Return to Vengeance Creek

by Robert J. Randisi

  “Federales patrols, bandidos, travelers,” Thomas said. “Also the fact that you and me, we’re not trackers.”

  “I know it!” James snapped, then said, “Sorry.”

  They rode down the quiet street, looking around.

  “Why is it every time we ride into some Mexican town, it’s siesta time?” James asked.

  “It’s always siesta time in Mexico,” Thomas said.

  “Seems like it.”

  They rode up to the front of a cantina and dismounted, still cautiously looking around.

  “I’m tired of these little cantinas,” James said. “I want a steak.”

  “When we get back to the good ol’ U.S. of A. I’ll buy you the biggest steak you ever saw.”

  “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

  As they approached the door, there came the sound of gunfire and bullets striking the walls and windows around them. They dove for the most cover they could find, the inside of the cantina.

  “Jesus!” James said, drawing his gun.

  Thomas did the same thing, and they braced their backs against the walls on either side of the door. They looked around the cantina and found that it was completely empty.

  “What the hell—” James said.

  “Not siesta time,” Thomas said. “Bushwhackin’ time.”

  “This place is empty.”

  “And the street is empty,” Thomas said. “Seems like the town knew what was comin’.”

  “Yeah, well, too bad we didn’t.”

  “Are you hit?” Thomas asked.

  James patted his torso, then took off his hat and saw the hole in it.

  “Damn close,” he said, putting it back on, “but no.”

  “Me, neither,” Thomas said.

  “Think it’s the Flemings?” James asked.

  “I hope it is,” Thomas said. “If it’s just some Comancheros or bandidos they hired to kill us, then we’re fallin’ even farther behind.”

  “Well there ain’t much we can do about that,” James said, “we’re pinned down. Where’s the damn law in this town?”

  “Maybe he’s in on it.”

  “That’s great!”

  Thomas risked a look around the edge of the doorway. Their horses were still standing where they’d left them.

  “I wish we had our rifles,” he said.

  “Maybe there’s somethin’ behind the bar.”

  “Take a look.”

  James crawled over to the bar, got behind it and reached beneath it.

  “I got this,” he said, coming out with a shotgun. “Twelve gauge side-by-side.”

  “Hang onto it.”

  James crawled back to his wall, holding the shotgun ready, holstering his pistol.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “Now we wait,” Thomas said. “The Flemings probably set this up. We’ll just wait for them to call the tune.”

  “What about a back door?”

  “We can check,” Thomas said, “but if there is one, they’ve probably got it covered.”

  “I’ll check the bar,” James said. “You check for a back door.”

  “Okay.”

  Thomas crawled away from the front of the cantina, then got to his feet. He found a doorway into a back storage room. No rooms for rent there. He saw a back door and walked to it. He opened the door a crack, waited, then opened it a little wider. Immediately, there were several shots. He slammed the door shut as lead slammed into it.

  Back in the cantina, he crawled to his front wall again.

  “The back door’s covered,” he said.

  “I heard.”

  Thomas risked another peek outside. The street was still empty.

  “All right,” he said, drawing his head back, “let’s see what happens over the next few minutes, and then we’ll come up with a plan.”

  “We will?”

  “Yes, James,” Thomas said, “we will. After all, Pa always has a plan.”

  “Yeah,” James said, “but he’s Pa.”

  FIFTY-NINE

  A couple of days earlier, Red and Harry Fleming arrived in Poco Diablo, stopped in to see the sheriff right away.

  “Ah, mis amigos,” Sheriff Pedro Arroyo greeted them. As always, he had a big smile dotted with gold teeth. “Welcome back to Poco Diablo.”

  Red walked to the desk, dropped some money down on it.

  “Ah, gracias,” Arroyo said. He swept the money off the desk top and into a drawer. “What can I do for you, señor? It has been some time since you were here last.”

  “You been here before, Red?” Harry asked.

  “A few times, Harry,” Red said. “Now just shut up a minute.” He looked at Arroyo, who seemed to have aged ten years since he’d last seen him. He knew the man had to be near fifty, but he looked almost seventy.

  “I just need you to stay out of the way, Pedro,” Red said, “as always.”

  “Si, señor,” Arroyo said, “that is what you always want.”

  “Well, we’re gonna need it now more than ever,” Red said. “See, we’re gonna kill us a couple of American lawmen, here.”

  “Aieee,” Arroyo said, sitting back in his chair. “That may take a little more of your American money, Señor Red.”

  “Why?” Harry demanded. “They ain’t lawmen here.”

  “But someone will come looking, no?” Arroyo asked.

  “Possibly,” Red said. “Don’t worry, there’ll be more money.”

  “Ah, excellent!”

  “Are there more gringos in town?” Red asked.

  “Si, señor,” Arroyo said, “they are in the cantina. They said they were waiting for you.”

  “They said right,” Red said. “Thanks, Pedro.”

  “Si, señor.”

  Red turned to Harry. “Come on, the rest of the boys are here.”

  Harry didn’t know his brother was taking him to Poco Diablo to meet more men. That was Red’s plan all along, to lure the lawmen further into Mexico, and kill them there.

  There were four men waiting for them at the cantina when they got there. They greeted Red boisterously, with lots of slaps on the back. Harry didn’t know any of them.

  “Is this him?” one of them asked. “This is the little brother?”

  “That’s him,” Red said. “Harry, meet Tom Gareth. We’ve worked together on and off for more than ten years.”

  Gareth slapped Harry on the back. “Glad to meet ya, son.” Gareth was about Red’s age, ten or twelve years older than Harry.

  Gareth pointed and said, “That’s Cutler, that’s Shaw and that’s Tutt.”

  The three men, all in their thirties, waved with one hand, held beers with the other.

  “You got my telegram?” Red asked Gareth.

  “Got it,” Gareth said. “Killin’ two lawmen and gettin’ away with it will be worth the long ride down here. Besides, I love Mexican women.”

  “All right, then,” Red said. “Let’s get a drink and we’ll go over the plan. They’re probably a day behind us, maybe less . . .”

  “So we’re just gonna sit here and wait for ’em?” Gareth asked, some time later.

  Red looked at the man over his glass of tequila. “No, we’re gonna wait across the street. By the time they ride in, they’ll be ready for a drink. Their first stop will be this cantina.”

  “And then it’ll be their last stop, right?” Harry asked.

  Red looked at his brother. “It will be if we do this right and nobody jumps the gun.”

  “Whataya lookin’ at me for?” Harry complained.

  “Because you get excited, Harry,” Red said. “You’re gonna hafta stay calm, and not fire until I do. Understand?”

  “Sure, I understand, Red,” Harry said. “I ain’t stupid.”

  “You sure act it sometimes.”

  “Hey!”

  Red reached out and mussed his little brother’s hair.

  “Take it easy,” he said. “I’m just jokin’.” But the look he exchanged with Gareth said he w
asn’t joking. Red knew his brother was stupid and acted rashly, because that’s how they got into this mess in the first place.

  “So whatta we do in the meantime?” Gareth asked.

  “You go ahead and enjoy your Mexican women,” Red said. “Let’s just put a man on watch so we get a warnin’ when they’re approaching town. And, oh yeah . . . keep your men sober!”

  Gareth looked over at the other table, where his men were passing around a bottle of tequila.

  “Don’t worry,” he assured Red, “that’s their last bottle until after it’s over.”

  “It better be,” Red said.

  A full day later, Harry Fleming got excited when he saw Thomas Shaye’s back and fired too soon . . .

  SIXTY

  Shaye left his office, intending to find Doucette and, hopefully, have it out with him. With most of his men in jail or dead, he had very little backing. Maybe Daniel could convince him to leave town—but he doubted it.

  He found the man sitting in front of the hotel, leaning his chair back against the wall, seemingly relaxed.

  “ ’Afternoon, Sheriff,” Doucette greeted.

  “Doucette,” Shaye said. “You’re lookin’ pretty content.”

  “And why not? It’s a beautiful day.”

  “And probably your last in town,” Shaye said. “At least, your last without bein’ behind bars.”

  “That’s so?” Doucette asked.

  “Up to now I’ve been content to wait for you to make a move, but I gotta give it to you. You outlasted me. I need you to ride out of town or show me a reason why not?”

  “The reason why not,” Doucette said, “is I haven’t done what I came here to do.”

  “Kill Abner Snow.”

  “That’s it,” Doucette said. “I’ve scared him pretty good, don’t you think?”

  “You’ve scared him a lot.”

  “Yeah,” Doucette said, “that part’s been fun, but I’ve got to give you credit, Sheriff. You almost outwaited me. Seems like we both ran out of patience on the same day.”

  Shaye put one foot up on the boardwalk and leaned his left shoulder against a post, leaving his gun arm free.

  “So, whataya say, Doucette? What’s it gonna be?”

  “Well,” Doucette said, looking off into the distance as if seeking some inner guidance, “it doesn’t seem right for me to leave before I’m done, so I guess that isn’t going to happen.”

  “Have it your way,” Shaye said. “Let me have your gun and we’ll go and join your men in the jail.”

  “And how long do you think you can keep me there?”

  “I don’t know,” Shaye said. “I guess we’re gonna find out.”

  “Well, I don’t think so,” Doucette said. “Vin?”

  From out of the lobby came the young man Shaye only knew as Vin. He looked as young and innocent as he had looked all week, except for one thing—now he was wearing a gun on his hip.

  “Shaye, you know my man Vin.”

  “Mr. Shaye,” Vin said.

  “So he’s got you wearin’ a gun now, son?” Shaye asked.

  “Oh, I usually wear a gun, Sheriff,” Vin said. “Mr. Doucette actually had me take it off just before we got to town.”

  “I see.” Shaye looked at Doucette. “You havin’ babies fight your fights for you now, Doucette?”

  “Oh, he looks like a baby, Sheriff,” Doucette said, “but he ain’t. See, I had a cellmate in prison who told me his son was a natural-born gunhand. Ever since he was a small boy, he could handle a gun like nobody you ever saw. When I got out of prison, I went and looked him up. That’s why it took me so long to get here. I had to go and take a look at Vin myself, and then convince him to come along. But here he is. This kid is the fastest gun I’ve ever seen.”

  “Is that a fact?” Shaye asked.

  “Oh yeah, it is,” Doucette said. “And he’s gonna show you.” Doucette smiled. “You don’t look worried. Still a little overconfident because you took care of the rest of my men so easily. I knew you would. See, I only brought them along to give you something to do, and to let Vin watch you.”

  “I seen how you handle yourself, Sheriff,” Vin said. “You’re a good man. I’m gonna be sorry to kill you.”

  “Vin,” Shaye said, “you’re lettin’ this man turn you into somethin’ you really aren’t cut out to be. You ever kill a man before?”

  “Oh, I checked on that, too,” Doucette said. “He’s only in his early twenties, and he’s already killed nine men in fair fights. Just plain outslicked ’em. You’ll be number ten, the biggest. He’ll have a reputation after he kills you.”

  Shaye looked at Vin, who seemed very relaxed.

  “You really want to do this, son?”

  “I kinda have to, Sheriff,” Vin said. “It’s my next step in growin’ up.”

  “Did Doucette convince you of that?”

  “Oh, no,” Vin said, “I knew I’d have to face somebody with a reputation sometime. I’m just sorry it’s you.”

  “And no time like the present,” Doucette said.

  “I don’t have a reputation as a fast gun, Doucette,” Shaye said. “As a matter of fact, my son Thomas is faster than I ever was.”

  “But he’s not here, is he?” Doucette asked. “So you’re elected, Sheriff.” Doucette turned his head, but kept his eyes on Shaye. “Vin?”

  “Don’t we need a big crowd, Mr. Doucette?”

  “Don’t worry, son,” Doucette said. “When it’s over, there’ll be a crowd, and everyone will know who killed Sheriff Dan Shaye in a fair fight.”

  Vin looked at Shaye, then stepped down into the street.

  SIXTY-ONE

  “Did you notice somethin’?” Thomas asked.

  “Like what?” James asked.

  “The first shot,” Thomas said. “I moved after the first shot, and then the volley started.”

  “I wondered how they could’ve missed with so many bullets flyin’,” James said. “I ducked for cover when you did. I just heard a bunch of shots.”

  “Well, I heard one, and then the rest.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Somebody got antsy and fired too soon,” Thomas said. “That’s the only reason we’re alive.”

  James sneaked a look outside, didn’t see anyone.

  “We’ll have to find out who that was and thank him,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Thomas said, “we’ll do that as soon as we get out of this mess.”

  “I could use a drink,” James said, staring at the bar. “It’s goddamned hot in here.”

  “Help yourself.”

  James once again crawled to the bar, returned with a bottle of tequila. He took a swig, then held it up, asking his brother if he wanted any.

  “If you can hand it to me without gettin’ shot.”

  James put the cork back in the bottle tossed it to Thomas, who caught it in one hand. “That’s why I got a bottle, and not a beer mug.”

  “Thanks.” Thomas took a swig himself, and tossed it back.

  “Okay,” Thomas said, “time to find out what’s goin’ on.”

  “And how do you expect to do that?”

  “The easy way,” Thomas said. “Ask.”

  “I told you not to get excited!” Red yelled at Harry. “I told you not to fire until I did.”

  Red looked at Gareth, who pointed at Harry.

  “Don’t blame us,” he said. “We only started firin’ when he did.”

  “Was either one of them hit?” Red asked Gareth.

  “Didn’t look like it to me,” the man answered, “but we’ve got them pinned down. Tutt’s got the back covered.”

  “Okay.”

  Red walked to the front of the building they were in, which was right across the street from the cantina. Cutler and Shaw were at the windows with rifles. There were no people on the street. Word had gotten around that two gringos were going to come riding in, and there would be shooting. Tutt had been on the roof of one of the buildings, kee
ping watch. When he saw the two riders, he sounded the alarm, then took up his position behind the cantina.

  Everything was in place for a successful ambush—until Harry got excited.

  “I’m sorry, Red,” Harry said. “I saw that deputy’s back turned and—”

  “I know, Harry.” Red tapped his brother’s cheek lightly, then suddenly slapped him. The sound was like a shot in the room. Harry staggered back, his hand to his face, while the others looked on.

  “I oughtta send you out there!” Red said. “As bait!”

  “Red! You shouldn’t—”

  “Shut up!”

  Red turned to Gareth, who said, “Now what?”

  “We could burn them out,” Red said.

  “You light that place on fire,” Gareth said, “and that whole side of the street’ll go up. That happens, it won’t be long before the whole town burns down.”

  Red scowled.

  “You want that?” Gareth asked.

  “I don’t really care, but . . .”

  “You like this place, don’t ya?” Gareth asked.

  Red shrugged. “It’s a town, like any other town.”

  “It’s where you lie low, though.”

  “Yeah, well, we kill them two Shaye brothers, I won’t be lyin’ low here much longer. And so far I’ve managed to steer clear of the federales. I burn this town down, that won’t be the case.”

  “We kill them two lawmen here, the federales won’t like that, either.”

  “Well,” Red said, “we’ll kill ’em and then get outta here, back to the States. Nobody’ll be the wiser.”

  “The sheriff here won’t tell ’em?”

  “Not a word,” Red said. “Not so long as I pay ’im.”

  “Or kill ’im.”

  “And then we’re back to dealin’ with the federales. Now, I think we’ll—”

  Red was cut off by a voice from across the street.

  “Red! Red Fleming? You there?”

  Red moved to the doorway, looked at the cantina. Nobody was in sight, but that’s where the voice was coming from.

  “Red?”

  “I hear ya, Deputy!” Red called back.

  “I wanna talk.”

  “You’re talkin’!”

  “Meet me outside.”

  “Not a chance!” Red said. “Your brother will drill me.”