by Tony Masero
At that moment, Thaddeus let loose as well. His own target amongst the group fell sideways. The shots echoed loudly around the enclosed space of the old quarry. Horses panicked and whirled in distress, raising clouds of the desert dust.
Thaddeus left his cover at the far side of the township and ran into the middle of the main street for a better view of the riders now lost amidst the swirling dust. Kneeling, he loosed off three shots from his carbine but Guardeen couldn’t tell if his partner hit anything in the reduced visibility. Pistol shots cracked out of the dust in Thaddeus’s direction as the gang fought back. Quickly, Thaddeus ran into an open doorway and out through the missing back wall of the structure, looking for a better angle of fire.
Guardeen searched for Black Band Doolin. The man had fallen from his horse and must be scrabbling somewhere in the dust below, probably trying to find his reins and remount. Guardeen was desperate to finish the man. He leaned over the edge of the box, aiming at the dark shapes moving around in the dust cloud. Two holes ruptured the thin wall by his side, making a metallic plink as they burst through. Someone below was returning his fire.
Then he had his target. Black Band moved away from his companions and leaped into the saddle, intent on a quick escape. Guardeen had him fixed in his sights. As he pulled the trigger, the platform under him lurched suddenly, sending his shot high into the sky.
Guardeen staggered. He heard the loud screech of complaining timber over the sounds of the gunfight and he felt the gantry shift as aged support ropes snapped. The barrow that held him began to slide dangerously as the platform tilted. He struggled to clamber over the sides, but the steep angle of descent made it difficult. The box then gathered pace as more rope gave way. He was heading for a messy death among the remains of the mining sheds far below.
Thaddeus heard the crack of exploding timbers and looked up. The entire structure above him swayed and slowly leaned out away from the rockface and hung perilously over the town. Suspended momentarily high over Thaddeus’s head, its shadow fell across his hiding place. Without hesitation, he dived through an open window, rolled on the ground beyond and leaped up to run down the main street as fast as his feet would carry him. Behind him, free of the sharpshooters, the rest of the band made off with a rumble of hoofbeats.
A ripple shook the weathered timbers as they shattered one by one and, like a building made of matchsticks, the whole gantry collapsed. It fell across the empty buildings with a loud crash that echoed throughout the whole place. A dust cloud rose high and timber sheds and tin roofs screeched protest then collapsed into piles of splintered wood, shattered glass and twisted metal. With a last metallic boom, the rusting box from the platform tumbled and rolled from out of the cloud, bouncing down the main street toward Thaddeus. Finally, it turned on its side and slid to rest not six feet away from Thaddeus. Slowly he looked inside, brushing away the dust from his face as he did so. He expected to see the broken body of Guardeen lying there. The box was empty.
Somberly, Thaddeus made his way over to the pile of wreckage where he thought Guardeen’s body must lie. With a heavy sigh, he looked at the great mass of jagged, broken timbers and picked his way amongst it, disconsolately searching for his partner.
“What in the name of Hades do you think you’re doing, Thaddeus?” The shout came from high above. “Get me the down from here!”
Thaddeus peered up, squinting against the sunlight, until he made out the dangling figure of Guardeen. His partner hung one handed from the pulley wheel that had been fixed above the loading box. In his free hand, Guardeen still held his treasured Sharps.
“I can’t hold on here for ever, you know,” he bawled irritably. “Wish you’d stop perusing me and thinking about how interesting I look up here and get to helping me out some.”
Thaddeus laughed with relief. “Why, Mister Nick. I thought you were a goner for sure.”
“I will be if you don’t get a move on.” Guardeen grimaced in annoyance. “Dammit! I can’t wait for you. If you want anything done around here…” He continued muttering his complaints as he slung the shoulder strap from the Sharps up over the wheel and onto the limb of its supporting stanchion. With the help of the rifle and dangling like a trapeze artist, he worked his way along the projecting metal bar of the bracket until he reached the cliff face. “Don’t you mind me,” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’ll just get on with it up here. You take your rest down there, Thaddeus. Don’t pay me no mind.”
“Well, you look like you’re doing just fine up there, being so acrobatic and such.” Thaddeus grinned broadly as he moved off to fetch the horses. “By God, Mister Nick, I swear you’d be the star attraction when the circus comes to town.”
“Damn you, Thaddeus,” cursed Guardeen as he swung a long leg over and pulled himself up to sit astride the iron bracket. “Go and fetch me a rope so I can get off this blasted rock.”
“Told you not to go up there, didn’t I?” Thaddeus muttered to himself in reply.
An hour had passed by the time they finally got around to the two fallen men. Guardeen had calmed down by then. He moved over to toe one of the bodies, rolling it over onto its back. It was the man who had crossed in front of him and was chest shot in error.
“Well, well,” he breathed. “Look at this, Thaddeus. You recognize this fellow?”
Thaddeus knelt over his own victim. “I know this one here,” he said. “Calls himself a ‘shootist’ and comes out of South Carolina. ‘Shootist’! Sounded professional, I guess.”
“Look here, this is Able Campsom. Corporal Able Campsom of A Company.”
“You don’t say!” Thaddeus strolled over and looked down at the body. “Able, boy, what are you doing in such desperate company?”
“That’s too bad. Him being one of ours, and all.”
“I think I saw Billy Ray Laforge amongst those shooters back there too. You see him?”
“Billy Ray, the crazy one who used to use a Colt Revolving Rifle?”
“The same,” agreed Thaddeus. “I’m not sure, though, there was that much dust flying about I couldn’t swear on it.”
“Couldn’t say either way, my sight was fixed on Doolin. But I heard that Billy Ray was up in Montana, driving off sodbusters these days.”
“Somebody wants us put away bad, Mister Nick. These are all men of the profession. Sharpshooters, every one.”
“Appears to be that way. So Black Band is out there with Billy Ray Laforge, who d’you suppose is the other one that got away?”
“Well, one time old Black Band used to partner up with that tall mountain man kind of fellow – what was his name now?”
“Swede Gunnarson, they called him. Great red haired bearded fellow. Never washed nor shaved. Was a buffalo hunter, one time. Always wore those greasy buckskins with the fringes along the seam. Stank like a skunk but he was a mean shot with the rifle.”
“That’s the man,” said Thaddeus. “I heard he shot down three friendly Teton Sioux in the Black Hills country just for the hell of it. Had a headache, he said. A mean and vicious character all right.”
Guardeen dragged his victim out of the sun and into the shadow of the rock face. He then proceeded to collect stones to cover the corpse.
“Look at this,” called Thaddeus, holding up a purse found in his man’s pocket. A stream of gold poured out into his hand.
“These boys didn’t come that cheap, I’m thinking,” Guardeen observed as his partner retied the money sack.
“Sure didn’t, that’s a lot of yellow metal there.”
“Who d’you reckon it is that’s paying them all that gold? That Cave Wyatt fellow?”
“Well, they say he’s the man with the money.”
“I’d certain like to know who’s letting on to the Rebs about us.” Guardeen grunted under an armful of stones.
“Damn right, I’d like to know too. I’ve got some suspicions about that Leatheridge fellow; didn’t like his cut at all. I find out it’s him, I’ll see him tarred and feathe
red and ridden out of town on a railroad tie, that’s for sure.”
Chapter Six
“Just before the battle, mother,
I am thinking most of you,
Whilst upon the field before us
Lies the enemy in view.
Comrades brave around me lying,
Filled with thoughts of home and God
For they know that on the morrow,
They may lay beneath the sod.”
It was an old song, popular with the troops of both sides during the war. Even crossing the ocean to be sung in Britain, so they said. Thaddeus had a mellow bass voice and Guardeen liked to hear him sing, even if it was one of his more depressingly sentimental ballads like this one. They were camped in dry grassland that covered a range of rolling hills some twenty miles south of the desert ghost town and, ever cautious, Guardeen had found the hollow where their campfire would not be seen at a distance. Their meal was done and they were settling for the night, saddles for their pillows and horse blankets for their beds.
“You ever know what happened to your mother?” Guardeen asked, wondering at Thaddeus’s association with the song.
“Can’t say I did, Mister Nick. I was just a small child when they sold me on.”
Guardeen nodded. “I don’t recall exactly when my pa brought you in. I must’ve been too young myself.”
“I reckon,” agreed Thaddeus. “But your folks were mighty kind to me, I do remember that. Didn’t get too many beatings, even when I was full grown. It was hard work but fitting, y’know?” He grinned broadly and gave Guardeen a sly look. “Leastwise, until they give me to you as body servant, then it got a might tougher.”
Guardeen snorted and gave him a fake frown. “You’re enjoying your freedom now you’ve got it, aren’t you?”
“Don’t seem to be much of a difference, if you ask me.” Thaddeus hunched down close to the fire, his arms looped around his knees as he stared into the flames. “Just a word, isn’t it?”
“But you can go anywhere you like now, you know that, don’t you, Thaddeus? Don’t have to stick around here with me. I was just getting a rise out of you when I said that about being my man still. It isn’t true.”
Thaddeus nodded. “I know that.”
“Then why’d you stay all this time? I guess I’m not the most temperate of folk to be around.”
Thaddeus looked into the flames thoughtfully as he pondered his answer and Guardeen saw their dance reflected in his dark eyes.
“I guess I’m content right where I am, Mister Nick.”
And Guardeen understood that this was how they’d got along so well for so many years. Thaddeus was at heart a humble man, his expectations and desires few. It was sufficient for him that he had a cause to follow and a companion to do it with and that sustained him and gave him purpose. At first Guardeen wondered with a touch of envy at Thaddeus’s simplicity, but the sense evaporated when he realized that he himself was not much different. His needs were few and it was a new experience for them both to be willing to sell their services for something more than board and keep. Up until now the two of them had drifted aimlessly, finding work where they could and that invariably at the end of the long arm. But now they had the prospect of something more substantial: their own place to do with as they wished. At that moment, Guardeen realized he was thinking of a kind of freedom, his own freedom, and it was only now that he saw that he himself had been a slave. A slave to the rifle and the life it brought with it.
“Good to hear you say that, Mister Johnston.” Guardeen smiled. “Could be that we’re up against it this time. You know that, don’t you?”
“I knows it. But what the hell, Mister Nick. Bullet’s a bullet, it either has your name written on it or it doesn't. No point in overly concerning yourself about it. Lord picks us up and the Lord puts us down, that’s the way of it, isn’t it?”
“Right enough, Thaddeus. Just need to know you’re with me on this. I reckon I want that farmland the Governor promised us real hard.”
“Oooh, yes sir. I like that myself. It’ll be a great place, Mister Nick. You’ll see. We’ll build us a fine house there. With stables and a barn. Corrals and such. And we’ll have stock too. Horse, chickens, pigs and beef. Gonna be a veranda out front with two rocking chairs where we’ll take a drop of liquor come the evening time. Even get us a dog. You’ll see, it’ll be a fine place, I guarantee it.”
Guardeen was amused by the man’s wanderings; his fantasy made the unrealized possible. “And you given any thought to the naming of this Paradise you got so planned and isn’t even built yet.”
Thaddeus chuckled. “Sure do. I have a name in mind all right.”
“Get along, Thaddeus. Go on, let on, what is it?”
“Why, it’ll be The Rifleman’s Rest. What else we going to call her?”
Guardeen laughed. “Hah! I like it. The Rifleman’s Rest. And there we surely will rest, I trust.”
“Lord willing. Yes, indeed.”
“Amen to that, Thaddeus. Amen to that.”
Chapter Seven
Black Band Doolin clattered down the steps from the railroad telegraph office at Closeup Junction and looked at the remaining members of his band mounted at the hitching rail. They had met up a day and a half earlier not long before the debacle at the mining town. Now with only two left of the original team, Doolin was not a happy man. From beneath the brim of his hat, he glared at passers-by unfortunate enough to catch his eye as he descended the steps. His destroyed features were only half-hidden in the hat’s shadow and Doolin did not like to be so exposed to public scrutiny. So long had he been shunned by society, at first for his crimes and later for his looks, that Doolin had created in response a protective barrier of rejection to all of society. A man of volatile reactions yet not a creature of vast intelligence, Doolin was barely sharp enough to out-think most of his peers. Combined with a merciless attitude and a certain eye with a long arm, it was still enough to confirm his designation as leader.
Billy Ray fidgeted in his saddle, ever restless with his eyes darting from side to side. He was no more that twenty years with almost childlike, innocently fresh features. Underneath lurked a seriously damaged mind; his abused childhood in a dockside New York orphanage had inevitably driven him into a marginalized life of murder and theft. “What you got, Black Band?” he asked.
Doolin scratched the end of his hooked nose and looked up at Billy Ray with a glittering eye. “They are not pleased. That’s what. Wanting to know how we could lose two men like that. How come we fall for such a dumb ambush? How, when we’re supposed to be the best? And so on .... yakkity, yak, yakkity, yak. Same as ever, rear echelon honchos doing nothing but complaining instead of taking the point where the bullets fly.”
Billy Ray looked away in disgust. He was dwarfed by the tall figure of Swede Gunnarson who sat astride a chestnut gelding. Gunnarson scratched the sweat-stained armpit of his fringed buckskin and mumbled into his beard, “I need a feed. We going to get that real soon?”
“Might be, you should start with a bath,” grumbled Billy Ray. “You stink worse than a wet horse on a hot day.”
“Mind your own hygiene affairs,” growled Swede with a warning look. “Washing’s unhealthy.”
“I would mind ’em, Swede, but I happen to be downwind and I’ve known abattoirs that’ve smelt better.”
“Cut it out!” snapped Black Band. “We’ll get us a feed now. Guardeen and his boy have to go down hard though. I’m not having them make me look such a damned fool like this. I’ve wanted that blue-belly for years. Ever since he done this to me.” His fingers rubbed the ravaged skin on his cheek. “I’d like to take my time and do it to him slow, I really would. But right now I don’t give a damn, short and sweet or long and hard, either way it doesn’t matter, as long as he’s in the ground permanent.”
“Let’s eat then before I fade away,” Swede said, swinging down from the saddle. “They have a place to eat in this dump – wherever the hell we are?�
�
“They’ve got an eating house back there.” Billy Ray indicated the dusty main street. “I saw it as we came in.”
Black Band caught up his pony’s reins, “Let’s go then.”
They pushed the swing doors open and entered Miss Melon Jones Saloon and Eatery. Eyeing them from behind a long and sturdy polished wooden bar was a handsome Negress of momentous proportions, dressed in an explosion of lace and green silk. “You boys to eat or drink?” she called out boldly over the heads of her customers who lined the bar.
“Bit of both,” answered Black Band.
“Through back for your dinner, set right here for the liquor. We don’t mix the two.”
“You Miss Melon Jones?”
“I am, indeed. Proud proprietor of this establishment.”
“Then you just ‘propriet’, black lady,” Black Band growled in a warning tone. “We’re paying customers and do as we please when it comes to drinking and eating, if that’s all right with you?”
Melon Jones got the message and lowered her eyes, looking sideways over to a sturdy young white man in the corner who sat with a double-8 shotgun between his knees. “All right then. You make yourselves at home now. We have good wholesome food here, half a dollar buys you more than you can handle.”
“We’ll see about that,” sniggered Billy Ray. “You going to come and watch us?”
“Can’t do that, son. Got to keep the bar.”
“I’m not your son. I’m not anybody’s son,” snapped Billy Ray.
“No offence, I’m sure.”
Black Band clattered over to the bar, his spurs raking across the sawdust-covered plank floor. Pushing between two customers, who readily made way for him, he leaned over to stare hard into Melon Jones’ face. “One thing I can’t stand is a woman who doesn’t know her place. Now you going to cut the cackle and set us up a bottle here or do I have to come around there and get it myself?”
