Autumn of the Gun

by Compton, Ralph

  “It would,” Wes replied. “It’s the best proposal I’ve heard.”

  “We’ll begin by riding to the different ranches,” said Webb, “and asking for horses. We’ll ask each rancher to contribute what he can, along with necessary hay and grain. The horses will be kept only as long as it takes to lure the outlaws across the river.”

  “While we’re asking for horses to bait the trap,” Wes said, “I believe we should ask for men to ride after the outlaws. I’ve heard there may be thirty or more outlaws in the Sandlin gang. That’s heavy odds, even for a Ranger.”

  “Heavy odds for anybody,” said Webb. “We’ll definitely need help.”

  “I think then you’ll find out just how much folks around here want to be rid of the Sandlin gang,” Wes said. “I’ve heard that Sandlin has a standing reward of a hundred pesos for any man taking up arms against the Sandlin gang. Nobody’s likely to forget how three men were hanged and they hadn’t done anything.”

  “I can see the deck is pretty well stacked against us,” said Webb, “but if nobody’s willing to join us in the fight, we’ll have to risk it alone. The trouble is, we’ll be risking a holding pen full of borrowed horses. If something goes wrong, and they’re lost, there’ll be hell to pay. Not just here, but in Austin.”

  “If there’s just you and me against the entire Sandlin gang,” Wes said, “the very last thing we’ll have to worry about is the horses. We’ll both be shot dead.”

  “Tomorrow,” said Webb, “we’ll start calling on ranches.”

  When Wes returned to Granny Boudleaux’s at the end of the day, he said nothing to anyone about the newly arrived Ranger, and nothing about the plan to lure the Sandlin gang within reach. Renita was still out of sorts with him, and while he wasn’t aware of the reason, he was aware that there was a problem between Nathan and Molly Horrell. Where did it all end, when a man began conducting himself according to the wants of a woman?

  Tom Webb and Wes visited three ranches without gathering a single horse.

  “I need the hosses I got,” said one rancher after another. “I can’t afford to send ’em to a holdin’ pen, to do nothin’ but eat their heads off.”

  “You need the horses you have,” Wes said, “but if the Sandlin gang rode across the river and took them, what would you do?”

  Nobody had an answer to such a question, but they countered it with one of their own.

  “Suppose we let you pen up our stock, and the outlaws gunned you down and took ’em anyway?”

  The second half of the day was as unproductive as the first, and the sun was less than an hour high when Wes and Webb returned to town.

  “I still think your plan’s a good one,” Wes said, “but none of these people are willing to risk even one horse. Where do we go from here?”

  “Tomorrow,” said Webb, “we’ll call on the mayor and the town council. Hell, even a Ranger can’t perform miracles. If the ranchers won’t cooperate, then the town will have to supply the necessary horses.”

  “That I’ll have to see,” Wes said. “They’re quick to give you hell when the outlaws steal and kill, but nobody’s willing to lift a hand to help.”

  After supper, when it was too dark to be seen, Wes went out on the front porch and sat down on the steps. Nathan got up and followed, leaving Molly Horrell glaring at him. He said nothing, taking a seat at the other end of the steps. If there was a conversation, Wes would have to begin it. Eventually he did.

  “How well do you know Harley Stafford?”

  “Pretty well,” Nathan said. “We were in the war together. After that, I lost track of him until I found him again in Deadwood, Dakota Territory.”

  “That’s where Hickok was killed.”

  “Yes,” said Nathan, “I was there. Wild Bill was a friend of mine.”

  “I’ve read about him,” Wes said. “I wondered if any of it was true.”

  “Probably not,” said Nathan. “He liked to laugh, to drink, and to gamble. In Denver, after a saloon fight, I spent the night in jail with him.”

  “Is it true that Jesse James was shot from behind by a member of his own gang?”

  “It’s true,” Nathan said. “Robert Ford did it for the reward.”

  “Whatever Jesse James was,” said Wes, “Robert Ford is still a coward. What became of him?”

  “He’s looked on with contempt everywhere he goes,” Nathan said. “I hear he’s on tour with a stage company, telling how he shot Jesse James, but it’s not working out. He’s been run off the stage just about everywhere.”

  “I read the newspaper stories about Ben Thompson and King Fisher being ambushed,” said Wes. “Did you know either of them?”

  “I knew them both,” Nathan said. “I spent the day with them in Austin, the day before they were killed.”

  “Nobody went after their killers?”

  “I was there the next day,” said Nathan, “but there was no evidence.”

  “But you did try.”

  “Yes,” Nathan said, “I tried.”

  “A man never has enough friends,” said Wes.

  “I agree,” Nathan replied. “Most of mine are dead.”

  “But you have a dog. I’ve seen Granny feeding him.”

  “That’s Empty,” said Nathan. “His Daddy was Cotton Blossom, a blue tick hound from Virginia.”

  As though on cue, Empty trotted up the steps and sat down between them. Suddenly the dog growled deep in his throat. Nathan lunged at Wes and the two of them went off the steps together as lead chunked into the wooden steps where they had been sitting. Despite his poor position, Nathan came up with his Colt spitting lead, firing at the muzzle flashes. Beside him, like an echo, Wes was returning fire. As quickly as it began, it was all over, and the silence seemed all the more intense. Empty had taken refuge in the shadows of the porch, and he trotted down the steps.

  “They’re gone or they’re dead,” said Nathan. “Otherwise, Empty would warn us.”

  “He saved us,” Wes said, “but how did you know?”

  “That was his somebody’s-out-there-with-a-gun growl. He’s saved me more times than I can remember. Come daylight, we’ll go out there and look around.”

  The front door opened and most of the boarders came out, for the hour was early. It was Granny who asked the obvious question.

  “Wes? Nathan? You not be hurt?”

  “We’re all right, Granny,” Nathan said.

  Renita came to Wes and stood beside him, trembling, but Nathan didn’t see Molly. It was a fair conclusion, he decided, that she didn’t care if he was alive or dead, but that did not matter. If he hadn’t been there on the steps with Wes, Empty wouldn’t have been on hand with his warning, and Wes Tremayne would be dead.

  The next morning, after breakfast, Nathan and Wes went outside to search the area from which the gunfire had come.

  “They crept up on foot,” Nathan said, “depending on the darkness.”

  “If they were part of the Sandlin gang,” said Wes, “they had to leave their horses somewhere.”

  “Likely in the livery,” Nathan said. “They probably hoofed it back to town and spent the night at one of the hotels.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” said Wes. “Since I don’t know who’s a member of the gang, they can ride in and out of town as they please.”

  “That further allows them to spy on you, knowing your every move before you make it,” Nathan said.

  “I heard the shooting last night,” said Ranger Tom Webb, “but I had no idea you were the target.”

  “I was,” Wes replied. “Nathan Stone and me were on the porch at the boardinghouse and we both returned fire, but we didn’t get any of them.”

  “Is that the Nathan Stone I’ve heard so much about?”

  “I reckon,” said Wes. “I don’t know of any other.”

  “He’s highly respected among Texas Rangers,” Webb said. “He tracked down and shot the varmint who ambushed Ranger Sage Jennings. I’ve heard he was the third oldest m
an in the Rangers and that before he died, he gave Stone his shield with a three inscribed on the back. Not many men can claim such an honor.”

  Wes digested this new information in silence. At first, he hadn’t thought too highly of Stone for having run away from the Sandlin gang, but after the attack the night before, and having seen Stone under fire, his opinion rapidly changed. Stone had told him only a little about himself—mostly about friends who were dead—and then only when Wes had pressed him. The man was no braggart, and his movements of the night before were testimony to his ability with a revolver. The dog had warned them only split seconds before the shooting had started, yet Stone had been able to save himself and Wes. Seconds before Wes had gotten off a shot, despite Stone’s disadvantage, he had come up shooting. There was all the evidence Wes Tremayne needed to believe that Nathan Stone had walked with the likes of Wild Bill Hickok, Ben Thompson, and King Fisher.

  “I reckon we’ll know this morning if our plan using horses for outlaw bait is going to be accepted,” said Webb.

  “I hope the town will go along with it,” Wes replied, coming back to their problem at hand. “It’s our only hope, short of riding the border again.”

  Wes and Webb began by calling on the mayor, Daniel Hutchins, who handled their request in the manner of all politicians.

  “You’ll have to take your request before the town council,” said Hutchins. “The next meeting is May 20.”

  El Paso, Texas May 20, 1884

  There were twelve men on the town council, eleven of whom were present. Tom Webb took just five minutes explaining their proposal, and it required just five minutes more for the council to kill the idea.

  “We simply don’t have the money,” said Mayor Hutchins.

  “I reckon you didn’t know that when we talked to you a month ago,” Wes said.

  “We are following procedure,” said Hutchins stiffly.

  “Maybe you don’t understand what we’re proposing,” Tom Webb said. “All we want is maybe fifty horses we can keep in a holding pen to attract these outlaws. Nobody’s asking you to buy these horses. They can be borrowed or rented stock, to be returned when the need for them is done.”

  “You do not understand the magnitude of what you are proposing,” said Hutchins. “If we have no money to actually buy these animals, neither do we have the money to replace them should they be lost.”

  “You’re considering the possibility that, despite our efforts, the outlaws may actually take the horses,” Webb said.

  “Of course we are,” said Hutchins. “By your own admission, you have been unable to deputize men who will assist you. We hear that the Sandlin gang may consist of thirty or more men. Who are the two of you to stand against such a number?”

  “The fact that the two of us are willing to take a stand should count for something,” Wes said.

  “Oh, it does,” said Hutchins, “and don’t think us ungrateful. But we are practical men, and there is the obvious risk that both of you will die, leaving us with the awesome responsibility of paying for the stolen horses.”

  “We understand,” Wes said. “The possibility of us being shot dead is of considerable less importance than how you hombres would pay for the stolen horses.”

  “Your sarcasm is unwarranted, Mr. Tremayne,” said Hutchins. “Your request will be considered again on November 20, when the budget for the next fiscal year is proposed.”

  “That’s six months away,” Tom Webb said. “That’s time enough for a lot of stock to be stolen, and men to die.”

  “The subject is closed until November 20,” said Hutchins.

  “I’m not surprised,” Wes said, when they were again on the street. “Those varmints all come up for reelection November 13.”

  “They’re gambling there’ll be no more rustling and killing between now and then,” said Webb. “That could unseat the lot of them.”

  “That’s a comforting thought,” Wes said, “but it’s of no help to us now.”

  “Too bad,” said Webb. “I don’t know how else to get those outlaws across the border so that we can get our hands on them.”

  “I do,” Wes said. “I’ll ride over there and shoot a couple of them. The rest will follow me anywhere.”

  “I can only remind you of what you once reminded me,” said Webb. “Legally, we’re not allowed across the border.”

  “So I’ll cross illegally,” Wes said. “Will the Sandlin gang call on the Rangers and have me arrested?”

  “No,” said Webb, “they’ll do exactly what you expect. They’ll go after you with fire in their eyes and guns in their hands. But how do you plan to find them? An entire army can hide in the wilds of Mexico and never be rooted out.”

  “I’ll let them know I’m coming, and let them find me,” Wes said. “Nathan Stone gave me an idea. He said Sandlin’s bunch probably has spies right here in town. I’ll spread the word that I’m going after them, so they’ll be looking for me.”

  “My God,” said Webb, “with that kind of sand, you should be a Texas Ranger.”

  “I was,” Wes said, “but I gave it up. Now I can do what I must.”

  “You’ll scare hell out of Hutchins and the town council. They’ll be expecting trouble from Washington if you’re caught or killed.”

  “It’s up to me to see that I’m not caught or killed,” Wes said. “What I aim to do will be done long before the next meeting of the town council.”

  Nobody had to warn Wes Tremayne of the hazards of what he proposed. While planting word of his intentions in various saloons for benefit of the outlaws, he carefully avoided speaking of his plans at Granny Boudleaux’s. Better that none of them knew what he proposed to do until it was done. He allowed the outlaws a week to learn of his coming, and when he rode out at dawn, only Tom Webb was aware of his dangerous mission.

  Old Mexico June 2, 1884

  Crossing the Rio Grande, Wes rode eastward for what he believed was ten miles. He dared not get too far into this wild country, lest he be trapped, for the outlaws knew the land, while he did not. He rode carefully, watching his backtrail and the terrain ahead, but saw nobody. Finally he wheeled his horse and rode back the way he had come, and reaching the point where he had crossed the river, he followed it westward a dozen miles. Still he saw no riders, no evidence that the outlaws had taken the bait. Frustrated, he rode on across the river, and on the Texas side found Tom Webb waiting.

  “I can’t understand it,” Wes said. “I gave them a week to get the word.”

  “They got it,” said Webb, “but must have suspected a trap. We’ll have to be a lot more convincing than that.”

  But others had gotten the word as well. Renita and Wes had a falling-out all over again, while Molly Horrell regarded Nathan as though she suspected he’d had a hand in it. Finally, Wes was called before the town council, where he was censured for violation of federal law.

  “You could well have caused an international incident,” said Mayor Hutchins, “leaving the town of El Paso liable for penalties from Washington. How dare you represent us in such a manner?”

  “This is your lucky day,” Wes said, getting to his feet. “As of now, I’m through representing this town in any manner.”

  Removing his badge, he dropped it into a pitcher of water on the mayor’s desk. Then he walked out. Tom Webb, who hadn’t attended the meeting, was waiting for him.

  “You have the look of an hombre that’s just told somebody to go to hell,” said Webb.

  “Thirteen of them,” Wes replied. “The mayor and his coyote council.”

  “You have the right idea,” said Webb. “They ask for help, but they do nothing, and then tie our hands so we can do nothing. I’m riding back to Austin and telling them what’s going on here. The Rangers can take me off this assignment or take my badge.”

  “I’m finished,” Wes said. “The Sandlin gang can have El Paso for breakfast as far as I’m concerned.”

  There was excitement at Granny Boudleaux’s when Wes broke the
news.

  “Now that you can’t be accused of running from the Sandlin gang,” Renita said, “there is no reason why we can’t go somewhere else.”

  “No,” said Wes, “I reckon they’ve given up on me.”

  After supper, for the first time in weeks, Molly Horrell sought out Nathan, and she had a question for him.

  “Now that the danger from the Sandlin gang is past, can’t we leave here?”

  “I suppose we can,” Nathan said.

  But the running feud with the Sandlin gang wasn’t over. A week after Wes had quit and a new town marshal—Buchanan Reynolds—had been appointed by the mayor and town council, the outlaws struck again. They rode through town shooting out windows, and before they left, they took every horse from the horse barn near the wagon yard. The new town marshal hadn’t fired a shot. Short tempers returned to Granny Boudleaux’s as Renita and Molly became more intense in their efforts to persuade Wes and Nathan to leave El Paso.

  “No,” Wes said. “I aim to stay awhile. Through Christmas, anyway.”

  The town remained quiet, and two days before Christmas, Wes and Renita were riding to the general store. Granny Boudleaux and Molly Horrell followed in a buckboard, needing to replenish supplies for the holiday. There were several vacant store buildings on the edge of town, and from the flat roof of one, a rifle cut loose. The first slug caught Wes in the upper left arm, while the second stung his cheek. In an instant, he was off his horse and running toward the store building. Two more slugs kicked up dirt ahead of Wes before panic seized the bushwhacker and he tried to escape. But he had waited too long. The roof sloped toward the back of the building, and just as the killer dropped to the ground, Wes shot him. He tried to raise the Winchester but could not. He stumbled back and fell, the weapon still clutched in his dead hands. Wes returned to his horse, blood dripping from his left elbow.

  “You’re hurt!” Renita cried.

  “Nothing serious,” said Wes. “I’ll have the doc patch me up.”