Desolation Wells

by Colin Bainbridge

  The tracks made by Rafe and his gunnies had faded and it was hard to be sure they were still following their marks, especially in the dark. They seemed to be heading towards an impassable barrier which marked the far end of the narrow valley and Westoe wasn’t the only one to think they must have gone wrong. They carried on a little further then Snelgrove stopped. He kneeled down, peering closely at the ground.

  ‘Look here,’ he whispered. The others bent down to see. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘I ain’t no expert in readin’ sign,’ Howe replied, ‘but I’d say they were ridin’ single-file at this point.’

  ‘Yeah. And the way I see it, that means there must be a passage through that rock wall that only allows one rider through at a time. We just can’t see it from here.’

  There was silence for a few moments while the others considered the import of his words. It was Westoe who voiced their concerns.

  ‘If that’s the case,’ he said, ‘It would make an ideal place for an ambush.’

  ‘They could be waitin’ for us right now,’ Drabble said. Barnet looked all around.

  ‘Do you figure they could have seen us already?’ he murmured.

  ‘I don’t reckon so,’ Snelgrove replied. ‘We did the right thing leavin’ our horses behind and it’s real dark. In any case, it doesn’t matter because we ain’t gonna fall into their trap.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ Bunch whispered. Snelgrove glanced up at the hillside. ‘How are you boys for climbin’,’ he said.

  ‘Looks pretty steep,’ Barnet retorted.

  ‘The only alternative is to go back, and I don’t think any of us want to do that,’ Westoe said. ‘At least let’s give it a try.’ Snelgrove looked at the rest of them.

  ‘We’re with Westoe,’ Sumter said. The sheriff nodded.

  ‘OK,’ he said, ‘Then we’re agreed. But remember not to make a sound. We’re doin’ too much talkin’. If we’re right about this, Rafe’s boys aren’t far away.’

  At the mention of Rafe’s name Snelgrove glanced towards Stroup. Since commencing the ride he had hardly spoken. He was standing just a little apart from the others, his head slightly drooping. He had no time for further reflection, however, because Snelgrove, leading the way, had already begun the climb.

  It was a difficult business, made all the harder by the darkness and the over-riding need to keep silence. At first they followed Snelgrove’s route, but soon they spread out, each man seeking his own way up. They made progress in a crab-wise fashion, bent over on all fours and taking advantage of whatever hand and foot holds they could find. Although the ground was generally firm, it was still difficult at times to prevent their feet slipping from under them. At various stages one of them took a slide but was able to arrest his fall by clinging on to patches of brush or rocks. It was only when they began to approach the top that they were presented with a serious difficulty. What had not been obvious by looking up from the valley floor was an escarpment of seemingly sheer rock surmounting the hillside. Gathering their breath, they looked along it, but at no point did it seem to offer an easier way up.

  ‘Let’s follow it a little while and see if there’s a way up,’ Snelgrove whispered. They began to scramble along the hillside and after following the line of the escarpment for a little way Snelgrove held up his hand.

  ‘There might be a path here,’ he said. ‘Looks like there’s been a rock fall sometime.’

  ‘I figure it’s as good a place as any,’ Barnet remarked.

  Without further ado Snelgrove began to pick his way among the fallen rocks and the others followed. At first the going was relatively easy, but as they climbed higher the rocks grew fewer in number and there were bald areas of earth and scree. They had to reach to find footholds and carrying their rifles became a real problem. Still they managed the ascent. At one point Westoe, poised awkwardly on a narrow projection, looked down into the dark depths of the valley below. He felt a sudden surge of vertigo and pressed himself hard against the cliff face. In a moment it had passed. Taking a deep breath, he reached out for the next hand-hold and levered himself up. He had lost track of where he was so it came as something of a surprise when he heard Snelgrove’s voice coming from just overhead.

  ‘Swing your leg over to the left. That’s it. Now grab hold of that tree root and pull yourself up.’

  Almost blindly he did as Snelgrove suggested and in another moment felt the sheriff’s strong arm seize hold of him as he was hauled over the edge of the escarpment. He lay for a few moments, getting his breath back, and then raised himself to his feet. In addition to the sheriff, Bunch and Barnet had already made it to the top and with some assistance from them, the others scrambled up.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to do that too often,’ Barnet muttered.

  They took a few minutes to recover from their exertions before looking around. It was hard to distinguish details, but they had come out on the crest of a ridge. Fortunately, the ground on the other side descended at a much gentler angle to the floor of another valley which was shrouded in darkness. Somewhat to their surprise, Snelgrove produced a pair of field-glasses and clapped them to his eyes. After a few moments he put them down again.

  ‘I think we’re in luck,’ he said.

  ‘Can you see something?’ Westoe asked.

  ‘Here, take a look yourself.’ At first Westoe could not make anything out, but when Snelgrove directed him he finally discerned the shadowy outlines of some buildings.

  ‘I figure that must be the outlaw roost we’re lookin’ for,’ the sheriff commented. ‘I don’t see what else they could be.’ He passed the glasses around for the others to take a look. When they had done so he swept the surrounding hillsides.

  ‘There’s no way of bein’ sure, but I think I can see what might be the entrance to the valley. If Rafe and his boys have set out guards, they’ll be over in that direction.’

  ‘What are we gonna do?’ Bunch asked.

  ‘What we came for,’ Snelgrove replied. ‘Bring those varmints to justice. This is the ideal time to creep up on ’em unawares. We should be safe from detection so far as any guards might be concerned, but remember to keep silence – especially when we get close to those buildings. Is everybody OK?’ The others nodded in assent. ‘Right,’ he muttered. ‘Let’s go.’

  With a final look about them, they commenced the descent. Although the hillside was quite steep, it was a lot easier going down than it had been coming up. The hill was dotted with vegetation and the lower slopes were clothed with trees. They were soon among them and the darkness became even denser while the sound of rustling leaves seemed to emphasis the menacing silence. They pushed onwards till the trees thinned and they had their first clear view of the buildings they had seen from the top of the hill. They consisted of a number of run-down shacks and cabins with a corral containing a number of horses.

  ‘There aren’t as many horses as I would have expected,’ Snelgrove whispered.

  ‘That’s probably because some of the outlaws are waitin’ at the pass to ambush us,’ Westoe replied.

  ‘Let’s hope you’re right.’ Snelgrove didn’t take much time weighing up the situation. He had a rough plan already formed and circumstances seemed to be playing into their hands.

  ‘Here’s what we do,’ he said. ‘Bunch, get over to the corral and get ready to turn the horses loose if I fire a shot. The rest of us will work our way around to the front of the cabins and take cover.’ He glanced at Stroup. ‘Remember, we’re here in the cause of justice. I don’t want any unnecessary bloodshed so I’m gonna challenge them to come out with their hands up. I’m hopin’ that’s what they’ll do. If not and they start shootin’, we’ll respond but try to avoid causin’ too many casualties. Is everybody happy with that?’

  ‘Sounds OK to me,’ Barnet responded for the rest of them. ‘We’ll still be outnumbered, but we have the element of surprise. With any luck, we’ll catch ’em cold.’

  ‘There’s still the little matter of
those guards up on the hillside,’ Sumter said. ‘If we have to start shootin’, they’ll soon be on their way.’ Snelgrove smiled grimly.

  ‘Then let’s hope we don’t have to do that,’ he replied. He exchanged glances with the others. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it.’

  They were about to move when Stroup unexpectedly spoke. ‘Let me go on alone,’ he murmured. The sheriff looked at him in some surprise.

  ‘Why would you want to do that?’ he said.

  ‘Despite everythin’ that’s happened, Rafe is still my son. Maybe I can talk to him. Maybe I can get him to see sense and give himself up.’

  ‘I don’t see it,’ Snelgrove replied. ‘You’d only be puttin’ yourself at risk.’

  ‘And us too,’ Drabble remarked. ‘You seem to be forgettin’ it was Rafe who led the attack on the Barbed S.’

  ‘I don’t care about the risk,’ Stroup replied. ‘I’m past all that. All I want to do is make one last appeal to him. Surely it’s worth a try?’

  ‘I don’t like it. You’d be makin’ yourself a sittin’ target,’ Snelgrove replied. ‘We’ve got a plan. Let’s stick to it.’

  There was a moment’s intense silence and then suddenly Stroup turned and began to run towards the nearest shack. Snelgrove tried to grab him as he went past, but the rancher was too quick. Snelgrove’s reactions were instant.

  ‘He’ll have to take his chances. Now do as we said.’

  Instantly they sprang into action, slipping away into the shadows and seeking for the best cover available. Glancing back, Westoe could see that Stroup had ceased running and seemed to have come to a halt. After a few moments he began moving again, but this time his stride was slow and purposeful. It gave them a chance to get into position before Stroup appeared in the open before the nearest cabin. For a brief moment Westoe considered taking a stand beside him, but he quickly put it aside as quixotic. Whatever transpired, there was no room for gestures. He glanced across at where his companions had taken shelter and then raised his rifle.

  Stroup continued walking and didn’t halt till he was right in front of the cabin. The windows were dark and there was no way of knowing whether it was occupied or not. Westoe licked his lips. His throat felt dry and he was half expecting a blaze of fire to erupt from within the cabin. Instead the silence seemed to deepen and he almost started in fright when Stroup suddenly began to shout.

  ‘Rafe!’ he called. ‘It’s me, your father. I only want to speak to you. If you’re in there watchin’ me, then look; I’m throwin’ away my rifle.’ He raised the weapon and then hurled it from him.

  ‘It’s not too late,’ he continued. ‘Whatever you’ve done, whatever you’ve got youself into, it can be put right. You can still walk away from this. If it’s the ranch you want, you can have it. It’s yours. It doesn’t matter to me.’ He paused, as if seeking for the words that would finally get through to his son, but before he could do so he received his answer when flame suddenly appeared in an upstairs window and the shattering roar of a gun split the night. Westoe saw Stroup spin and fall to the ground. In almost the same moment a shot rang out in reply and instantly the whole place exploded in a fury of gunfire. The noise was deafening as lead whined through the air.

  Westoe was firing rapidly while at the same time trying to aim his shots at the windows of the cabin. As far as he could make out, all the shooting was coming from the one cabin; the others remained shrouded in darkness. He could only assume that whoever had taken the shot at Stroup had thought he was alone. The question which worried him was whether that person had been Rafe. The rifle was hot in his hands as he paused to reload, and as he did so he heard fresh sounds and then the first horses came crashing round the sides of the building. He was momentarily surprised till he remembered it was Bunch’s job to set them loose from the corral. Stabs of flame were continuing to issue from the windows of the cabin, but the rattle of gunfire seemed to have subsided. Smoke was billowing across the yard. He made another effort to see what had happened to Stroup, but it was impossible to make anything out clearly. He continued to concentrate his fire on the front of the cabin and was taken by surprise when the sounds of shooting began to resound from the rear of the cabin. It took him a moment to work out that it must be coming from Bunch, but it sounded like more than one gun was involved. How was Bunch doing back there? Then he guessed that the relaxation in the intensity of gunfire issuing from the cabin might be because the gunnies were attempting to make their getaway from the back. He glanced along the line to where stabs of flame indicated where Snelgrove and the others were carrying on the fusillade, and then began to slither away in order to get round the cabin and lend his support to Bunch.

  Shots whistled overhead, but he was soon relatively clear and began to run, doubled over, parallel to the side wall of the cabin. He reached the back of the building and poked his head round the corner. Horses were milling about, providing him with cover. He stepped away from the shelter of the wall, conscious that he was putting himself in some danger not only from Rafe and his boys, but also from Bunch who might mistake him for one of them. As if to confirm his fears, as he made his way towards the corral two figures suddenly came into view and he swerved as their guns spat lead. Another shot rang out from nearby and, as one of the gunnies fell and as the other took to his heels, Bunch himself stepped out from the shelter of some bushes. He turned to Westoe.

  ‘You’re lucky I got good eyes,’ he said. He took Westoe’s arm and drew him into cover. ‘Take a look,’ he said. ‘I think we’ve got them on the run.’ Westoe peered through the bushes. He could see figures moving around in seeming confusion.

  ‘They’re lookin’ for their horses,’ Bunch said. ‘I reckon they’ve been drinkin’. Snelgrove sure sized the situation up right.’

  Even as he spoke a couple of them succeeded in springing aboard two loose horses and began to ride away. The space in front of the corral was emptying as the remaining gunslicks made their getaway, some of them, it seemed, on foot.

  ‘Wait here,’ Westoe said. ‘Carry on shootin’.’

  ‘Why, where are you goin’?’

  ‘To check inside the cabin.’

  He took a moment to survey the scene and then broke from cover. He quickly regained the angle of the building but, concentrating on what he was doing, he barely noticed a loose horse till it was almost upon him. Desperately, he tried to press himself against the wall of the cabin but he couldn’t avoid a collision as the horse smashed into his side and the rifle was torn from his grasp. He fell to the ground, and in almost the same moment heard the boom of a rifle shot. The horse let out a loud whinny of pain as it took the bullet which had been meant for him but continued to plough on. As he struggled to raise himself to his knees, he saw the shadowy outline of a man with an upraised rifle bearing down on him. He struggled to support himself on his arm but it gave way beneath him and he fell to the ground again. He realised it must have been damaged in the collision with the horse and that for the moment he was helpless as the man with the rifle stood over him. He looked up over the barrel of the rifle that was pointed at his chest and felt a stir of recognition.

  ‘You’re Rafe Stroup,’ he murmured. The man’s face creased in a wolfish grin. ‘Right here and now, that ain’t any concern of yours,’ he replied.

  Westoe’s only faint chance was to try and postpone the moment when Rafe’s finger would close on the trigger, and he was desperately thinking of a reply when Rafe suddenly bent down and peered closely at him. His features changed and the wolfish grin became an angry snarl.

  ‘I think I know who you are,’ he rapped. ‘You’re the one that started all this.’ He peered closely again. ‘And if I’m not mistaken, you’re the same one who showed up at the Barbed S lookin’ for a job. Hell, I should have realised who it was right then.’

  There was no time for Westoe to reply as the man suddenly swung his boot and brought it crashing into his midriff.

  ‘Go on, admit it.’ He lifted his leg and this
time kicked him hard on the side of the head. Through waves of pain Westoe sought to maintain his senses as Rafe’s features contorted once again.

  ‘What happened to Oliver?’ he suddenly rapped.

  ‘Dwayne Oliver? If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll tell you.’

  Rafe’s response was to spit on Westoe’s prostrate form and press the muzzle of the rifle against his chest. Westoe knew that there was nothing he could do and tried to brace himself against the killing shot that was about to come. Instead, he heard a voice which rang out from somewhere close by.

  ‘Don’t do it! I’ve got you covered. Drop the rifle right now!’ Rafe remained silent for a brief moment and then began to laugh.

  ‘What are you gonna do, Pa? Shoot me?’ he replied. He lifted the rifle and turned slowly round.

  ‘Get away from that man!’ Stroup replied. Rafe laughed once more.

  ‘You’re a fool, Pa,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how you did it, but you should never have come here. That was a big mistake.’

  Waves of darkness threatened to overwhelm Westoe as he struggled to try and do something, but he was helpless to affect the issue. Stroup’s voice rang out once more.

  ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Why did you have to do all this? I’m your father. You only had to ask and it was yours.’ Rafe’s laughter redoubled and Stroup seemed to let it run its course before he spoke again.

  ‘One thing you must tell me. When you shot your brother, was it by accident or was it on purpose?’ There was no response, not even another burst of laughter, and when Westoe raised his head it was to see the rifle pointed straight at his chest again.

  ‘You ain’t gonna stop me,’ Rafe called. ‘Nothin’s gonna stop me now.’

  Westoe closed his eyes as a rifle roared. For what might have been a moment or an eternity he thought he was dead, and then opened his eyes to see Rafe squirming on the ground. Blood was pouring from his thigh and he was screaming obscenities in a high pitched voice. The Sharps rifle lay beside him but as he struggled to reach it a boot was clamped firmly across his arm.