said, Lone Wolf returned, “I found their trail leadin' away from here.”

  “Which way are they headin'?” the Sheriff asked.

  Lone Wolf pointed up the valley, “There is more. This mornin', Indians were here. Five of them.”

  “Who cares about them,” Harbin brushed the cautionary warning away, “it's them others we a
re after. How far ahead are they?”

  “Maybe three hours.”

  “Let's get going then,” said the Judge as he fought to get his horse turned, “damned animal of Grover's is as stubborn as that old goat was.”

  “Okay then,” said Jeb Coltrain, “you lead out Indian.”

  The group swung their horses away from Lonesome's cabin and followed Lone Wolf as he lead them away from the solitary figure that lay face down on the ground.

  Chapter 8

  Laramie called a halt around noon so they could water their horses at a rocky stream which cut a path through a small meadow. The water was clear and cool, and while the horses drank their fill, the gunfighter topped up the canteens.

  “Look, over there,” said Sally, as she pointed to something in the meadow.

  Laramie looked and saw a large bull elk, that had just stepped out of a stand of spruce, his antler rack magnificent. He stood quietly for a moment then stretched out his neck and emitted a high pitched, bugling call.

  Sally was awe struck, “What a wonderful animal.”

  Laramie agreed, “He's just lettin' us know we're in his territory.”

  Sally watched as the Elk remained still for a while longer before he turned and disappeared into the trees.

  “Laramie, come and have a look at this,” Slate called from where he watered his horse a little farther upstream.

  He left Bo to drink and walked across to Slate, “What is it?”

  Slate pointed to a patch of damp dirt beside the stream, “Look there.”

  In the middle of a bare spot was a solitary, unshod hoof print. The sight of it caused a chill to run up Laramie's back. He lifted his eyes and scanned his surroundings, then he looked back at the source of his worry, “couldn't be more than a couple of hours old.”

  “That's what I was thinkin'” Slate agreed.

  Laramie looked about some more, “I'll be happier when we can get out of the open. The trail cuts through the trees up ahead. I'll feel better then, let's go.”

  They mounted up and said nothing of their discovery to Sally.

  Once the path entered the trees, Laramie breathed a sigh of relief. He'd watched their back trail but could detect no one following, but that only meant that nobody was visible. The trail weaved its way through tall pine trees, their aromatic scent hung heavily in the air. The gunfighter let the big appaloosa pick his way along an undulating path that dropped into a gully. He crossed another of the many streams and climbed the slope on the other side.

  The trail started to rise steadily and over the course of a few hours, the ground became rockier, and large, grey outcrops became more frequent. The forest thinned out substantially once the path topped the ridge line and continued along its spine.

  Laramie eased Bo to a halt, “We'll rest here for the moment.”

  Where they sat, the riders had a clear view into the next valley. It was not much different from the one they had just ridden out of, except there were more trees and no lake. A river meandered across the valley floor, and bisected the wilderness in its path.

  Sally pulled her horse up beside Laramie's, “This country just keeps going. It's magnificent.”

  “Do you see where the river bends around that rock formation, on the other side of those trees?”

  Sally looked to where he pointed, “Yes, I think so.”

  “We'll camp there tonight and we should reach Mountain Pass late tomorrow afternoon.”

  Sally nodded, “I will be happy to get back.”

  Laramie poked the small fire with a stick and caused it to flare, sending off little sparks that danced in the night air before it died down again. In the surrounding darkness, the croak of frogs was loudly accentuated by the stillness of the night. Somewhere close, a wolf's howl made the horses stir and fidget nervously. Slate stood and walked over to the animals to soothe them.

  Laramie stood and crossed the camp site to talk to Slate while Sally enjoyed the small amount of warmth provided by the fire. After their conversation, Slate picked up his rifle from beside his saddle and walked out into the night.

  “Where is he going?” Sally asked curiously.

  “He's goin' to take watch,” Laramie explained, “just in case we get any unwanted visitors.”

  “Do we need to put the fire out?”

  The gunfighter shook his head, “No, it should be alright. That was why we set up in these rocks, it'll kill the glow of the fire some.”

  Sally shivered, “I was hoping you would say that, it's getting cold.”

  “If you turn in next to the fire and keep your blanket wrapped around you, you should be fine,” Laramie explained.

  “I hope you're right.”

  An hour later, with Slate still on watch, Sally and Laramie rolled up in their blankets and went to sleep on opposite sides of the fire. The plan was, that in a few hours, Slate would wake Laramie, who would take over watch. Like a lot of plans formulated throughout history, this one didn't work out.

  *

  At first Laramie couldn't work out what had roused him. The fire had burned low, but he wasn't cold. Sally was asleep and peaceful, so that wasn't it. There was a slight breeze in the trees which made a low whistling sound. Apart from that, it was relatively quiet. Even the...

  He stopped and listened. The frogs, yes the frogs were too quiet. Something had caused them to cease their song. They should still be croaking, unless...

  Laramie eased his hand out and wrapped it around the butt of one of his Remingtons. He slid it slowly out of its holster. There came the triple click of a gun hammer being eared back to full cock. It wasn't his.

  “Just put the gun down Davis, nice and easy,” came a low, familiar voice.

  Laramie cursed under his breath and put the pistol down.

  “Now stand up, real slow.”

  He did as ordered and once up, was face to face with the Sheriff of Rock Springs.

  There was a scream from Sally as Blackie Harbin dragged her roughly by the hair and forced her to her feet. Laramie made to move to her aid but was stopped short when the sheriff's six-gun dug into his ribs.

  Jeb Coltrain smiled wickedly, “ I have someone with me who's been dyin' to meet you.”

  The sheriff nodded and there was a swift movement from behind. Something hard smashed into the back of the gunfighter's head and caused him to sink to his knees. His ears rang and through it all he heard Sally scream again.

  Laramie shook his head to clear the cobwebs and struggled to his feet. A little shaken, he turned to faced his attacker.

  The man was short and very rotund and his right hand held a large tree branch. So that's what hit me, Laramie thought, then became aware of the small trickle of blood on the back of his neck.

  “You damned murderer,” cursed the Judge, “You killed my boy.”

  He raised the branch to strike again, but Laramie's survival skills kicked in before the Judge could start his downswing.

  The gunfighter's head snapped forward and caught the Judge across the bridge of his nose. Cartilage crunched and blood spurted as Zebulon Coltrain emitted a howl of pain, staggered backwards and clutched at his ruined nose.

  Jeb Coltrain grabbed Laramie roughly about the throat and pressed his Colt hard to the side of his head, “Do somethin' like that again and we'll just hang you right here,” he warned.

  “Son of a bitch,” the Judge cried out, “He broke my nose!”

  He pulled his hand away from his face to find it covered in blood, “I'm going to enjoy hanging you,” he spat a great glob of blood onto the ground, “Damn you.”

  There was more commotion as Slate was pushed into the camp by Benny and Cato. He looked at Laramie, fear etched deep into his face, “I'm sorry Laramie,” he apologised, “I fell asleep. I'm so sorry.”

  “Don't worry about it kid,” he said softly, “it could've happened to anyone.”

  Harbin pushed Sally aside and walked purposefully over to Slate, who knew what was about to happen.

  “
Well, well. If it isn't the double-crosser. Do you remember when you joined our little band, what it was that I said about double-crossers? And do you remember what I said would happen if you ever double-crossed me?”

  Slate remained silent.

  “Do you?” Harbin snapped.

  Benny and Cato stepped away as Slate nodded weakly.

  “Leave him be Harbin!” Laramie snapped.

  Blackie Harbin gave Laramie a look of pure evil and said, “He was warned.”

  Harbin swiftly drew one of his pearl handled Colts and shot Slate in the head. It snapped back savagely as the .45 calibre slug blew blood and gore out the back when it exited.

  Laramie squeezed his eyes shut as rage built up inside of him. He tried to block out the laugh of Benny and the cry of anguish that escaped from Sally. He drew in a couple of deep breaths and opened his eyes.

  “I'm goin' to kill you for that Harbin,” Laramie said coldly, “just you wait and see. It may not be tonight, but it will happen. Count on it.”

  “You seem to forget, Davis,” Jeb Coltrain hissed in his ear, “I have a prior claim. On you.”

  He shoved Laramie forward and the gunfighter staggered a little before he regained his balance.

  Laramie looked about in search of Sally. He saw her, on her knees, face in her hands, as she tried to deal with the cold blooded manner of Slate's death. Her shoulders trembled as she sobbed silently, the sight of what Harbin had done, etched deep in her mind alongside that of the salesman from the stage.

  Laramie stumbled a couple of steps toward her, but Shell blocked his path, “Are you goin' somewhere killer?” the deputy asked with a wicked smile.

  Laramie made to move around him, but Shell's fist travelled swiftly and the blow took him in the midriff. He doubled over as the air rushed from his lungs, and a hammer blow to the back of his head, took him to his hands and knees in a slump. Through the fog that clouded his mind, he heard Sally scream for it to stop.