Shotgun Riders

by Orrin Russell

  Shotgun Riders

  A Balum Series Western #7

  A novel by

  Orrin Russell

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Orrin Russell

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Cover design and illustration by

  Mike Pritchett

  1

  Balum leaned a shoulder against the doorway of Angelique’s cabin and stared out over miles of rolling plains without any thought in his mind other than a vague anticipation for dinner. Behind him, the sounds of Angelique moving in the kitchen-- stirring the pot, setting the table-- brought a comfort to him that he was hard pressed to put to words.

  She’d saved his life. Maybe he’d saved hers too.

  Alright, so he did, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d pulled Buford Bell off him with a belt around the man’s neck not a second too soon. If it wasn’t for that move right there, Buford’s fists would have crushed the life out of Balum. Buford had shot Balum, clubbed him down, mounted him, and was using his fists like forging hammers to beat Balum to death while Angelique lay nearly unconscious on Shane Carly’s dugout floor. If she hadn’t mustered the strength to crawl out and throw that belt around Buford’s neck, Balum would be dead. Angelique too, though not before she’d suffered the horrors of Buford’s drunken lust.

  Balum fought off a shiver. He brought a hand up absentmindedly to his collarbone and traced the wound where Buford’s bullet had caught him. A week had passed. The laceration was well on its path to healing. Another day or two and he’d be back at the CW Ranch like nothing at all had happened. That’s all he wanted; peaceful days working the range, nights in the arms of his woman.

  The smell of stew reached him at the doorway. He made to turn back into the cabin when a movement far out on the plains caught his eye. A rider, tall in the saddle, back straight. He wasn’t more than a speck outlined on the grass, but there was no mistaking that posture. Only one man rode with such formality even when no one was watching.

  Balum turned his head into the cabin. “Best set another place, Angelique. Cafferty’s riding in.”

  She came to the door and wrapped her arms around Balum’s waist and followed his line of sight. The rider was trotting his horse in a direct line toward them.

  “He’s going to want more than a bowl of stew,” she said.

  “You think so?”

  “You know it as well as I do,” she said. “You were the best Deputy Marshall he’s ever had. He’s never accepted that you quit. He’s got a dozen jobs lined up for you, just watch.”

  “Maybe he’s gotten word that your stew is tasty enough to be considered a crime. Coming by to see for himself.”

  Angelique laughed. She gave Balum a slap on the arm and went to set another place at the table.

  Balum didn’t move from the doorway when U.S. Marshal Pete Cafferty finally rode into the yard. He only raised a hand in greeting and watched the marshal pull his horse up and dismount and loop the reins around the porch post.

  “Your timing is good, Pete. We’re just setting down to supper. Come in and have yourself a bowl of stew.”

  The three took seats at the wood slab table. After a minute of pleasantries Angelique asked the marshal point blank the purpose of his visit. “I know you didn’t just come for the stew,” she chided him. “Now go ahead and tell us what’s on your mind.”

  “Alright,” he admitted, “you’ve got me pegged. As good as the stew is, I’ve come about something serious.” He took a breath as if to arrange his thoughts, then set the spoon in the bowl. He looked hard across the table at the two of them and laid it out. “We took Buford Bell alive just like we planned. That’s good. I’m real happy about that, and so is the Governor of Texas, who was the whole reason we didn’t just shoot him down. Like I said, the Governor put out a personal reward for Buford Bell in the amount of five-thousand dollars, and now it’s time to collect. The thing is, now we need to get Buford to Texas. I’ve got an old Concord stagecoach with good solid wheels, and doors that have been fitted out with locks on the outsides. Hitched up to a team of four horses, it can handle near any type of terrain.”

  Balum and Angelique exchanged a look. They waited for Cafferty to get on with news, for surely he’d reached the part where the favor came in.

  “That’s why I’m here,” he said. “I need someone to drive the stage, and another to ride shotgun.”

  Balum sipped his stew while Cafferty watched him. He thought about it, but no one came to mind. He looked up. “If you came here thinking I’d have a good recommendation, Pete, I’m afraid I’m going to let you down. That’s a long hard journey, and not many men are cut out for riding shotgun. Or even driving a stage for that matter. Not through that kind of country. I’ve been from here to Texas, and that’s wild land. There’s stretches hundreds of miles long where no one lives. You’ve got to hunt fresh meat, camp outside, bathe in ice-cold streams. The few towns along the way are small and rundown. At any moment you risk running into a band of thieves ready to rob you just for a pair of boots. No,” he said. “I can’t think of a single man up for that job.”

  “Balum,” said Angelique beside him. “I think he means you.”

  “Me?” Balum dropped the spoon into the bowl.

  “Like you said, Balum,” Cafferty leaned in, “there’s not a single man up for that type of job.”

  “Well count me out. Hell, Pete, I got shot not but a week ago.”

  “By the same man I’m asking you to escort to his death.”

  “Why don’t you just hang him here? Hang him along with his brothers. Or are you going to tell me the whole family is getting transported to Texas?”

  “No, his brothers will hang in Denver. The sooner the better. You wouldn’t think six prisoners could cause such problems, but they do. But Buford needs to go to Texas, plain and simple. When the governor of a state puts out a request like that, it’s not in my capacity to deny it. Call it politics, Balum, but it’s a fact. And another fact is that you’re the man for the job.”

  “No thank you.”

  “Think of what he almost did to Angelique.”

  “Exactly,” said Balum. “What makes you think I wouldn’t just pull over to the side of the road and give him a vigilante execution?”

  “Because you’re not that kind of man. I know you, Balum. You’re a hard man. You’ve been in tough scrapes, you’ve had cause to use a gun more than most, and there’s plenty of folks that would say you’re only a shake of a stick away from being an outlaw yourself. But they’re wrong. You’re a decent man, Balum. It’s why I deputized you once, and it’s why I’ll deputize you again.”

  “That’s a heck of a nice complement, Pete, but the answer is no. I’m a quarter-partner at the CW Ranch. My life is good. I like ranching in the days and coming home to my beautiful woman at night. I don’t see any reason to foul that up.”

  “Not for five-thousand dollars? It would be yours, you know. For you and Angelique, or to invest in your ranch. Whatever you choose.”

  “Nope.”

  “Angelique?” Cafferty turned to her in search of support.

  “He said no. And I support that. Look Marshal, I’ll tell you what you ought to do. You ought to forget about sending Buford to Texas and instead let him swing at the end of a rope. You just asked Balum to think about what Buford almost did to me. Have you thought about that? Why risk letting something happen on the way to Texas? What if he escapes? Hang him and be
done with it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cafferty turned his hands over and shook his head. “But like I said, that’s politics. Buford Bell needs to go to Texas. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Well I’m not the man to take him,” said Balum. “And that’s all there is to that.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled over Angelique’s cabin. The clinks of spoons against bowls throbbed like dull wind chimes. Any movement-- a shift in the seat, an elbow lifted onto the table-- seemed vastly amplified by the lack of conversation until Angelique finally broke it. She commented on her lending practice and how much development was going on in the outskirts of Cheyenne, and for this Balum was thankful. Pete Cafferty was a good man, and he clearly needed the favor, but Balum just wasn’t up for it. Saying no after all Cafferty had done for him gave him an unsettling feeling, and Angelique was like a magician at lightening the tension. After a few minutes she even managed to elicit a chuckle from the always-serious marshal.

  When supper was over and everyone’s belly was full with stew, Cafferty leaned back with his eyes intent on the table as if within the grains of wood it held some final secret. He ran his tongue over his teeth and took a few long breaths through his nose.

  His comportment stopped Angelique from clearing the dishes. It stopped Balum from digging out a pouch of tobacco and sticking a plug in his lip. They watched the marshal work over whatever was incubating in his mind, and when he looked up, the two seated across the table were ready.

  “There’s just one more thing,” he said. His raised his hands onto their fingertips over the wood slab table. “Sara Sanderson.”

  Balum stiffened at the name. The mere mention of it sent his blood beating against his temples.

  “What about her?” said Angelique.

  “She did a fair number on the single men in Denver. She’s about as conniving as they come, I’ll give her that. Now folks don’t generally seek revenge on a woman, you know that. The West is gracious to a fault when it comes to women and their transgressions from the law. But only up to a point. She must have robbed a total of over twenty thousand dollars, and not purely by charming them, as she did to you, Balum. She went ahead with forgery, forced entry, burglary. Seems she even got a couple fellas to write her into their wills, and then guess what happened. That’s right, she murdered them. Poison, it seems, is her weapon of choice. That or a derringer. Anyway, where I’m going with all this is that she skipped town. She took her stolen money and ran. The crimes she committed were obvious enough to issue a warrant for her arrest. Problem was, no one knew where she skipped off to. Well, about a month ago a traveling salesman comes into my office and he’s got a real interesting story. All about Sara Sanderson, robbing young single men left and right. And guess where?” He waited as if stretching out the punch line of a joke. “San Antonio, Texas. Right where Buford Bell needs to go.”

  The silence following the marshal’s story crushed the silence of before. Both Angelique and Balum sat open-mouthed before their empty bowls of stew, their eyes filled with the imagery just described.

  Pete Cafferty stood up. He lifted his hat off the table and thanked Angelique for the stew, which, he joked, was indeed good enough to be considered criminal. Then he walked to the door. He took one step through and turned around. “That stage needs to leave a week from today. It’s all ready to go. Like I said, I need two men; a driver and a shotgun rider. It’s not up to me who you pick, but I thought Joe would be a fine choice. Now you two have a wonderful evening. And thanks again for the stew.”

  He tipped his hat and shut the door behind him. After he’d untied his horse and the clopping of its hoof beats had receded into the evening air, Balum and Angelique remained like two wooden statues seated at the wood slab table.

  2

  Lying awake beside each other they said nothing. They let the night breeze drift through the bedroom curtains, cool on their skin, a comforting touch of humidity on the air. It was a comfort they both needed, for each knew what lay ahead.

  As the crickets lifted their chorus into the nighttime sky, the two rolled into one another. Balum was going to Texas; that was certain. There was no point arguing the matter, nor did any reason exist for an argument to be had. Sara Sanderson was a criminal that had avoided justice for too long. Ten thousand dollars she had stolen from Balum, and if he traced back the root of why he had ever spent time in the Colorado State Penitentiary for a crime he didn’t commit, this too landed at her feet.

  What they talked about there, embraced under the night breeze, was not whether he should go, but more simple matters. When should he leave. Would he ask Joe to go with him. How long would the journey take. Most of all they reassured each other that the time apart would only bring them closer, for their lives together were really only just beginning.

  “I’ll miss you every day,” she purred in his ear.

  “I’m sure you’ll find someone to keep you company.”

  She pulled back enough for the moonlight to illuminate her face. “You mean Jaylene?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s good company. There are a couple new girls at the Cherry Tree. Else and Helene brought them in… they’re cute. I guess this will give me a chance to say hello.”

  Balum laughed. “I can only imagine.”

  “You’re sure you’re ok with everything? You won’t be jealous?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “They’re no replacement for this, you know,” she ran a hand down his stomach until she found his cock. She squeezed it gently in her hand and whispered in his ear, “I have a feeling there will be some lucky girls on the way to San Antonio.”

  “And you’re ok with that?” he said.

  “More than ok. I know you love me. What’s the sense of living like a monk while you’re away? Now take these long johns off and give me something to remember you by while you’re gone.”

  She left early in the morning for the office in Cheyenne. They shared a kiss and a long hug on the porch, and then she was gone.

  In the barn Balum saddled the roan. He ran a palm over its neck. It had been some time since he’d ridden any farther than Denver, and the roan was a horse that liked to travel. It seemed to sense Balum’s energy. When he tied the extra saddle bags and blanket roll on, its ears pricked up.

  On the trail to the CW Ranch the horse had a lighter bounce to its step. It kept twisting its head around to look at Balum as if wanting to ask a question. After a while Balum laughed out loud and told the roan exactly what was in store for them. The horse nickered as if it understood, and the two rode the rest of the way in a familiar harmony that horse and rider acquire after years in each other’s company.

  When Balum rode beneath the wrought iron letters suspended twelve feet in the air that read CW Ranch, the only person in sight was Charles. He was bent at the well, drawing water. He came up with the bucket and dipped the ladle in, and when he saw the saddle bags and blanket roll tied to the roan he pulled the ladle away from his mouth and smacked his lips a couple times over.

  “You going somewhere, Balum?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Maybe expecting a bit of trouble?” Charles gave a nod to the Winchester and a Spencer rifle slunk in two separate scabbards alongside Balum’s boot.

  “A bit.”

  “Alright. Lay it on me.”

  Balum gave him the story. Halfway through, Charles was already shaking his head.

  “Clear to Texas?” said Charles.

  “And back.”

  “Yeah. And back. If you don’t get shot in the process.”

  “It shouldn’t be too hard. It’s only one prisoner, he’ll be chained. We won’t be carrying anything of value besides him, so there’s little cause for a holdup. I’ll be back before you know it with five-thousand dollars that can go toward the horses and tack we need, feed for the winter, a new barn, all kinds of things. Maybe even expand our land holdings. It’s a good opportunity, Charles.”

  “A good oppo
rtunity for you to get some revenge on that Sanderson girl.”

  “I don’t think it’s revenge.”

  “What is it then?”

  Balum thought on it. “Justice.”

  “Like hell.”

  “She robbed me, Charles, but the fact is I let her do it. I was a fool. But I can learn to live with that. There’s other folks though that can’t-- they’re dead. She’s evil, plain and simple. Somebody’s got to stop her.”

  Charles slurped down another ladle-full of water. “And you want to take Joe?”

  “He’s the right man for it.”

  “You two do an awful lot here, Balum. It’s going to be hard without you.”

  “It’ll be worth five-thousand. You know that.”

  “That’s if everything goes to plan,” said Charles. “You ever consider, Balum, that for the amount of scrapes you’ve been in over your lifetime you ought to be dead? How far can a man’s luck run?”

  “There won’t be no scrapes. This here’s an easy job.”

  “So you say. So you say,” Charles dropped the bucket back into the well. “Come have a cup of coffee with me and say hello to Juanita. Joe’s out with Will and the boys cleaning up that tree that fell by the ditch. They’ll be back soon enough.”

  In the ranch house Balum explained to Juanita what was happening. He did it in Spanish-- it was easier that way. Charles just looked on and nodded his head as if he understood.

  “Y Joe va a querer ir contigo?” she asked when he’d told her.

  “What’d she say about Joe?” said Charles.

  “She’s wondering if he’ll want to go with me.”

  Charles laughed and gave his woman a grin. “Oh, he’ll want to go alright. If there’s a man who likes putting himself in the way of danger any more than Balum does, it’s Joe.”

  They drank coffee and put together a rough plan for the ranch’s operations during Balum’s absence, and when Joe and Will came in for lunch the news was laid out without much fanfare.