Autumn of the Gun

by Compton, Ralph

  “I’m obliged,” said Sheriff Green, “but we won’t be needing your testimony.”

  “What about the girl, Kate McDowell?”

  “Oh, hell,” the sheriff said, “I don’t want to talk about it. With Will Blackburn dead, and the bank’s money recovered, the judge turned the girl loose. She lit out this morning, soon as I let her out of jail.”

  “Well,” Nathan said, “maybe our luck will hold, and we’ll never see her again.”

  Nathan rode south toward New Mexico. El Paso, as he recalled, would be something more than five hundred miles. He had hopes that he might take up residence in some small New Mexican town, allowing him to slip into El Paso occasionally without having to fight the Sandlin gang. Riding late, he reached Pueblo. He knew the dispatcher from his days with the AT & SF, so he and Empty were allowed to spend the night in the bunkhouse at the railroad terminal. After an early breakfast, Nathan rode slightly southwest, knowing he would soon reach the Rio Grande and that he could follow the river directly to Santa Fe. He reached the river early in the day, as the sun bore down with a vengeance. It was hot, even for Colorado.

  “Empty,” said Nathan, “I’m goin’ to picket this horse, strip, and dunk myself in that old river.”

  Empty lit out downstream, and Nathan waded into the water. It wasn’t even waist deep, and it was far from cold. He leaned over and ducked his head under the water, and was knuckling it from his eyes when he saw the girl. Kate McDowell had gathered up his hat, boots, and clothes, and stood there grinning at him.

  “Damn you,” Nathan shouted, “leave my clothes alone.”

  “Make me,” she shouted back.

  But Nathan had an ace in the hole. Snarling like a rabid lobo, Empty sprang at Kate, tumbling her down the bank and into the river. Nathan wasted no time getting to her, and she came after him like a spitting, clawing devil. She was unbelievably strong, and Nathan was at a disadvantage because he was stark naked. She raked him with her fingernails, and in the shallow water, managed to drive a knee into his groin. He seized the front of her shirt, and her attempts to break loose ripped all the buttons off. Taking a wild swing, she drove her right fist into Nathan’s nose, and for a moment the pain and the blood all but blinded him. Stumbling backward he fell and his head went under. Seizing his hair, she lifted his head clear of the water. He came up sputtering and choking and glared at her, and she let go of him. When he managed to get to his knees, she laughed.

  “Damn it,” he choked, “why didn’t you just go ahead and drown me?”

  “You wouldn’t have been much use to me dead,” she replied.

  “By God,” he snarled, “you’ve got more brass than a whorehouse bed. I don’t aim to be of any use to you, alive or dead.”

  Ignoring her, he fished around in the water until he found his boots. Pouring the water from them, he threw them out on the river bank. His hat, trousers, and shirt were floating downstream, and he went after them. When he neared the river bank, exhausted, he couldn’t believe his eyes. She had removed her boots and her mutilated shirt, and was stepping out of her dripping Levi’s.

  “Let’s call a truce,” she said. “At least until we dry out.” Too angry for words, Nathan just glared at her. He seized his sodden trousers, shook the clinging leaves and grass from them, and began getting dressed.

  CHAPTER 15

  Wes Tremayne was fully aware of his precarious position. Whatever else these six men were, they were obviously killers. He dropped his Winchester and slowly lifted his Colt from the holster and let it fall.

  “Now,” said his captor, “walk straight ahead and don’t do nothin’ foolish.”

  Wes walked into the outlaw camp, and the five outlaws got to their feet.

  “Found this varmint spyin’ on the camp,” said the man behind Wes. “I would of shot him, but he don’t look old enough to be the law.”

  “Hell, Carlyle,” one of the men said, “he ain’t old enough to shave. You should of looked around some. His mama may be out there lookin’ for him.”

  The outlaw who appeared to be the leader of the band carried two Colts in a tied-down buscadera rig, with a third under his belt. It was he who spoke.

  “Moody, you and Carlyle thong his hands and feet until we decide what to do with him. Doak, you and Sellers find his horse and backtrail him. He may not be alone.”

  “He ain’t of no use to us, Pierce,” said one of the outlaws. “Why not just shoot him and be done with it?”

  “By God, Burris, I’m givin’ the orders,” Pierce said.

  One of the other outlaws, Moody, joined Carlyle, and Wes soon had his hands bound behind him. Carlyle shoved him down on the ground near the two women, and then bound his ankles. He was left there with nothing to do but study the captive women. They had not been bound. One of them was no more than a girl, perhaps in her late teens. Her eyes were on Wes, while the older woman appeared not to see him. Her bonnet hung to one side, and the front of her dress had been ripped to the waist. Embarrassed, Wes tried to turn away, but he couldn’t ignore the woman.

  “Ma’am,” he said, speaking to the older woman, “have either of you been hurt?”

  The distraught woman stared ahead, saying nothing. In a trembling voice, it was the girl who finally spoke.

  “They ... they murdered my father, right before our eyes. Mother fought them and they ... beat her ... humiliated her ...”

  “Did they...?”

  Wes couldn’t bring himself to say the word, but the girl understood. She blushed, but she was game.

  “No, but... they... you can see what... they did... but... something happened. She can’t.. won’t talk... not even to me ...”

  Wes thought he understood. While at the orphanage, he had witnessed a brutal fight between two older boys. One of them had been armed with a knife and had mutilated his opponent to the extent that a female teacher had fainted. For many days she had remained in shock, unable to speak.

  “She’s in shock,” said Wes. “The mind kind of closes, shuttin’ out the painful things we wish we had never seen.”

  “I ... I didn’t know,” the girl said. “I didn’t know... what to do ... what I should do ...”

  “Nothing,” said Wes, “as long as it’s light, and they’re watching. But we must escape or they’ll kill us, and I don’t aim for that to happen. I’m Wes Tremayne.”

  “We’re the Tuttles,” the girl replied. “My mother’s name is Emily, and I’m Rebecca.”

  “Rebecca,” said Wes, “if they let us live until dark—if you can free my hands—I’ll get us out of this.”

  “Oh, if you only could,” she whispered. “They have whiskey, and I . . . I heard them say they have plans for. . . Mother and me.”

  “I reckon they’ll have to be close to drunk to do ... what they got in mind,” said Wes. “Get me loose . . . let me get my hands on a gun... and I’ll see that you come to no harm.”

  “I will,” Rebecca whispered. “Oh, somehow I will.”

  Doak and Sellers returned, and Wes sighed. They had found his horse.

  “We backtrailed him all the way back into Texas,” said Doak. “Nobody’s with him.”

  “Well, now,” Pierce said, “it’s time he answered some questions. Who are you, kid, and why was you follerin’ us?”

  “I’m Wes Tremayne, and I wasn’t followin’ you. I was ridin’ this way when I found I was near your camp. I wanted to see where you were, so I could pass you by and keep on riding.”

  “Haw, haw, haw,” said Carlyle. “This just ain’t your day. You should of knowed, when you seen that dead hombre, you was gettin’ in over your head. Now there ain’t but one way to silence you permanent.”

  “Carlyle,” Pierce snapped, “shut your mouth.”

  Wes didn’t know what to make of the situation. Four of the outlaws mounted up and rode out, leaving Sellers and Carlyle in camp.

  “This could be our chance,” said Wes quietly.

  “No talkin’,” Carlyle shouted.


  The two outlaws fixed their eyes on their three captives, and Wes was forced to keep his silence lest he arouse their suspicions. Rebecca dared not attempt to free his hands as long as their captors watched them so closely. Then Wes had an idea.

  “Hey,” he shouted, “I’m thirsty. One of you bring me some water.”

  “Go to hell,” said Carlyle. “You got your hands tied behind you, and I ain’t about to hold the cup while you drink. I ain’t your mama.”

  “Tie my hands in front of me, so I can hold the cup myself,” Wes said. “Unless both of you are afraid I’ll escape, with you lookin’ at me.”

  “Carlyle,” said Sellers, “keep the mouthy bastard covered. I’ll tie his hands in front long enough for him to wet his whistle.”

  Sellers loosed the rawhide thongs. Wes allowed his wrists to be bound in front of him and Sellers brought him a tin cup of water. Wes made no move to drink the water until Sellers had backed away and joined Carlyle. He then raised the cup to his lips, pretending to drink, while spilling most of the water on his rawhide bonds. When the cup was empty, he set it down and rolled over on his side, his back to the outlaws.

  “Git up, Sellers,” said Carlyle, “and tie his hands behind him. This was your idea.”

  “He ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Sellers said.

  But Wes was working his wrists against the wet rawhide, and it began to give. There was a chance the rest of the outlaws would return before dark and simply shoot him. If he managed to free himself from his bonds, there was still the women to consider, and his odds against six armed men were impossibly high. While Rebecca was willing to help him, she was being watched. He must free himself and get possession of a gun. Time was running out.

  “Sellers,” said Carlyle, “you better tie that hombre’s hands behind his back. If Pierce comes back and finds him like that, he’ll skin you.”

  “I’m gettin’ damned tired of Pierce orderin’ me around,” Sellers said. “You’d think this is the army and he’s got all the brass.”

  But Wes could hear him coming, and he managed to free his hands of the stretched rawhide. Wes moved like a striking rattler, seizing Sellers’s legs and slamming him to the ground. Sellers had the wind knocked out of him, allowing Wes time to grab his revolver. He swung the weapon as hard as he could against the outlaw’s head, and Sellers went limp. Carlyle fired, but he had a poor target, for Sellers’s limp body was between him and Wes. Though Carlyle missed, when Wes Tremayne fired, the slug went true. Carlyle dropped his gun and, stumbling back against a tree, clung to it for support. But he had been hard hit, and he slid to the ground, where he lay unmoving. Wes was working frantically at the thongs that bound his ankles.

  “Oh, what can I do to help?” Rebecca cried frantically.

  “Try to get through to your mother,” said Wes. “We have to make a run for it. You have only as long as it takes me to saddle the horses.”

  “But she... she doesn’t ride,” Rebecca said.

  “She’s going to, this once,” said Wes. “Both of you will ride one horse, and it’ll be up to you to see that she doesn’t fall off. I’ll have to be free to watch our backtrail.”

  Sellers was beginning to stir, so, using the thongs that had bound his own ankles, Wes tied the outlaw’s hands behind his back. Quickly Wes retrieved his own Colt and Winchester and saddled his horse. To his dismay, he found Emily Tuttle unchanged, despite all of Rebecca’s pleading.

  “Leave her be,” said Wes. “I’ll saddle a horse, and when you’re mounted, I’ll lift her up. You’ll have to hold her in place so she won’t fall.”

  Rebecca Tuttle said nothing, but she was game. There were no tears, and she didn’t seem afraid. When Wes had the horse saddled, he helped Rebecca to mount, but when he took Emily’s arm, all hell broke loose. The woman fought him like a crazed animal; having no choice, he knocked her unconscious.

  “Did you have to do that?” Rebecca asked angrily.

  “No,” said Wes. “I could have left her to the outlaws. Help me get her astraddle of the horse. We may not have much time.”

  Neither of the women were dressed for riding, and their long skirts were hiked well above their knees.

  “Just hold her in place,” Wes said. “I’ll take the reins of the horse.”

  Wes led out, riding south. He believed the four outlaws had business in Mobeetie, and he dared not ride in that direction, lest he meet them returning. He quickly learned his fears were well founded. There was a thud of horses’ hooves and shouting close behind them.

  “They’re coming after us!” Rebecca cried fearfully.

  “Here,” said Wes. “Take the reins of the horse and keep going. Maybe I can slow ’em down. I’ll catch up to you.”

  “Oh, please be careful,” she said. “There are so many of them.”

  “Maybe not for long,” said Wes. Swiftly he drew the Winchester from the saddle boot and led his horse into a concealing thicket.

  “We’re gainin’ on ’em,” Pierce shouted. “Spread out.”

  Just for a second, Pierce was visible, and Wes fired. As the outlaw slid over the rump of the horse, Wes fired at the next rider.

  “Hell’s fire,” one of the outlaws shouted. “He’s shot Pierce and Moody. Get him!”

  “Get him yourself,” came an answering shout. “He’s kilt two men with two shots.”

  There was the sound of retreating hoofbeats, and Wes couldn’t believe his good fortune. Leading his horse, he continued in the direction the two women had gone. He was about to mount when the animal nickered, and from somewhere ahead, there was an answer. Groaning inwardly, he had his suspicions confirmed when he came upon the two women, neither of whom were on the horse.

  “I tried to hold her,” Rebecca said, “but she took to fighting me and slid off. I just couldn’t get her back on the horse. She’s too much for me.”

  Emily Tuttle lay on the ground, her volumnous skirt up to her armpits, her mad eyes on Wes.

  “It’s ... it’s like she’s lost her mind,” said Rebecca. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m goin’ to tie her hands and feet,” Wes said, “and tote her belly down in front of me. Then we’ll circle around and try to get back to Mobeetie without another fight with what’s left of that bunch of outlaws.”

  “I heard the shooting,” said Rebecca. “Did you... ?”

  “I got two of them,” Wes said. “The others may have given up on us.”

  “That was the bravest thing I ever saw,” she said. “How can I ever thank you?”

  “You don’t owe me any thanks,” said Wes. “They were aimin’ to kill me and I saved my own hide. We still have to get you and Miss Emily to the sheriff at Mobeetie, or to Fort Elliott. If nothing else, the army can see that you’re taken back to ...”

  “Ohio,” the girl finished. “But we have nothing there. My father’s family disowned him when he sold everything we owned to come west.”

  “Your mother—”

  “Is an orphan,” said Rebecca. “Her parents are dead, and I’ve never heard her speak of anyone else. I’m afraid she’s lost her mind. What am I going to do with her?”

  “I don’t know,” Wes said. “You said your father sold out in Ohio. Didn’t he leave you something?”

  “Why do you think those men killed him?” she snapped, exasperated. “He had all our funds sent to the bank in Dodge City. We took the train that far, and after he closed out our account with the bank, he bought the wagon, teams, and supplies.”

  “The outlaws took your measure and followed you from there,” said Wes. “If all this hadn’t happened, where were you going?”

  “South Texas. Father had dreams of owning a cattle ranch.”

  Emily Tuttle had calmed down, the madness having gone out of her eyes. They now seemed dull, uncaring.

  “Ma’am,” said Wes, his hand on Emily Tuttle’s arm, “you’ll have to ride the horse.”

  “No,” she said. “Albert will bring the wagon.”

  “My
father’s name was Albert,” Rebecca whispered.

  “Ma’am,” said Wes, as kindly as he could, “Albert’s dead.”

  “No,” she screamed, “no!”

  She threw herself at him, but he got out of her way. She lay face down, sobbing with an intensity that shocked Wes. Chills crept up his spine, and when he looked at Rebecca, it seemed she was about to break from the strain. Tears crept down her cheeks, leaving the look in her eyes as forlorn as that in the distraught Emily’s.

  “Ma’am,” said Wes, “if you won’t ride the horse, we’ll have to leave you here alone.”

  While he was unable to explain to Rebecca what he had in mind, she quickly caught on and did her part. Wes helped her to mount the horse, and he then mounted his own. Not looking back, they rode away, quickly losing themselves in surrounding brush.

  “No,” Emily Tuttle cried, struggling to her feet, “don’t leave me!”

  Wes reined up and dismounted. When the frightened woman reached them, he helped her up onto his horse. He then mounted behind her and they began their roundabout journey back to Mobeetie.

  Ignoring the brazen woman who had just removed her sodden clothes, Nathan dragged on his still dripping boots. Without fully turning his back on her, he cautiously made his way to his horse, mounted, and rode away. Kate McDowell—if that was her name—had tried to kill him. It seemed that, with Will Blackburn dead, she had illusions about some kind of relationship between herself and Nathan Stone. He shuddered and rode south along the Rio Grande as Empty trotted along behind.

  Santa Fe, New Mexico July 8, 1880

  Nathan found a room for the night and then went looking for a mercantile. There he bought several pair of Levi’s, new shirts and socks, and a tin of grease. Thanks to the vengeful woman who threw his clothes into the river, his boots must be thoroughly greased lest they stiffen beyond endurance. Nathan sat on the hotel bed, working the grease into the leather of the stiffened boots, while Empty sat near the window watching.

  “Thank God you jumped her, old son,” said Nathan, speaking to the dog. “I believe she was about to ride away with my boots and clothes, leavin’ my jaybird naked out there on the plains.”