Escape from Fire River

by Ralph Cotton

  Shaw started to ask another question, but before he could the man continued, saying, “Your two lawdog pals and that Mexican lawman killed a bunch of them at Fire River, but the ones that got away are all still out here sniffing for that gold. Others have arrived too. Even Garris Cantro, and his old guerilla cavalry.”

  “Garris the Cat . . . ,” Shaw said, contemplating the seriousness of the matter. “I thought he died in a raid over near San Miguel.”

  “No,” said Heaton, “the Cat is still alive. Still commands the Border Dogs. This is his stomping grounds. Even Goshen and his boys gave the Cat wide birth.” He looked up at Shaw again as he took the water gourd and sipped from it. “Am I doing myself any good here?”

  “Yeah,” said Shaw. “Keep talking.”

  “The Border Dogs was the ones who helped set up the depository robbery to begin with. The way the Dogs figure, since they helped take that gold from the federales and the Germans, you and your pals stole it from them.” He wiped a hand across his lips. “That’s why Red Sage Burke and Sid Nutt was here.” He gestured toward the street outside where the two bodies had been laid out, side by side. “They’re both Border Dogs cavalrymen. So am I, now that Goshen is dead, I reckon.” He shook his head slowly. “I saw how fast you can kill a man with your Colt, but you best hope you don’t run into the Cat and his raiders. The killing might go the other way.”

  Almost before Heaton had finished talking, a young boy came running in from the street and slid to a halt on the dirt floor. “Senor, come quick!” he said, wide-eyed and breathless, to Shaw.

  “What is it?” Shaw asked.

  “One of the dead men we lay in the street, Senor,” the boy said, pointing a trembling finger toward the assembled onlookers. “He get up and ride away!”

  Chapter 2

  Shaw and Jane hurried from the cantina with Roy Heaton in tow to the spot where the young gunman, Sid Nutt, lay stretched out in the dirt. But Red Sage Burke’s body was gone from its spot beside him. Villagers stood staring in awe toward the trail out of town. With his Colt drawn and ready, Shaw looked off at the rise of dust left standing in the air behind where Red Sage’s horse had raced away out of town.

  “Damn it all to hell, Lawrence!” said Jane, as awe-struck as the villagers, staring off beside him. “You must be feeling off your game today.”

  Heaton stood in silence, staring down at the ground.

  “I hit him dead center,” Shaw said with unwavering confidence. “There’s no doubt about that.”

  “I thought you did, too,” Jane said, seeing the serious look on his face. “I saw the hole in his chest. I saw the blood!”

  Shaw thought about it, then said, “You saw the bullet hole and the blood. But was it Burke’s blood?”

  “The whole cantina is splattered with blood,” Jane said. “I saw plenty. So did you.”

  “Yeah, but what we saw was his blood splattered all over Burke,” Shaw said, gesturing down toward Nutt, a large bullet hole in the center of his forehead. “We didn’t see Red Sage Burke’s blood, because he didn’t bleed.”

  “He didn’t bleed? Oh my God!” A look of terror came over Jane’s face.

  “You know what that means?” said Shaw.

  “You’re damned right I do,” said Jane, her voice trembling in fear. She hugged her arms around herself as if for protection. “It means Red Sage is not human! He’s some undead voodoo creature from the belly of hell—”

  “Whoa, back up,” said Shaw, stopping her as she drew closer to hysteria. “That’s not what it means at all.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her a little to settle her down.

  “I-I’m sorry, Lawrence,” she said, “but something spooky like this just goes right through me.”

  Turning to Heaton, Shaw said, “Tell her why the bullet didn’t kill him.”

  “Damned if I know.” Heaton shrugged innocently, taking a step backward.

  “Oh, so that’s how you’re going to be,” Shaw said. He raised the small hideout revolver he’d taken off Heaton and cocked it toward the gunman’s stomach.

  “No, wait! I’ll tell her!” Heaton cried out.

  Shaw fired three shots in rapid succession. Each bullet hit Heaton squarely in his belly and sent him staggering another step backward.

  “My God, Lawrence, you shot Heathen! He’s unarmed!” Jane shouted.

  “He’s not hurt, Jane,” Shaw said coolly, lowering the gun. “Are you, Heaton?”

  Heaton stood bowed at the waist, his hands clutching his stomach. “No,” he said in a tight, strained voice, “I’m all right.”

  “Straighten up,” Shaw demanded of him. “Show her why you’re not hurt.”

  Jane stared, her jaw gaping, her eyes squinting in hard concentration. “Those bullets are blanks?” Then she added quickly with a baffled look, “But that don’t explain how you shot Red Sage—?”

  Shaw cut her off again, this time with nothing more than a critical look. “I said, show her, Heaton, or I’ll shoot you again.”

  “All right, all right.” With painful effort Heaton stiffly stood upright and spread his hands. Three bullet holes appeared in a tight pattern in the front of his dirty white shirt. But there was no blood.

  “Unbutton it,” Shaw said, gesturing with the small gun barrel.

  Heaton unbuttoned his dirty shirt, pulled his shirttails from his trousers and spread it open, leather vest and all. Beneath the shirt he wore a thick quilted silk and cotton vest that had the three small bullets embedded in it. “What the hell is this, Heathen?” Jane asked the gunman in amazement.

  “He’s wearing a bulletproof vest,” Shaw answered for Heaton. “So are the other two.” He gestured toward Sid Nutt’s body on the ground. “This one didn’t get much help from his.”

  “A bulletproof vest! That’s damned impossible in these parts,” Jane said in disbelief, stepping forward, staring at Heaton’s chest in her amazement.

  “But you had no trouble believing he was an undead voodoo creature?” Shaw asked, giving her a look.

  Jane’s face reddened. “Okay, I read the newspapers. I’m not a fool. The French navy took a bunch of bulletproof vests off Emperor Daewongun’s soldiers in the Korean campaign.”

  “Heaton?” said Shaw, giving the nervous gunman a look that demanded an explanation.

  “That’s where they come from, I expect,” Heaton said, eying the gun still in Shaw’s hand. “The Border Dogs have been buying military goods and heavy armament from the French for the past year, ever since the big depository robbery. That’s where lots of the German gold went.”

  Shaw contemplated it. “Stolen German coins, minted in Mexican gold, paid to the French, to buy military goods made by Koreans, in order for a group of stubborn Confederates to keep on fighting a war they lost years ago.” He shook his head.

  “If you think the Border Dogs are just one more bunch of stubborn Confederates, you’re in for a hell of a surprise,” said Heaton.

  While he spoke, Jane stepped closer to him and held out a hand. “If you think you’re going to keep wearing that bullet stopper, you’ve got another think coming to you,” she said. “Now skin out of it.”

  Heaton dropped his vest and shirt to the ground and turned his back to Jane. “I’ll need you to untie it for me,” he said. “I’m kind of glad to get shed of it, to tell you the truth. The damned thing weighs a ton and it’ll sweat a man dry.”

  Jane untied the three straps holding the vest closed at the center of his back. “You’re right about it weighing a ton,” she said. “But I expect if it’ll stop a forty-five bullet it might be worth all the sweat it takes out of you.”

  “Yeah, well, good riddance is what I say,” said Heaton. “Burke made me wear it, said Cantro has a bunch of his men wearing them just to see how good they work.” He fell silent for a moment as if giving the matter some thought. Then he said to Shaw, “What if I hadn’t been wearing this thing? You would have shot me dead.”

  “That’s right,” said Shaw. “B
ut lucky for you, you’re were wearing it.”

  “Yeah, but what if I wasn’t?” Heaton presisted.

  “You’d be dead,” Shaw said flatly. “That’s something to think about the next time I ask you something and you decide to stall on me.”

  “Yeah,” Jane joined in, “and now that you ain’t wearing it, you might want to answer just that much quicker.”

  Shaw asked Heaton, “Is there any way it’s gotten back to Garris Cantro yet, about us taking the stolen gold back from Hewes and Jake Goshen?”

  “Not that I know of,” Heaton replied almost before Shaw got the words out of his mouth. “I met up with Burke and Nutt on the way to Hewes’ place. We saw what had happened there, and we came this way. Cantro didn’t hear about it from us yet.”

  “Garris Cantro is not going to stand still for us taking the gold he needs to outfit his rebel army,” Shaw said to Jane.

  “Sounds like you know him and his Border Dogs pretty well,” said Heaton. “They’ll be taking that gold back if it’s anywhere to be had.”

  Ignoring Heaton, Jane asked Shaw, “Have you ever crossed trails with these Border Dogs?” As she asked, she bent down over Sid Nutt’s body and began stripping his shirt in order to take off the thick vest he wore beneath it.

  “No, I’ve never crossed trails with them,” said Shaw. “But it looks like I’m about to. I need to catch Red Sage before he gets word back to Cantro and his men about what happened at Fire River.”

  Jane rolled the body onto its back, untied the three straps and pulled the vest from his shoulders. Then she rolled the body back over, took off the vest and stood up, holding it out to Shaw with both hands. “You’re going to kill him, I expect?” she said quietly.

  “That’s my plan, Jane,” said Shaw, “unless you’ve got a better idea.” He reached out and took the thick vest from her.

  “What about this one?” Jane asked. “We can’t just turn him loose. He’ll go hightailing it straight to Cantro.”

  “He goes with us,” said Shaw. “He might be able to show us where to find Red Sage Burke.”

  “Huh, I bet,” Jane said skeptically. “I can see him doing everything he can to throw us off.”

  “Now that he sees I’ll kill him at the drop of a hat, he’ll be more cooperative,” Shaw said. “Watch this.” He turned to the wounded outlaw, who stood trying to hear them from a few yards away. “Heaton, we’re going after Red Sage. Do you want to go with us to show us where he might be headed, or do you want me to shoot you where you stand and be done with you?”

  “I know where he’s going, sure enough,” Heaton said in a nervous voice without hesitation, a hand rubbing three red whelps on his naked torso where the bullets had struck the vest. “I’ll take you there straightaway.”

  “That was easy enough,” Jane said with a crooked little grin. “What about Dawson, Caldwell and Easy John? They need to know that the Border Dogs are involved in this.”

  “They’re going to know. We’re going to ride back and tell them just as soon as we’ve caught Red Sage Burke and finished with him,” said Shaw.

  “They’re waiting to hear from us right now,” said Jane. “We’re supposed to be riding a day ahead, making sure the trail is clear.”

  “When we don’t show up tomorrow, Dawson will know we’ve run into something,” said Shaw. “It’s the best we can do for now.” He stepped forward, gave Heaton a slight push toward the horses, and said to him, “If Cantro asked you about the vests, what would you tell him?”

  Glancing down at the body stretched out in the dirt, the bullet hole in its purple forehead, Heaton rubbed the raised whelps on his belly and said, “I’d have to say it worked better for some than it did for others. Burke is the one who got the best deal on it, and he had refused to wear it until just before we rode into town.” He shook his head at the irony of it as he walked on toward the horses out front of the cantina. “It’s a strange damned world any way you look at it.”

  “I’m with you on that,” Shaw said, walking along behind him, Jane right beside him, each carrying a bulletproof vest slung up over their shoulder. “And it’s getting stranger every day.”

  Red Sage Burke did not stop until he reached a small muddy water basin at the base of the hill line ten miles from town. When he finally slid down from his saddle, he let the reins fall and allowed the horse to drink its fill while he dropped flat beside it and stuck his face into the water and did the same.

  He’d been knocked unconscious by the impact of Shaw’s bullet, and by the jar to the back of his head when he’d slammed it against the hard-packed dirt floor. But as soon as his eyes had opened he’d seen Sid Nutt lying beside him, dead in the street with a half-dollar size hole in his forehead. He hadn’t needed a second look to realize what had happened—he’d made a run for it.

  When he’d sated his thirst, he rolled over, slung water from his red beard, unbuttoned his shirt and reached up behind the small of his back and untied the only two straps he could reach on the cumbersome vest.

  Pain pounded deep in his bruised chest as he struggled with the wet, heavy vest. It worsened as he rose to his knees and skinned the vest and his shirt both at once. Groaning, he dropped the vest to the rocky ground and slid back into his wet shirt. Still on his knees he clutched both sides of his ribs. “By God,” he said loud enough to cause the tired horse to pique its ears, “I’d sooner get shot clean through.” Yet he picked up the vest and managed to throw it behind his saddle.

  With painful effort he bowed his head and examined the wide raised red whelp in the center of his chest. In the center of the already darkening whelp he saw the purple-black imprint of Shaw’s forty-five-caliber bullet. “Dead center . . . facing three guns,” he said almost in admiration of the shooting skills involved.

  Loosening the bandanna from around his neck, he dipped it into the water. He squeezed it slightly and pressed it gently against his battered chest. While he held the dripping bandanna in place he looked at the front of the vest lying behind his saddle and saw the bullet half buried in the thirty layers of quilted silk and cotton. “So you’re the little killing sumbitch that did all this to me . . . ,” he said under his breath.

  Still aching, he reached over to the vest and dug out the slug with his thumbnail, noting that the bullet had penetrated less than half of the material before coming to a halt. Holding it in his hand, he looked back along the trail across the wide and endless desert floor. Seeing a thin rise of dust in the distance, he said, “Time to get out of here. . . .”

  He looked down at the bullet in his palm. “Since you’re the one who could’ve killed me and didn’t, I’m asking you, ‘Which way do you want us to go?’ ” He shook it in his closed hand, then opened it and looked off in the direction the blunted bullet nose pointed.

  Burke made a short, painful laugh under his breath and said, “Agua Mala, eh? I have to say that would not have been my first choice.” Closing his fist around the bullet, he looked back at the rising trail of dust and considered things for a moment. Then he said, “But come to think of it, that might be as good a place as any, ’til I either lose this man or kill him one.”

  Burke looked at his closed fist and gave a strange, thin smile. “Obliged, my little killing friend,” he said almost affectionately. “You might just be smarter than you look.”

  Even in his pain he struggled up into his saddle and looked at the vest, which lay wet and smelly on his horse’s rump. “Why didn’t you say Agua Mala?” he said to the vest. Then he tucked the vest partly under his saddle to secure it in place, shoved the bullet deep into his trouser pocket, turned forward in his saddle and rode away.

  Chapter 3

  When Shaw, Jane Crowly and Heaton reached the water hole an hour after Burke had left, Shaw walked around the pool and stepped up atop a large rock along the water’s edge. He looked all around, his rifle in hand. Noting the hoofprints of Burke’s horse leading away, he called down to Jane, “Looks like he’s headed north.”
r />   “North?” she asked, slapping dust from her fringed buckskin shirt with her hat. In her left hand she held her canteen.

  “Yep, north,” Shaw said, stepping down from the rock. Turning to Heaton, he asked in a firm tone, “Why’s he headed that way?” In the distant southwest a broad black cloud loomed low on the horizon. Shaw noted it but made no mention of it right then.

  “I don’t know why he went that way, and that’s the honest truth, so help me God,” Heaton answered quickly, knowing better than to stall Shaw, especially when he held a gun in hand.

  “North is to Agua Mala,” Jane put in. “Hell, nobody ever goes there. Even the federales steer clear of Agua Mala.”

  “Bad Water . . . ,” Shaw said, translating the words to English. He looked closer at Heaton and asked, “There’s none of Cantro’s men supposed to meet you three in Bad Water?”

  “None that I know of,” Heaton said, “and that’s the truth too.”

  “Well, it makes no sense that he’d go there without good reason,” Jane replied. “Nobody would go to Bad Water unless they had to.” She finished slapping dust and put her hat back on. She kneeled down to the water with her canteen and began filling it. Beside her the three horses drew water intently.

  “Maybe I ought to mention this to you,” Heaton said to Shaw. “Red Sage Burke does not always do things that make sense to the rest of us.”

  Shaw nodded. “If he’s riding into Bad Water, so are we.”

  “I know I’ve got no say in where we’re headed,” said Heaton. “But riding into Agua Mala is a good way to get us all three killed. The only thing in Agua Mala is rattlesnakes and pistoleros. If you ain’t Mexican, you ain’t welcome . . . if you ain’t wanted, you ain’t welcome. If you ain’t a no-good sonsabitch, you ain’t welcome there. Get what I’m saying?”