Chip Shatto (Perry County Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  "Now, Captain...." Shatto let the gun muzzles fall out of line and Roth's stomach muscles eased a trifle. "There's a thing or two you've gotten mixed up, but I expect we can get it all straight here and now—so long as you don't make any unexpected moves, that is."

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  Amos Barber had gotten a single glimpse of the man on the mule just before the road took a turn. He couldn't associate such a rider with Shadow or old Saleman, but this could be dangerous country so he dismounted and took a cautious look around the curve.

  Two men sat under the trees and the mule foraged nearby. A cautious man, Barber decided to wait out the meeting and let the men move on. He located a spot from which he could watch undetected and settled down to wait. The others would already be at the tavern meeting place, but he had lived careful so far and this didn't seem a time to change. He broke out hard tobacco and shaved away a good cheekful with his knife. Comfortable, he chewed and watched, hoping the strangers wouldn't take too long. With time for thinking on it, he got to hoping Shadow got clean away. Then they could get back to doing sensible and more profitable things.

  Chip had a hard time believing the man perched on the mule had anything to do with him, but he kept a grip on the Shatto pistol holstered behind his back and waited to see.

  He had to grimace as the rider struggled from his saddle. Few men rode that poorly, that was for sure. Still, this was a big shouldered, tough hombre. That too was sure enough. Once off the mule he had good balance and he moved with a muscled authority that kept Chip's grip firm on the gun butt.

  He too felt strange stirrings when their eyes met and the thought touched him that here was a man who, under other circumstances, could be a friend. Offhand he didn't seem like the sort Jonathan Starling could employ.

  When he found out who the man was, he almost laughed aloud. He'd been so sure of Starling's pursuit that he'd forgotten all about Doug Fleming's old captain. When Roth had gone for his pistol he'd figured it best to bring him up short until he got through explaining.

  He told the whole story, putting his pistol away near the end of it, knowing it rang true and that he had all the proof needed anyway. He whistled up the boy from his hiding and watched him appear leading both their horses, just as he had been taught.

  When Amos Barber saw the spotted rumped horse appear he almost swallowed his chaw and sat choking and wiping away tears. It seemed about impossible, but there the horse was and that meant the sitting man had to be Shadow. The discovery was so unexpected he had to think over just what to do.

  Shadow wasn't in skins anymore and that would make him harder to keep track of. Barber thought maybe he could solve the problem here and now. The range was long and he wasn't any shakes as a rifle shot, but if he could put a ball in Shadow it would make rounding up old Saleman a lot easier—and that was what they were after, wasn't it?

  He hustled over to his horse and hauled out his gun.

  He reprimed with hands shaking in eagerness and tried to be calm and figure about how high to hold at his distance. He decided he didn't know and chose to just raise his aiming point a little. Braced over a log, he leveled down and got his sights where he wanted them. Everybody was moving around except Shadow and that suited him fine.

  He touched her off with a good hard squeeze on the stiff old trigger.

  The boy was wiggly with pleasure at seeing his Captain, and through his quarterdeck reserve, it was plain that Roth was vastly relieved at Fleming's safety and glad to see him again. Chip watched the boy's stiff formality with the Captain and enjoyed Roth's affectionate scrubbing of Doug's matted snarl of golden hair. Roth's mule wandered over to join the two horses and crowded close head to tail with a lot of thrashing about.

  The sound of the shot boomed over everything and the thud of the heavy bullet striking arrived about the same time. Roth's mule collapsed as though poleaxed. The only thing reaching the ground quicker was Chip Shatto, who melted instantly behind the protection of his tree root.

  Carter Roth whirled around, staring at the downed mule and yelled, "Who in hell...?" His eyes turned back up the road to where a pall of powder smoke hung near the turn. Instantly he jerked his pepperbox free and began shooting back. Forgotten, Doug Fleming stood frozen, big eyed at the action.

  A big paw came from cover and whisked the boy to safety and a moment later Roth felt himself forcefully hauled into the protection of the trees.

  Chip looked him over with half angry disbelief.

  "What in hell are you trying to do with that damned pistol? Good God, if that rifleman had a second shot you'd have been a perfect target."

  Mad as a hornet, Roth was unrepentant. "Shot my mule, that's what he did! By God, I'll have him for that." He twisted and turned but Chip had a good grip on him and held on until he cooled a little.

  "Now look, that shooter didn't aim for that damned mule. Odds are he's an enemy that's been dogging us for a week or more.

  "You stay put with the boy and I'll go get him."

  Roth began struggling again. "Now listen. This is my kind of game and you don't know the first thing about it." The fact of it must have gotten to Roth, as he simmered down.

  The Captain looked around but Shatto was gone. As quiet as rolling fog he had disappeared and Carter Roth began to appreciate the improbability of his original plan of whipping and then marching in the man he had once called Shadow.

  Amos Barber's old gun had hung fire. The pan had gone off with a bright flash, but by the time the gun had fired he had jerked way off target.

  He saw the mule go down and figured he was already too long in one place. The mule rider was standing in the road shooting with a revolver, but he could barely hear the reports and none of the bullets came by.

  Well, he could still announce where Shadow had last been seen. On the other hand, maybe he wouldn't mention any of it and they could all depart this God-forsaken wilderness. Behind the protection of the curve he disgustedly thrust his battered rifle into its scabbard and climbed into the saddle. He rode swiftly back the way he had come, feeling his spine crawl a little until he had found a side road that would lead to the meeting tavern and he was well off the Vicksburg Pike.

  The ambusher was long away before Chip reached his position. The sign there was easily read and the rifleman's tracks were clear heading back along the pike.

  Chip studied them for a time, absently scratching his jaw and considering what he would do. Then he trotted swiftly back to Roth and the boy.

  Carter Roth was more than willing to go after the man he labeled "Mule Killer." Chip gave him the second horse and mounted the boy behind his own saddle. The Appaloosa could carry the extra burden without difficulty, but the animal he had used for Saleman's escape was already pretty well used up and Roth's bouncing around on his back would be wearing enough.

  As they took the trail, Chip asked, "Where'd you learn to ride like that, Captain?" He kept his expression serious but Roth knew his limitations.

  His look was baleful. "I sit a horse only when I have to, Shatto, and anybody that thinks riding is some sort of good time is ill in his head!"

  "Chip showed me how, Captain. It's easy once you get the hang of it." The boy's enthusiasm was not contagious,

  "Listen, Fleming. I've stood watches through Indies hurricanes so I can handle horse riding if I decide to—and don't doubt it!"

  He changed the subject. "Just what are we heading into, Shatto? I've only enough loads for one more filling of my gun, so you'd best figure on that."

  Chip explained a little more about the men pursuing him, then added "My guess is that Starling's got a camp not too far off where they meet. That'll be where the mule shooter is headed.

  "Can't tell how many there'll be. Only a few, I'd expect, and some of them may still be out looking for the boy and me. Anyway, I'm planning on goin' right in and discouraging their following any further. If it comes to shooting, you won't have time to reload anyway. You got a knife?" Roth hauled out a long folding knife that s
ome seamen carried. It opened with a finger flick and Chip liked the way the Captain handled it.

  "Alright, that'll do, but I'll tell you now that pistol of yours is one of the worst looking things I've ever seen. What in hell is it, anyway?"

  Obviously miffed, Roth handed his side arm over to Chip who aimed it around trying its balance and fit.

  "God, this thing is worse than it looks, Captain. A man ought to carry a decent gun!"

  "Look, Shatto. This gun's a Robbins and Lawrence five-shooter. Made up in Vermont by Yankees that know their business." Roth's words were jolted by his poor seat and he waved the pistol almost menacingly. Again Chip felt the unexpected glow of liking and grinned across at the bouncing figure.

  "Well, .31 caliber isn't enough gun, and nobody with good sense carries a muzzle-loading pepperbox anymore. Hell, that thing probably won't go off half the time and you couldn't hit a barn from the inside with it." Roth's angry glare almost made him giggle.

  "You keep pickin' on my equipment and I may just have to lick you yet, Shatto. Ranges aboard a ship are real short. This gun's been fired before and I'll tell you right now that some have found it right discouraging to look down these five barrels from about ten feet away." There was no real threat to Roth's words and Chip could sense the two of them settling into a style of banter that included a continual exchange of friendly insults.

  He had never had that kind of relationship before, though he had seen it among others.

  Despite Roth's uncomfortable bouncing they moved rapidly enough. Chip glanced often at the sun hoping it would last until they came up on Starling's camp. While the meeting place could be just a spot along the road it was more likely to be at a crossroads or a village so he felt safe in just riding along. A little later, trails began joining the road they were on and he guessed some sort of civilization was coming up. He slowed and laid Elan's old black rifle across his lap just in case.

  Roth eyed the gun warily. "Now that's a mean looking old gun. Thought you didn't go in for muzzle-loaders, Shatto?"

  "Well, I've gotten used to this old rifle. It shoots right on without me thinking much about it. That Spencer now is fast and holds a lot, but I've got to worry about lining up sights and just how to work on the trigger."

  He stroked the muzzle-loader's worn maple stock affectionately. "This rifle was made special for an old frontiersman my family thought a lot of. Here's his initials right here."

  Roth leaned across and felt of the deeply carved letters. "J. E. What do they stand for?"

  "Jack Elan. Good tough old man. Killed his enemy with this rifle; called the gun 'Deathgiver' my Pap told me. So I call it the same. Oh-oh!" He reined in sharply and Roth sawed at his reins getting stopped.

  Ahead, a road crossed theirs and a number of ramshackle cabins leaned about. Hitched before one stood four riding mounts and a hanging sign proclaiming it a place of business.

  Roth said, "That'd be them, I suppose."

  "Almost got to be. Doesn't look like anyone else is around either. They've got some Rebel militia still milling here and there and we'd best avoid that sort of trouble. If these people are alone we can make our points and move on." He looked seriously at Roth. "You sure you want in on this, Captain? Except for accidently hitting your mule, this is my fight."

  Roth's grin was tight-lipped and almost joyous. "When we get in there, Shatto, just don't get in my way. Nobody shoots Carter Roth's favorite mule and gets away with it!" They snickered together like two boys and got off the horses.

  Doug Fleming was moved to cover under some trees and left as horse-holder. Chip checked both pistols and insisted Roth do the same. Sure enough, a cap had fallen off a nipple. Replacing it, the gun's owner shook his head in disgust. "Maybe you're right, Shatto. This gun is getting tired. Maybe I'll get one of them Colts like you are carrying." He thrust the clumsy pepperbox into its holster and started for the village so abruptly that Chip had to hustle to catch up.

  Doors and windows were open against the heat but the dim interior hid its occupants. Chip elbowed Roth aside and went in with both pistols fisted, but Roth was instantly at his side pointing the dumb looking pepperbox at everything.

  A saloonkeeper stood above four rough looking men seated at a plank table. Otherwise the place was empty. Seeing the drawn guns the keeper immediately backed away until he struck a wall, raising his hands shoulder high and attempting to show he was out of it.

  The four were surely the ones he wanted and Chip waved them to their feet and into a line along the barrel bar. Long guns leaned nearby but no pistols were in evidence. That didn't mean a sleeve or pocket gun might not be present and Chip watched them closely.

  "All four of you Starling's men?" There was no answer.

  "I take it that means 'Yes,' so it don't matter which end of this line we start on." The men looked nervous.

  Carter Roth wasn't waiting. He stuffed away his pistol and walked into them. "Shoot my mule will you!" and went to work.

  Chip was almost bemused watching it, but kept an eye on the saloonkeeper and the fighters in case guns or knives appeared. The four men tried but they might as well have fought a mad panther in a dark cellar.

  He wasn't sure of all that Roth did, but at one point the Captain had a tall man by his coat lapels and drove the top of his head up into the man's jaw so that teeth broke off. He smashed another's face with an elbow and used his clumsy looking boots with abandon. He beat a head on the bar with drum-like rhythm and did a sort of wild dance on top of a pair who had ceased moving. When it got quiet, an awed Chip shook his head. "Now we aren't ever going to know which one shot your mule."

  Roth sucked a bloody knuckle and turned aggressively toward the barman who cowered as though all the fiends in hell approached him. "Which one just rode in?"

  Shakily, the frightened man pointed at a supine figure. Roth examined the unconscious body for a moment before digging through its pockets. He found money and counted it casually. "Guess this'll do for the mule."

  He turned again to the keeper. "When he comes around tell him I took his horse to pay for the inconvenience and if he wants it back, I'll be in Vicksburg waiting." Roth walked across the room and picked out the best of the long guns for himself before starting out the door.

  Chip pointed both pistols at the saloon man and warned softly, "Now, you tell these people not to follow us no more or next time I'll do the work and someone will have graves to dig. You willing to tell 'em that?" The man nodded in hasty agreement and Chip backed carefully away.

  They took all the horses but let three go well down the road. Doug Fleming was dying to know what had happened but Chip grinned, "Tell you later on, but I will say it ain't a good move to shoot Captain Roth's mule."

  They rode back the way they had come until near the Vicksburg Pike when Chip pulled up the horses for a blow. It was a dark night and he did not care to continue riding too long.

  "You going to sit around Vicksburg waiting for them to show up?"

  "Never entered my mind. Just thought I'd confuse them a little."

  "You going to get another boat?"

  "Aren't any available, it seems. I'm considering leaving the sea behind, perhaps seek a new way of life."

  "You could come with us, Captain!" The boy was busting with enthusiasm. "We're going to Perry County and be farmers. That's in Pennsylvania, you know."

  Chip looked at Fleming's eager face. Well, that settled the boy's intentions. He peeked at Carter Roth through the gloom and saw the man studying the distance, the way a man might if he were waiting or undecided. So he said, "Don't know as you'd like farming, Captain. A man can't just stand around while others do the work like you do on a boat." He saw Roth's shoulders hunch.

  "On the other hand, we could ride on up to Memphis and take the cars east, see a lot of country and put you down right close to salt water."

  Roth examined him with about the same distaste he might a horse stomped snake. "Riding with you could be entertaining, Shatto. At least unti
l I am sure the boy is really taken care of. I've heard stories of men that pick up stray children and sell them into those Yankee sweatshops."

  Chip felt himself bristle and guessed Carter Roth would hold up his end of the conversation.

  He touched the Appaloosa lightly and started off. "Alright, let's move on down the road. Those men I made stand still so you could lick 'em might just decide to get help, and the way you ride we'll need a long lead."

  From behind he heard Roth, "Now wait a minute, Shatto, you didn't...." Chip thought the trip home promised to be interesting.

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  BOOK TWO

  Chapter 11

  Supper over, the men went out onto the porch where they propped their feet on the railing and leaned back to enjoy the evening cool. Along the creek bullfrogs had begun their nightly chorus and locust still sang in the fields. Birds completed unknown missions before finding perches, and a cow lowed and was answered by the rest of the herd gathered in a fence corner.

  Within the house, Doug Fleming expounded to Amy and old Widow Oakes about something he had seen while riding and they both sounded as amazed as he. Chip guessed there wasn't much in Perry County that Amy Shatto hadn't seen and Widow Oakes was so deaf he doubted she understood much of the boy's rapid fire exclaiming.

  He studied Carter's boots, old Rob's boot and peg foot, and his own worn moccasins with a sense of comfort.

  At home, with a full belly, family close-by, and a friend handy seemed just about the way it ought to be. A small euphoria enveloped him and he shrugged comfortably, enjoying it.

  His father was also looking at the lined up footwear. "Thought you were getting out of those moccasins."

  "Still plannin' on it, Pap, but every morning my hand just reaches past those boots like you'd go over turnip greens for apple pie."