Rawhide Justice

by Ralph Hayes

‘He’s tied, Zeb,’ Lem told his brother.

  ‘What’s the matter with you two?’ O’Brien said in a low voice. ‘I can pay you for the coffee.’

  Zeb with the shotgun learned over O’Brien. ‘It ain’t about the coffee. It’s about our space, buffalo man. You boys think the whole damn country is yours to use like you want. This here is our cabin, and you violated it. You got to pay.’

  ‘You got to pay!’ Lem said in a shriller voice.

  With no warning Zeb swung the barrel on the long gun at O’Brien’s head. O’Brien tried to duck away, but it cracked up loudly beside his right ear. He almost fell off the chair and bright colored lights flashed on in his skull. He gasped out in pain. Blood ran down onto his neck.

  Both brothers were laughing.

  ‘What do you think of that, hunter?’ Lem squealed.

  O’Brien looked up, his eyes had changed. A wide grin slid off Lem’s scarred face.

  ‘You boys are making are big mistake,’ O’Brien growled.

  More laughter, mostly by Zeb. ‘That’s just the start of it, mister. You’ll be a couple hours entertainment before it’s over for you.’

  Lem was angry inside because O’Brien’s look had scared him. He got an idea that appealed to him.

  ‘Hey. We still got that branding-iron you found near that ranch a few weeks ago?’

  O’Brien had held his wrists just apart when Lem had bound his hands, and now was working with the ropes as the two men talked. If he worked loose, he hoped a situation would occur when they would be separated momentarily. They both wore sidearms.

  ‘Oh, I think I threw it out back somewhere,’ Zeb now replied.

  ‘Well don’t you think that might liven the evening up some?’ Lem said meaningfully. ‘We got a good fire going over there.’

  O’Brien worked carefully at the rope. He couldn’t move much or they would figure out what he was doing, and it would be all over. Maybe permanently.

  Zeb’s face broke into a nasty grin. ‘I see where you’re headed,’ he said. ‘We could take that rawhide off his chest and have us a little buffalo boy roast.’

  Lem nodded vigorously. ‘That what I thought.’

  ‘Go find that iron out there and bring it in,’ Zeb said still grinning. ‘We could make this last all evening. I’ll keep this shotgun on him till you get back.’

  O’Brien had already loosened the rope enough to slide one hand free. As Zeb watched his brother leave he pulled the rope unobtrusively off the other hand. It hit the seat of the chair behind him but made no noise. Now was the time. This would probably be the only moment all evening when the brothers would be separated.

  Zeb sat down on a chair across the table from O’Brien, the shotgun still aimed at O’Brien’s chest. The slightest wrong move by O’Brien would result in his belly being blown out through his back.

  ‘Well, buffalo man. You ready for a little branding? I hear enough of them irons on you will send your whole body into shock, so we’ll have to go real slow with you. You know, to keep you alive. We don’t want you slipping away on us. He turned slightly on the chair. ‘Lem! Get in here with that iron.’

  In that split second O’Brien’s hands came forward and lifted the table up violently, throwing it against Zeb. The double-barrel Remington roared in the small space, making O’Brien’s ears ring so loudly all other sound was obliterated. The shot took a half-moon chunk out of the top edge of the table, and blasted a hole in the roof a man’s head could have poked through.

  O’Brien drew the Bowie from his stovepipe boot then and threw himself wildly between the upright legs of the table. Zeb was still grabbing the shotgun, but it was useless now. When O’Brien landed on him he drove the knife into Zeb’s chest up to the hilt.

  Zeb’s eyes saucered, then a puzzled frown came onto his ugly face, as if he didn’t quite understand what had happened.

  In the next moment Lem appeared big-eyed in the open doorway, the branding-iron in one hand and a Schofield revolver in the other. He took one quick look and aimed the gun at O’Brien’s face.

  But O’Brien had picked up the shotgun from the floor, and just in that half-second in eternity he squeezed its trigger and beat Lem to the draw. Another blast roared deafeningly in the cabin, and the shot hit Lem in his midriff, almost cutting him in half. He went flying back through the doorway and landed dead, outside in the growing darkness.

  O’Brien walked out and looked at the corpse. It was a bloody mess. He came back in, set the shotgun aside, and looked down at Zeb. He had died when the big Bowie found his heart.

  ‘I tried to tell you, you jackass,’ O’Brien growled down at him.

  The appaloosa guffered outside, jerking on its tether. One of the brothers’ mounts had broken loose and run. O’Brien could barely hear the appaloosa, with his ears still ringing.

  He looked around the cabin. He found an unopened tin of pears on a shelf, and looked for something to open it with. He stepped over and around the corpse of Zeb on the floor. He turned the table back up, sat down at it, and ate the pears slowly. They tasted good, and he had earned them.

  When he left shortly afterwards, he didn’t even glance at Lem’s corpse out by the horses. He took the saddle off the other horse, threw it onto the ground, and slapped the animal on the rump. It ran off into the night. Then he boarded the appaloosa. It was spooked.

  ‘Everything’s just fine,’ he told it, patting its neck. Then he rode off to find a campsite for the night.

  It had been another eventful day on the trail.

  CHAPTER NINE

  That next day in Ogallala was a gala day.

  Molly Walcott and Matt Dawkins were married at the local church with a full, formal ceremony. Dawkins wore a jacket and a lariat tie, and with his hair slicked back and a clean shave he gave the appearance of a rather handsome groom. Molly wore a white satin dress and veil, and with her blonde hair she caused some gasps of appreciation as she came up the aisle with her father.

  At the reception in Walcott’s back garden all the young men who had been would be suitors of Molly got to kiss her at last as Dawkins’s bride, not wanting to miss the opportunity. There was a steak fry, and liquor for the men, and an elderly man played a violin off in a corner.

  Dawkins felt very smug. Almost every bachelor in town envied him. Midway through the festivities, when he was standing off to one side with his arm around his new wife, Walcott walked over to them, holding a glass of ale.

  ‘Well. The newlyweds seem to be surviving the hoopla. Can I get you anything, Matt?’

  Proud-looking, gangly Matt grinned broadly. ‘No, sir. I got all I want. Right here beside me.’

  Molly looked up at him and smiled. She was happy. She was about to take her place in Ogallala society as one of its influential matrons, and she liked the idea. She looked beautiful, standing there in her wedding dress. She had liked being the centre of attention today, and all week. Being married gave her sudden importance in her family, and in the town.

  ‘So have I.’ She returned the compliment. She turned to Walcott. ‘Oh. You said you had another gift for us, Daddy.’

  ‘That’s just why I came over here to find you,’ Walcott said. He looked over at Dawkins. ‘Matt, as you know, I haven’t chosen a new foreman for my hunting crew since McComb rode out.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I know.’

  ‘Well, Matt, I want you to be my new foreman,’ Walcott grinned at him. ‘And that’s my other wedding present to you both.’

  They were both smiling widely. ‘Oh, Daddy!’ Molly cried out. She hugged him and almost knocked the ale from his hand.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Dawkins stammered. ‘I ain’t one of the old-timers here, sir.’

  ‘No, but you got a good head on your shoulders,’ Walcott told him. ‘And you’re married to my daughter. You have to be a man respected by the community. The job is yours.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. It looks like McComb did me a big favour.’

  And O’Brien, Walcott thoug
ht to himself.

  ‘I wonder if he really headed out to Montana?’ Dawkins mused.

  ‘And if O’Brien is out there looking for him,’ Walcott said soberly.

  Molly’s expression fell into straight lines, the blush of gaiety leaving it momentarily. She turned without thinking and looked out toward the west. Both Walcott and Dawkins noticed. Walcott spoke to Dawkins.

  ‘She prays for him regular,’ he told the young groom. ‘O’Brien. They were good friends, you know.’

  Molly turned back to them. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Just good friends.’ Then she brightened her face and took Dawkins’ arm. ‘Come on, new husband. Our guests will be missing us.’

  On that same afternoon, in a small town a half-day’s ride from Billings, McComb and his small gang rode in quietly and reined up at the local bank. The foursome just sat their mounts for a long moment, looking the place over. McComb finally turned to the others.

  ‘It’s perfect. Small. No guards, I’m told. And they got a shipment of silver in just days ago. What do you think, boys? It’s there for the taking.’

  ‘I say we should get at it,’ Navarro replied, grinning.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ Purvis added.

  Foley, with the steel nose and wandering eye, growled and dismounted with them. Foley was disgruntled with the world in general, and he was hoping for some action inside the bank, as well as the silver.

  With their mounts all tethered outside, there were two teller windows, but no other customers in the place. On the way in the four had pulled the woollen masks over their faces. There was just one teller at his window, and when he saw the masks he let out a small cry. A woman clerk at a desk behind him looked up and screamed. There were two other persons back there, both men. One looked like the manager.

  ‘All right, keep the noise down,’ McComb barked out. ‘This is a hold-up, and we came for money. Not to hurt anybody. You do what you’re told and you’ll live through this.’

  ‘Please, mister,’ the teller said through a suddenly dry mouth. ‘Don’t shoot anybody.’

  The manager stood up, back at an oak desk. He was heavyset and partially bald.

  ‘There’s nothing for you here, boys. We’re low on cash ourselves. You can have what’s in the tellers’ drawers up there.’

  McComb turned to Navarro and Purvis. ‘Go empty them drawers,’ he told them. Then he turned to Foley. ‘You stay here and watch for trouble.’

  Foley nodded behind the mask.

  McComb, Navarro and Purvis went through a gate in the barrier. While the other two were helping themselves to cash at the windows, McComb went back to the manager.

  ‘Is that the safe back there?’ McComb said.

  ‘Yes, sir. But there isn’t much there. Stocks and bonds you can’t cash. Legal papers.’

  ‘What about the silver that was just delivered to you a couple days ago?’ McComb growled out. The manager swallowed hard.

  ‘Oh, that’s all paid out. We move the cash in and out here pretty fast.’

  ‘Go open the damn safe,’ McComb said.

  ‘But I just told you.’

  McComb slammed the barrel of his Colt against the manager’s head, and the fellow saw colored lights for a moment as he fell against the desk. He was gasping wheezily.

  ‘Maybe I didn’t make myself clear,’ McComb said in a hard voice. ‘The safe.’

  The manager staggered over to the safe, dialed a combination lock for a moment, then swung the heavy door open. McComb walked up to it and saw the sacks of silver on a wide shelf. He turned to the others.

  ‘Get over here. We got silver to haul out.’

  ‘Don’t take it all, mister,’ the manager begged, holding his head. ‘The ranchers around here will kill me.’

  McComb was tired of him. He levelled the Colt at his face and fired. The manager was thrown back against the vault door, a hole over his left eye. When he slid to the floor, he left a crimson stain on the door.

  ‘That’s for lying to us,’ McComb grumbled.

  The woman started screaming again and McComb aimed the gun at her.

  ‘I told you, lady. Keep it quiet and you live.’

  Her screams subdued to a whimper as Navarro and Purvis hauled the sacks past McComb. McComb grabbed one that was left, and they all headed back out. As they came beyond the barrier an old man walked in the door. He stared at them, wide-eyed.

  The three carrying sacks ahead of McComb came past him with barely a glance, but as McComb passed him he gave the gray-haired fellow a violent shove aside, knocking him down. He hit the floor hard and lay there, stunned.

  ‘You goddam lowlifes!’ he choked out. ‘You can’t get away with this! You’ll all fry in hell!’

  Foley turned back. He drew his Schofield casually and fired it three times into the old man’s chest. His bodyjerked with each shot, then he lay bloody and lifeless. The woman behind the barrier began screaming yet again, but she was safe now. The other three with the loot were already boarding their mounts outside, and Foley was on his way out the door.

  Moments later the four riders were gone from the small town and on their way back to Billings. There was no law to follow them, and nobody knew what they looked like.

  It had been a successful foray into a new life for them, and McComb was very pleased.

  A few hours later they were back at the cabin outside town. On the previous day they had shot the old prospector who owned it and buried him out in back of the cabin. McComb dumped all the silver and paper money onto a table in the centre of the cabin and all four of them looked down on the loot with greedy eyes.

  ‘That is more than we thought, compadre,’ Navarro said grinning past a dark mustache. He picked up a handful of coins and let them fall through his fingers.

  ‘This is just the beginning,’ McComb told them. ‘Just the beginning.’

  ‘When do we split up?’ Foley said petulantly.

  His sidekick Purvis, still bristling with his guns, turned to him.

  ‘We’ll all get our cut, partner. Be patient.’

  ‘Part of it’s mine,’ Foley said in his dull voice.

  ‘I haven’t forgotten that,’ McComb told him acidly. ‘Well divide it up tonight. Tomorrow we’ll start thinking about another bank in a little place south of here. No law there, either.’ He added this last, with satisfaction. Navarro looked over at him.

  ‘You know, amigo, every time we do this, we draw more interest from the authorities. Those two we shot back there. That could bring in a federal marshal.’

  McComb frowned at his old partner. ‘What are you saying? That I shouldn’t’ve shot that lying sonofabitch manager?’

  Navarro shook his head. ‘I’m just pointing out that every time we do one of these lesser banks, we increase the risk to ourselves, yes?’

  ‘You want to just leave it all laying in them vaults, waiting for somebody else to come and help hisself to it?’

  Navarro shrugged. ‘We could go directly for the big bank right here next. The Western Union. They probably have enough to make us all rich in just one more job.’

  McComb sat down on a chair. It wasn’t a bad idea. He looked over to Purvis.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked him.

  ‘I kind of like it, McComb,’ the Iron Kid said thoughtfully.

  ‘Yeah,’ Foley said, bright-eyed. ‘The big bank next.’

  McComb pursed his lips. ‘That ain’t bad thinking, amigo. This one got us more than I thought. The Western Union could be very big.’

  Navarro nodded. ‘Just as important, we can all ride out from here right after the big job. Even if marshals are brought in, we’ll be halfway to Mexico before they even begin looking. And they won’t know who to go after, anyway.’

  McComb nodded. ‘OK. I like it. And we won’t wait for this job today to get old on us. I’ll start working on it tonight. We ought to be able to do it by, say, day after tomorrow. Then we can say goodbye to Billings for ever. I never really liked the place, anyway.’
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br />   Purvis nodded. ‘Then it’s agreed. The Western Union, and then we’re gone.’

  ‘Gone,’ Foley said rather too loudly.

  ‘Let’s put this stuff away and go celebrate,’ said McComb. He grinned.

  One hour after that conversation at the prospector’s shack O’Brien rode into town.

  He looked the place over as he traversed the main street, and was impressed. It was more civilized than he was accustomed to. He stopped at the Occidental saloon, hitched the appaloosa outside, and went in.

  It was late afternoon and there were few customers. O’Brien was impressed with the grandeur of the place. He felt as if he were in Kansas City. McComb and his men hadn’t arrived yet.

  He went to the long bar and addressed a slim, cleanlooking bartender.

  ‘You got quite a place here.’

  The bartender looked him over disdainfully.

  ‘What can I get you, sir?’

  ‘Make it a double whiskey,’ O’Brien told him.

  ‘Any particular brand?’

  O’Brien shook his head. ‘But maybe you can help me with some information. I’m looking for a rough-looking hombre with a scar on the side of his face. He goes by the name of McComb. He might have a Mexican with him.’

  ‘We’re not supposed to talk about our customers,’ the fellow said.

  O’Brien took a double eagle from a leather poke and threw it onto the bar.

  ‘That’s for the drink. And for what you know.’

  The barkeep surreptitiously took the gold coin, and leaned forward toward O’Brien.

  ‘He’s been in here several times. With a Mexican. The last time he was with two other men, too.’

  ‘Two other men?’

  ‘They were bad looking fellows. One had a metal nose. I was afraid he would scare our other customers away.’

  O’Brien thought about that for a moment.

  ‘What time do they usually come in?’

  ‘If they come in it will be later,’ was the reply.

  ‘Do you know where they sleep?’

  The fellow shook his head. ‘But the Langley boarding house is just on the next street. You might try there.’

  O’Brien threw another coin onto the bar.