High Valley Manhunt: Laramie Davies #1

by B. S. Dunn

  Not one person in the room believed what was said. Not even Harbin himself.

  *

  Laramie and Black Elk watched as the outlaws came out of the cabin. They divided into pairs then split up. One pair walked towards the corral while the others circled around to the back of the cabin.

  “They look for the woman,” Black Elk observed.

  Laramie wasn't so sure. One of the outlaws in the first group acted kind of nervous. He glanced around as though he expected something to happen. And then a false bird call tipped the situation over the edge.

  The outlaw drew his gun and fired off into the darkness.

  “They know we're here!” yelled Laramie, “They're going for the horses.”

  A chorus of cries broke out in the darkness, followed by more gunfire. Laramie and Black Elk moved forward from the trees but hurried gunshots flew over their heads and made them take cover.

  “They're firing wild,” the gunfighter called to the Indian.

  There was a disturbance in the corral as the outlaws climbed upon the backs of their horses. More gunfire sounded and a Blackfoot warrior cried out in pain. There was yelling from the corral and the horses surged forward and busted through the lodge pole rails.

  Two men rode the gauntlet of fire laid down by the Blackfeet. Laramie raised the Henry rifle and fired. The shot missed so he levered and fired again. This time the lead rider threw up his arms and toppled from his saddle. He tried to rise, but from the darkness two warriors emerged and one lunged at the fallen man with a knife.

  The second rider almost made it but his horse stumbled and went down. It had clipped a fallen log which caused it to land awkwardly and it snapped its right foreleg. The night was pierced with the animal's high pitched squeal of pain. Its rider lunged to his feet and started to fire wildly into the dark until the hammer of his gun clicked onto an empty chamber.

  There was an audible thunk beside Laramie, and Black Elk emitted a low grunt and crumpled to the ground. The gunfighter checked the Indian who gasped, “Get them, don't let them escape.”

  Meanwhile the outlaw tried hurriedly to reload his gun, but to no avail. An arrow streaked from the darkness and pierced his chest. It was followed by two more and silently, the man dropped his gun and slowly sank to the earth.

  That left two more, thought Laramie, but where were they?

  *

  When the shooting started, Blackie Harbin and Benny were behind the old cabin and were no longer sure whether to head back inside or toward the corral.

  “God damn it,” cursed Harbin, “that's torn it.”

  Benny ducked low, ready to run for the horses.

  Harbin stopped him as he blocked the way with his arm, “Wait.”

  Out of the darkness loomed a Blackfoot brave who carried a bow. Harbin raised his gun and shot the approaching man twice. The Indian dropped to the ground without a sound as another came at the pair. This one was armed with a rifle which he fired at them. Benny and Harbin both fired at the warrior and he was flung backwards by the heavy impact of the bullets. He went down and never moved.

  “Follow me kid,” Blackie urged as he pointed in the direction the Indians had come from, “We're goin' this way.”

  “What about the horses?”

  “We'd never make it,” Harbin declared, “now come on.”

  “But Blackie,” Benny protested, “we can't get out that way.”

  “I know, but we can get in behind the Blackfeet and maybe slip out. Now come on while they are still busy with the other two.”

  So the two outlaws slipped into the night and left their comrades to die.

  *

  The sun poked its head over the mountains and its rays caressed the land like warm fingers. Laramie looked down at the bodies of Cato and Lone Wolf. Once the Blackfeet had finished with them, they were a grizzly sight.

  “What about the other two?” Black Elk asked Laramie with gritted teeth as another wave of pain swept over him. The stray bullet had taken him low in his chest. How it had not hit anything vital was beyond Laramie, but there was no way that he could ride a horse, so was being transported back to his village on a travois.

  “They got away, but will not get far. They have no horses so will be easy to find.”

  “You must find them,” the Chief hissed, “Find them and bring them back to me, alive if possible.”

  “And what if I can't bring them in alive?”

  “Then dead will do, but I want to see the bodies of the men who killed my brother.”

  Laramie watched as the Blackfeet disappeared with their Chief, the travois cut furrows in the earth as it was dragged along behind Black Elk's Palomino.

  The gunfighter walked across to Bo and the big appaloosa nuzzled his shoulder, “We got us some killers to track down boy, are you ready to go.”

  Bo tossed his head about and snorted.

  “Yeah I thought so, come on then.”

  Laramie adjusted the unfamiliar weight of Cato's holstered gun before he climbed up into the saddle and rode out after Blackie Harbin and the killer kid, Benny.

  Chapter 11

  Two hours after Laramie and the Blackfeet had left the hideout, the Coltrains arrived. Cato and Lone Wolf had been left in the open and the birds and other wildlife had started to strip meat from the bodies.

  The Judge took one look and placed a white handkerchief over his mouth to stop the rise of bile. Shell on the other hand, took one look at the mauled bodies, and lost his breakfast.

  “Jesus Shell,” cursed the Sheriff, “if you're goin' to do that, take it somewhere else.”

  Jeb Coltrain dismounted and looked around. He stooped and picked up an arrow that stuck out of the soft ground, “Looks like the Blackfeet got here before us.”

  He snapped the arrow in two and cast it aside. The Sheriff looked around some more and took in the macabre landscape, but knew it was a waste of time.

  “What now?” asked Shell Coltrain.

  “We keep damn well looking,” snapped the Judge.

  “Hold on there Zeb, just think on it a minute,” the Sheriff cautioned his brother, “Like I told you last time, we can traipse around these mountains for days and find nothin' and at the moment, with the Indians on the war path, we'd probably end up with our scalps hangin' in some brave's teepee. Otherwise, we can head for the place where Davis is goin' to end up anyway, if he's still alive.”

  “What do you mean, Jeb?” asked the Judge, seemingly ready to listen to reason.

  “We know Davis is after the woman,” Jeb continued to explain, “now if he gets her back, he's goin' to end up in Mountain Pass, and if he does, we'll be there waitin' for him.”

  He waited while his brother digested the information, “That's all well and good but what if he doesn't turn up in Mountain Pass.”

  “Then he'll be dead,” the Sheriff said matter of factly, “it's that simple.”

  “Alright we'll do it your way,” the Judge conceded.

  The three remaining posse men rode out and left the carrion eaters to their feast.

  *

  Laramie caught up with the outlaws shortly after noon. He'd been on the killer's trail for half a day but they hadn't made it easy. The men had stuck to rough terrain which made it difficult for horses to traverse and anyone to track them. Many times, Laramie had to dismount and look for sign in amongst the rocky landscape.

  The trail lead him past a place he knew as White Falls, then up over a ridge line and along an escarpment before it dropped down to an expanse of water known as Miller's Pond.

  It was here that Laramie found Benny, as he sat on the pond's rocky shoreline, waiting. Laramie halted Bo ten yards from him. The gunfighter was instantly wary and cocked the hammer of the Henry he had laid across his lap.

  He climbed down and moved away from the big appaloosa to keep him out of harm's way.

  “Howdy kid,” Laramie greeted, “didn't expect to find you here alone.”

  Benny looked at Laramie, impressed to se
e the gunfighter. “Blackie said it was you. He saw you comin' down off the escarpment.”

  Laramie looked around, concerned about what Benny had told him, “Where is Harbin, kid?”

  He waved a hand in the air, “He's around here somewhere. He promised me I could have first crack at you.”

  “What happens after you go down kid?” the gunfighter asked, his face expressionless, “Is he waitin' to bushwhack me?”

  The kid's eyes darted left to a thick grove of Aspen. It was just a flicker, but was enough to tell Laramie that that was where Harbin was hidden and waiting for the right time to pull the trigger.

  “What makes you think I will be the one to go down? You're mighty confident of yourself.”

  Laramie watched silently as the kid climbed to his feet and stood in front of him with his feet spread shoulder width apart.

  “Are you ready to die old man?”

  “You talk too much kid,” said Laramie flatly.

  Benny ignored the remark and continued to talk, “You know the funny thing about this? It's the fact that when I kill you, it'll be your guns that do it. It'll be your guns that finally bring about your demise. Now isn't that ironic?”

  Laramie knew he faced a stacked deck. The two outlaws held the advantage, so it was time to show some initiative and take it back.

  “Like I said kid, you talk too much.”

  Without warning, Laramie swung the Henry up and levelled it at Benny's middle. The whiplash of the shot echoed through the air that surrounded Miller's Pond. Benny's mouth opened in shock as the .44 calibre slug tore into his gut. Laramie knew instantly that the kid was out of the fight and moved swiftly to find cover.

  The sound of another shot rang across the pond and a bullet burned through the air close to Laramie's head. He tried desperately to make himself as hard a target as possible then ran as fast as he could.

  Harbin fired again and the slug sent up a small geyser of dirt at Laramie's feet. He darted to the left, and dived behind a dead fall tree, large enough to conceal his bulk.

  He lay there for a moment and gulped down large breaths of air. Harbin fired again and splinters flew from the tree. The gunfighter eased up, just high enough to take a peek to see if he could locate Blackie Harbin's position.

  The outlaw fired again and more splinters flew. The gunfighter ducked back down, “I got you now.”

  Blackie Harbin was back in amongst the Aspen, beside a stump of a fallen tree he used as cover. He was crouched down on one knee, armed only with his pearl handled Colts. Laramie appeared up over the dead fall and worked the Henry furiously. He fired and levered until the Henry was empty, then he leapt over his cover and ran for the trees.

  The hail storm of lead caused Harbin to throw himself down on the damp earth as an evasive tactic. Angry cracks sounded above his head as the bullets passed close.

  “Damn, son of a bitch,” he cursed loudly.

  After the flurry of shots had stopped, Harbin rose up and brushed furiously at the hair that hung in his face. He spat little bits of grass from his mouth that had been forced in by the sudden dive to earth in his attempt to avoid death.

  He caught sight of Laramie who ran towards the tree line. He raised his Colt and fired twice, both bullets missed, although one tore a hole in the gunfighter's jacket. Harbin took aim again but this time the hammer fell on an expended chamber.

  “Damn it,” the outlaw cursed again and brought up his other Colt, but was too late. Laramie had found the safety of the trees.

  Once inside the Aspen, Laramie dived to the ground among the tall grass that grew there and drew the six-gun he'd taken from Cato's corpse. Laramie double checked the loads just to make sure they were all fine, then stealthily moved to circle Blackie Harbin's position until he could get a bead on him.

  “I'm not surprised you're here Laramie. I just knew that posse wouldn't stop you,” Harbin called out, “I saw it in your eyes just before we rode out with the girl.”

  Laramie ceased movement to listen as Harbin continued, “I don't have the girl, by the way. I think the Indians have her, so good luck gettin' her back from them.”

  “I'm here after you Blackie, the girl's fine. You don't have to worry about her, just me,” Laramie informed the outlaw.

  The penny dropped, “You were there at the cabin? Were you there with them red devils?”

  “I was there. How do you think they found you?” the gunfighter informed him, “Slate told me about the hideout. That's how I knew where you'd gone.”

  “You sold us out to damned Indians, you son of a bitch! What white man does that?” asked Harbin in a snarled voice.

  “I don't know Blackie, but tell me, what kind of man rides around rapin' and killin' women?” Laramie countered.

  “She was a damned redskin. She don't count.”

  The gunfighter shook his head in disbelief, “She was a woman, and it don't matter what colour her skin was.”

  “So what now?” Harbin inquired, “You plan on tryin' to kill me over an Indian woman?”

  “Nope, the Indians want you for that. Me, I want you for killin' my friend.”

  “You mean that double crossin' son of a bitch, Slate?” Harbin asked surprised.

  “Nope, the old mountain man you shot at the cabin,” the gunfighter answered.

  “Oh hell, him,” the outlaw said nonplussed, “he was about dead anyway. I did him a favour by shootin' him. I'll give him one thing though, he was one tough rooster.”

  The conversation died off for a moment before Harbin came to a decision. “Hey Laramie,”

  “Yeah, what?”

  “I'm comin' out,” the outlaw informed him.

  Laramie watched from his hiding position as Harbin stood and walked out into the open, hands raised at shoulder height. He noticed too, that Harbin had left his Peacemakers in their holsters. Laramie came erect and holstered the Colt. Both men watched each other warily as they emerged from the Aspen and crunched across the gravel at the pond's shore.

  “Do you think right here is good enough Mister Legend?” Harbin asked as he stopped and went into a gunfighter's stance.

  Laramie was emotionless, “Sure, why not. Guess it don't matter much where you die.”

  Blackie Harbin gave Laramie a wry smile, “Guess it don't.”

  Hands blurred as they dove for guns. Harbin's Peacemaker came out and roared a hair's breath before Laramie's. Two gunshots blended as one. Harbin's bullet gouged a red furrow on the outside of the gunfighter's left shoulder and caused a small spray of blood to erupt from the shallow wound.

  In the fraction of time that it took for this to happen, the bullet from Laramie's Colt hammered into the outlaw's chest and exploded out his back.

  Harbin smiled at his killer, “I beat you, you son...of a bitch. I damn well beat you. I told you I was...faster.”

  Laramie watched as Blackie Harbin tried to say something more, but a flood of red welled up and spilled down his chin, his words a wet, gargled sound.

  The gunfighter watched as Harbin took two steps and fell forward, dead.

  Laramie stared at the prone figure of the outlaw for a time before the pain of his wound registered. He examined it and decided he would fix it up later. He walked over to where Benny lay in the gravel, dying. The shot had hit him six inches above his buckle and caused a wound from which he would not recover.

  “I guess you're as good as what they say,” his voice wasn't much above a pain filled whisper.

  Laramie shook his head, “Just more careful kid.”

  “I'm dyin' ain't I.” It was more a statement than a question.

  “Yeah, kid, you're dyin',” Laramie confirmed what Benny already knew.

  He coughed and asked Laramie for a favour.

  Laramie didn't exactly know why he agreed to it, but he sat with Benny until death came. Even though the kid was a cold blooded killer, dying alone was the one thing the gunfighter feared. For that reason only, he waited patiently for him to pass.

  When i
t was over, Laramie did something else he didn't really understand, and buried them. Blackie Harbin was interred with his twin Peacemakers, the killer's weapons deserved to be with their owner. Benny got the Colt that Laramie had taken from Cato.

  With the familiar weight of the twin Remingtons about his waist, he felt whole again.

  Bo waited patiently for him and when he mounted the big appaloosa, he patted his neck and said, “Let's go get the girl and take her home.”

  *

  When Sally had arrived at Black Elk's village, she was sequestered away in a large teepee. Even though she was in the middle of an Indian encampment, she felt safe.

  The flap of the teepee was swept aside and a young Blackfoot woman, clothed in a deer skin dress, entered with a bowl of food which consisted mainly of deer meat.

  She had long, sleek black hair that fell halfway down her back. She was slim built and of average height. Her hair framed a pretty face with soft, dark eyes set just the right distance apart. She smiled warmly at Sally and when she did, revealed perfectly even teeth.

  Sally smiled back when the woman gave her the bowl, “Thank you, it smells lovely.”

  “It is deer. Eat it, while it is hot,” the woman said in halting English.

  Sally held a hand flat against her chest and said, “My name is Sally.”

  “My name is Little Fawn.”

  Sally smiled and tried her food, it tasted quite good and she told Little Fawn so.

  When Sally had finished her meal, the squaw left her to rest. After the previous day's chaos, she lay on the buffalo robes that were provided, and slept.

  Sometime later, Sally was awoken by a loud noise from outside the teepee. The flap was swept aside suddenly and two Blackfoot warriors helped a third inside. Sally recognised him immediately as the Indian, Black Elk.