Escape from Fire River

by Ralph Cotton

  “Yep,” said Shaw, “now I’m leaving. Just as soon as my horses are watered.”

  “But, monsieur,” he said with a sly grin, “if it is a woman you thirst for, I can give you what you desire. Even the twins are available, for a price, of course.” He grinned and jiggled the gold coin on his hand.

  “Obliged,” Shaw said wryly, “but Janie’s the only woman I’m interested in right now.”

  “Oh . . . ?” LaPrey looked at him in stunned disbelief.

  “Is there something wrong with that, Clute?” Shaw asked. He gave the Frenchman a flat stare. He wasn’t about to explain his and Jane’s relationship. He didn’t quite understand it himself.

  “Oh no, monsieur! Nothing at all!” said LaPrey. “It is just that a man with your reputation . . .” He gestured a hand up and down at Shaw. “You must have your pick of the women, oui? Is it not so?”

  Shaw continued to stare at him, not answering. When the sergeant returned, he walked in with the corporal and the four young guards following him. Seeing the look on the sergeant’s face, LaPrey said, “Uh-oh,” and eased away from Shaw’s side and disappeared.

  “Senor Shaw,” said the sergeant, “before I allow you to leave Mal Vuelve, I am afraid I must ask you where you got these.” He stopped in front of Shaw and held out his palm, holding several of the stolen gold coins the soldiers had found while rummaging through the saddlebags on Burke’s horse.

  Shaw’s eyes immediately went to the doors and open windows, seeking his way out should it come to that. He did not want to kill any soldiers if he could keep from it. These men, like himself, were here to uphold the law. “All right,” Shaw said. “Those had to come from Red Burke’s horse. He’s one of the men who burned the church and cantina in Suerte Buena. I took his horse after I killed him.”

  “You killed this Red Burke we are chasing, yet you do not tell me so as soon as you ride in?”

  “That’s right, I killed him,” said Shaw. “I should have told you, but I didn’t.” He paused, then said, “His body is at the bottom of a gorge where the rope bridge collapsed this morning.”

  “The bridge is down?” the sergeant asked, looking stunned.

  “Yep,” said Shaw, “I figure Burke had something to do with that too.”

  The sergeant considered everything, eyeing the Colt standing on Shaw’s hip, knowing that he had earned the name of being the Fastest Gun Alive. “I believe you, Senor,” the sergeant said finally. But then he snapped his fingers at the corporal and the four guards. The guard’s rifles came up and pointed at him from less than six feet away. “But I must ask you to stay here in Mal Vuelve until my capitán returns, in order for him to hear this for himself.”

  “I understand,” Shaw said.

  The sergeant, the corporal and the four young guards all looked relieved. But only for a second; then Shaw’s Colt was up, cocked and aimed, only inches from the sergeant’s belly. “Except I don’t have time for this, Sergeant,” he said. To the corporal and the guards he said, “Guns, on the floor, pronto.”

  “What do you want us to do, mi Sargento?” the corporal asked with a worried expression.

  “Have them drop their rifles, you fool!” the sergeant shouted. “Do you not see the gun pointed at me?”

  “Lay down your rifles!” the corporal barked quickly at the guards.

  The rifles were stacked quickly on the floor, and the corporal opened the flap on his holster, raised his pistol and pitched it to the ground. “All right,” said Shaw, “now let’s all get out of here, onto the street, nice and easy like.” He called out over his shoulder, “Clute, I know you’re back there hiding. Go get my horses and bring them around front.”

  Clute stood up slowly from behind the bar and said to the sergeant, “I want you to know that I had nothing to do with—”

  “He knows that,” said Shaw, stopping him. “Now get my horses before I put a bullet in you.” He threw in the threat for LaPrey’s sake.

  Clute said as he hurried toward the rear door, “You heard him threaten me, Sergeant! I do this against my will.”

  “Get going, Clute,” said Shaw, “or I’ll do more than threaten you.”

  Shaw kept the soldiers covered until Clute returned with the three horses. When Clute came back in through the front door, the three horses standing at the hitch ring out front, Shaw said to one of the soldiers, “You, stack those rifles in Clute’s arms.”

  While the young soldier did as he was told, Shaw lifted the sergeant’s pistol from its flap-topped holster. He stooped and picked up the corporal’s pistol, then wagged his Colt toward the door and said, “Now everybody out front, to the water trough.”

  “The water trough?” the stout sergeant said indignantly. “You go too far, Senor.”

  Shaw ignored him.

  Out front, Shaw gestured his Colt toward the trough. “Drop them,” he ordered Clute.

  The Frenchman looked at the sergeant first and said meekly, “You see that I must do as I am told, oui?”

  “Drop them,” the sergeant said with resignation.

  When Clute had dropped the rifles into the trough, Shaw unloaded both pistols with one hand, then pitched them into the water. “I know you’ll be on my trail. But this will slow you down and keep me from having to kill you.” He backed a few feet to his horses, took their reins and stepped atop the speckled barb.

  A moment later, LaPrey and the soldiers stood watching him ride away at a gallop in a rise of dust. No sooner was Shaw out of sight than the sergeant turned to the corporal and shouted angrily, “Well, what are you waiting for? Have your men get their rifles and get them dried and into working order!”

  “Are we going after him, mi sergento?” the corporal asked.

  “Of course we are going after him,” the sergeant barked. He paused for a second in consideration, then added, “Just as soon as el capitán returns and orders us to do so.”

  Shaw rode hard along the trail toward Suerte Buena. Knowing the soldiers would be riding right behind him, he hoped to meet up with Jane along the trail or find her resting her horse in town. They had to get back down to the desert floor and let the others know that in addition to the Border Dogs coming, there were now two columns of federales patrolling the hills and desert trails. Running into either group with the wagonload of stolen gold would be a serious problem.

  After what he’d done in Mal Vuelve, he was going to be dodging federales for a long time, he reminded himself, veering off the main trail the last two miles and riding up along a broad ridge overlooking the dusty streets of Suerte Buena.

  From the cover of tangled vines and foliage, Shaw lay flat on the ground and scanned the town slowly with his telescope. He saw a line of horses at the hitch rings out front of the burned cantina. The cantina had already been hastily cleaned of debris and partially reroofed to accommodate travelers along the high trails. At one end of the row of hitch rings, a man stood watch over the horses. He leaned against the front of the cantina with a rifle in the crook of his arm.

  These were no ordinary travelers, Shaw told himself, judging the quality of the riding stock and seeing the rifle and shotgun butts standing in saddle boots. The Border Dogs . . . ? he asked himself. As if in answer to his question he saw Roy Heaton, Elvis Pond and Bale Harmon walk out of the cantina. Heaton led Jane Crowly by a rope tied around her neck. He walked slightly stooped, his free hand held against his stomach wound. Shaw saw a look of dark hatred on his face for the woman who’d given him that wound.

  Uh-oh . . . What have you gotten yourself into, Janie . . . ? Shaw asked silently, seeing her hands tied in front of her, and her bruised and battered face. He winced and tightened his focus. He watched them walk along to the livery barn and go inside, Heaton giving a sharp jerk on Jane’s rope, clearly enjoying his job.

  Shaw had no idea what Jane might’ve done, but whatever it was she hadn’t deserved a beating like this, he thought. He lowered the lens from his eye and collapsed the telescope between his gloved hands. He h
ad to go down there and get her. It was that simple, he told himself. Backing out of the vines and foliage to the horses, he stepped up into his saddle and turned the horses onto the switchback trail. . . .

  Inside the livery barn, Elvis Pond took the rope from Roy Heaton and tied Jane to a post in the middle of the floor. He patted her bloody, swollen cheek and walked away. Jane stood with her head bowed and listened to Garris Cantro question one of two young Mexican soldiers sitting on the straw-covered floor tied to a stall post. Pond, Heaton and Harmon stood quietly waiting for Cantro to turn to them.

  But Cantro was in no hurry. He raised the soldier’s chin with the toe of his boot and asked, “Do you know who I am?”

  “Si,” the terrorized young soldier said, “you are Senor Cantro.”

  “And these men?” Cantro asked. He gestured toward Pond, Heaton and Harmon.

  The young soldier hesitated, then said with trepidation, “Los Perros Fronterizos?”

  “That’s right, we’re the Border Dogs,” said Garris Cantro. He stared down at the young man intently. “We live here, in these desert hills and plains. The Mexican government knows we live here. We’ve paid good money to all the right people to be here. Comprende?”

  “Si, comprende,” the man said.

  “See, men, he understands all that,” Cantro said, half turning to his three gunmen with a smirk on his bearded face. Turning back to the soldier, he dealt him a sharp kick to the jaw and barked angrily, “Then what in the hell was the idea, attacking me and my men on our way here?”

  “We only follow our orders, Senor Cantro,” another soldier cut in.

  “Orders from who . . . and why?” Cantro demanded, turning to the other soldier.

  “From our capitán,” the soldier said. “We were told what you and your men did here, burning the church, the cantina.”

  “I can’t believe this,” said Cantro. He turned to Heaton. “Did Red Burke do all this to set me up, Roy?”

  “I can’t say for sure,” Heaton answered hesitantly, “but it looks to me like he did. He was running awfully wild the last I saw of him.”

  “What was the idea, Roy?” Cantro asked, turning and walking over close to him. “You three figured to get the federales down on me, keep me and the soldiers both busy while you found the wagon and took the gold for yourselves?”

  “No—no, sir,” Heaton said shakily, “leastwise that was never my intention. I can’t say what Burke and Sid Nutt might have had in mind. But I was playing it straight as a string, doing what you told us to do . . . try to find that damned wagon.”

  Cantro stepped back, but still gave him a questioning stare. “These soldiers say we’ve been blamed for every-damn-thing but the weather. If I find out you and Burke and Nutt did this to slow me down getting to the desert and finding that wagon I’m going to kill you real slow-like.”

  “I—I wouldn’t blame you if you did, sir,” said Heaton. “But so help me God, I’m innocent.”

  “We’ll find out,” said Cantro. He turned to Jane. “Now, Jane Crowly. Let’s see what you can tell me about finding that wagon.”

  “Go . . . to . . . hell,” Jane replied in a pained and muffled voice. Her nose was swollen and red, her eyes black and puffed. Her lips were swollen, split and covered with dried blood.

  “Did you do all this to her, Elvis?” Cantro asked.

  Harmon and Heaton both looked frightened, as if worried that Elvis Pond would point the finger at them.

  But to their surprise, Pond replied to Cantro in his sullen tone, “That’s right, just me.”

  Heaton and Harmon both looked relieved. Then they were both stunned to hear Cantro say, “Good work. I like a man who can get things done.” Turning back to Jane, Cantro said, “We’re going to leave you here to think this over a few minutes while we go eat. When we get back I’m going to ask you again and again where I’ll find that wagon. Each time you don’t tell me, I’m going to let Elvis decide what part to carve off you next.”

  Cantro stood close enough for Jane to spit blood at him; but he dodged it and looked down at the dark bloody spittle on his boot toe. “Well,” he chuckled, “I always heard you’re a filthy ornery bitch-cur. Today we’ll see just how tough you are.”

  Turning on his heel, Cantro gestured Heaton, Harmon and Pond toward the door. Leaving a rifleman behind to watch the prisoners, the four filed out and walked back to the cantina, where workers were busy putting on a new roof while inside men continued on with their drinking. No sooner were they on the dirt street than Harmon said to Cantro, “The fact is all three of us beat the hell out of that she-man, not just Elvis.”

  “I thought as much,” said Cantro. “You two are lucky I don’t kill you both for it.”

  Heaton and Harmon gave each other a puzzled look.

  “But, sir,” said Harmon, “you praised Elvis for it.”

  “That’s different,” said Cantro. “Elvis Pond is a whole other breed of dog. Right, Elvis?”

  Pond’s response was only a short grin.

  In the barn, one of the soldiers on the ground ventured a look up at Jane, saying, “Señora, por favor, tell them what they want. Do not let them kill you for the gold!”

  The guard only listened without saying anything.

  The soldier continued. “There is a second column of soldiers riding in from the west. They will find the gold anyway, before these men find it.”

  “Mind . . . your own . . . business,” Jane murmured through her swollen lips.

  Watching, the guard only laughed under his breath and drew on a long fresh cigar. Ten minutes later, the cigar half finished, he heard a knock on the rear door and stepped over and said without opening it, “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me. I brought you some roasted goat,” said the voice on the other side. “Have you et yet?”

  “Hell no, I ain’t,” said the guard, swinging the door open at the prospect of food. “I’d sure fill my mouth with some roast—”

  As the door swung open, Shaw’s rifle butt slammed him hard right across the bridge of his nose. The blow sent him flying backward to the ground.

  Jane lifted her head and looked at Shaw with her eyes almost swollen shut. “Lawrence . . . is that you?”

  “Be quiet, Janie,” Shaw said. He untied her hands and slung the rope off her neck.

  “Give me . . . a gun . . . Lawrence,” she said. “I’m going to go kill some sonsa—”

  “Not now, Janie, you’re coming with me,” Shaw said. He slipped a knife from his boot and cut the rawhide strips holding the soldiers. The young men stared at him, awed at the way he’d handled the guard. To the first soldier he said, “Listen to me. When you get away from here, head back toward Mal Vuelve. You’ll run into Sergeant Vitarez and his guards. Tell him I cut you loose. Maybe it will make up for me poking a gun in his belly.”

  “You poked a gun in the sergeant’s belly?” the soldier asked in disbelief. “Oh, Senor, Sergeant Vitarez will never forgive you, no matter what you do. He is one tough hombre, that one.”

  “So am I,” Shaw said. “Tell him these men are his enemy, not me.”

  “Si, we will tell him, Senor,” the Mexican said, the two of them rising from the floor, rubbing their freed wrists.

  Chapter 20

  Outside of the livery barn, Shaw told the soldiers, “You two take that horse.” He nodded toward Burke’s horse standing saddled and ready to go. “You’ll have to ride double, but not for long. The sergeant and his men will be coming along soon enough.”

  “Gracias again, Senor,” said one of the soldiers. “I don’t know how we can thank you enough.”

  “Just get going,” said Shaw, “explain things to Vitarez for me.”

  “Si, it will be done,” said the other soldier, both of them grabbing the horse’s reins and pulling it along into the brush and cedar behind the barn.

  In spite of still having two horses, Shaw decided it was best to keep Jane Crowly on his lap until she became steady. Shoving her up onto the
saddle, he swung up behind her and eased the two barbs into the brush, headed in the opposite direction of the two soldiers. As he carried her along in his arms, he felt her slump in and out of consciousness against his chest. “Give me . . . a gun,” he heard her whisper mindlessly under her breath.

  “Don’t worry, Janie, you won’t need one. They’re going to pay.” He drew her closer, careful of hurting her battered face, and rode on toward the trail down to Agua Mala.

  A half hour after Shaw and Jane had left, Elvis Pond walked into the barn carrying a tray of food for the guard, Roddie Layne. When he found Layne lying knocked out on the dirt floor, he cocked his head slightly, then sat down and began eating. Halfway through the meal, he heard Layne moan and begin to awaken.

  “Looks like somebody coldcocked the hell out of you,” Pond said. He made no effort to help the addled, bloody-faced man to his feet. Instead he nodded at the food and said, “I didn’t know if you was going to live or die. No reason for food to go to waste.”

  “Hel-help me, up . . . ,” Layne moaned, reaching a hand up in Pond’s direction.

  Still chewing, Pond stood up and walked over and lifted Layne to his feet. He inspected the swollen, bloodied nose and whistled under his breath. “You’re going to be damned sore for a while.”

  “Hell, I expect . . . I know that,” Layne said, coming around slowly. He staggered toward the door. Pond walked over and steadied him. They walked out the door and toward the cantina, the shadows of evening beginning to fall long across the dirt street.

  Upon seeing Roddie’s face and hearing his story, Cantro and the rest of the men inside the cantina spilled out onto the street and climbed up into their saddles. “Everybody rides tonight,” Cantro called over his shoulder.

  “What about me?” Roddie Layne asked, holding a wet cloth to his broken nose.

  “You can shoot and you can ride, so mount up,” said Cantro. Again he shouted, louder this time, “Everybody rides tonight!”