The Running Gun

by Jory Sherman

  “Lonnie will be ridin’ in bye and bye. Seen Jake around?”

  “I seen him once’t the other day.” Law set the bottle down under the bar. “He’s stayin’ on the shady side. Makin’ hisself as scarce as a shadder on a dark day.”

  “I reckon we’ll find one another,” Dooley said.

  “Yeah.”

  Dan decided he’d heard enough. For all he knew, Krebs and Bartlett could come walking into the saloon at any moment. Then, he and Pete would be outnumbered.

  “Let’s finish up, Johnny,” he said, using Raskin’s outlaw moniker.

  Raskin hesitated. Dan drove an elbow into Pete’s side.

  “Now,” he said, under his breath.

  With that, Dan downed his drink and started for the door.

  “So long, Leon,” he said. “Max. Thanks for the hospitality.”

  Reluctantly, Raskin followed after Cord.

  “You boys stay out of trouble, y’hear?” Dooley said.

  Leon just snickered and lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave.

  Dan’s heart was pounding when he left the saloon.

  “We goin’ to eat somewhere?” Raskin asked.

  Dan turned on him when they were out of earshot of Dooley and Law.

  “Look, Pete, if you want to stay alive, you’d better follow my lead. You acted like you didn’t want to leave that saloon.”

  “Well, it was pretty interestin’, you gotta admit.”

  “That Max Dooley is a killer. No, we ain’t goin’ to go eat. We’re goin’ to pack up our gear and light a shuck out of Waco. Fast.”

  “But, I ain’t even slept on that cot yet.”

  “It’s hard ground from here on, if you’re ridin’ with me.”

  Raskin grumbled all the way up to the room.

  The two men took their belongings and left. Dan left the key on top of the counter of the deserted office and the two walked out into the night, their stomachs growling from hunger.

  They saddled up in the dark with the help of a lot of cursing. By the time they rode out of the livery, both men were ravaged with hunger.

  “We’ll go to that little Mexican café and eat some supper,” Dan said. His empty belly was still warm from the whiskey and he knew Pete must be feeling the effects of the alcohol as well. “Tomorrow, we’ll buy grub and such for the trail.”

  “I could eat the south end of a northbound horse,” Raskin said.

  Dan laughed.

  They camped at the edge of one of the nearby plantations that night, and took turns staying awake to stand guard. Both men slept fitfully.

  The next day, they rode into town together, staying to the side streets, buying food they didn’t have to cook, but Dan also bought coffee, beans, flour and bread. They filled their canteens, and Dan bought a Colt .44 for Pete and two boxes of cartridges. He bought himself a second pistol, a Colt. 44/40. He also bought a spyglass, second hand.

  “This could come in handy,” he told Raskin.

  “It feels like we’re going to war,” Pete said.

  “Maybe we are.”

  On Saturday, shortly after dawn, there was activity at the Texas Rangers’ fort. Four riders went into town and returned an hour later with another man. Dan and Pete were watching from a distance, using the spyglass.

  “That would be Jerico Jones,” Dan said, handing the telescope to Raskin.

  Pete peered through the scope. “He looks scared out of his wits.”

  “He probably is.”

  Dan was surprised to see that only three Texas Rangers rode out of the fort with Jones.

  “They must be pretty confident,” Dan told Pete.

  “The Rangers are tough old birds, I hear.”

  “They’ll have to be if Jake Krebs goes after that witness.”

  “What if this Krebs comes after us?” Raskin asked.

  “Then we’re up shit creek without a paddle.”

  “So, what’s our plan, Jason?”

  “You can call me Dan from now on, Pete. There are no ears out here.”

  “All right. So, now what?”

  “First off, are you sure you want to ride with me to San Antonio?”

  “Hell, I got no other place to go. And, you staked me.”

  “It might be dangerous.”

  “I’m game, Dan.”

  “All right. We can’t follow too close, but we don’t want to lose track of this party going south. I have a hunch that Krebs knows the Rangers are taking Jones south. So we have to be on the lookout for him and his men. I figure Krebs will have Dooley and Bartlett with him, but he could have one or two more. He won’t follow close, either. In fact, he might just be waiting up ahead at some place where he can wait in ambush.”

  “That don’t sound good.”

  “Krebs knows the country.”

  “And, do you, Dan?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Well, I know it as far as Austin.”

  The Rangers rode toward the San Antonio trail slowly, as if they had all the time in the world.

  “I don’t see anybody following them,” Dan said. “We’ll ride on ahead and I’ll look at tracks. I kind of figure Krebs has already ridden out of Waco.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “That man’s a snake. You never see him until he’s all coiled up and ready to strike.”

  On the road south, Dan studied the tracks, looking for the freshest ones. There was a man with a cart heading into town and they avoided him.

  “Uh oh,” Dan said, a few minutes later. He pulled Dapper to a halt and pointed down at the ground. There were fresh hoof marks in the road.

  “What?” Pete asked.

  “I know that track,” Dan said. “Krebs rides a black horse he calls Duke and there’s his track, fresh as morning dew.”

  He pulled out the spyglass and put it to his eye. He scanned the road ahead, looking farther than he could see with the naked eye. He stopped at a point, adjusted the lens and drew in a breath, held it to keep the scope steady.

  “And, there they go,” he said.

  “Krebs?”

  “Just a minute. Yep, that’s Krebs, and he’s got three men with him, not two.”

  “Cripes,” Pete said.

  The men got smaller and smaller until they disappeared over the horizon.

  Dan collapsed the spyglass and put it back in his saddlebag, within easy reach. He turned to Raskin, a worried look on his face.

  “I don’t know where they’re heading, Pete, but Krebs is going to be waiting somewhere up ahead.”

  “For the Rangers?”

  “And for us, too.”

  “So, now what? Do we keep ahead of the Rangers or wait for them to ride into an ambush?”

  “That’s a good question, Pete. I just wish I knew right off.”

  Dan mulled over the decision he would soon have to make. There was going to be a fight somewhere up ahead, but he had no idea where or when Krebs would make his move.

  And neither did the Texas Rangers.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dan and Pete rode well off the road to Austin, but so did the Rangers. The road was well traveled, and there were daily and nightly passages of freight wagons, stagecoaches, families, and individuals, going both ways. Dan was careful not to throw up much dust in his trail. The group he was following didn’t leave any trace of their passing hanging in the sky.

  The Rangers made camp that first night near Belton, and Dan wondered if they were using the opportunity to have Jones go over his eyewitness testimony concerning the murders of the drovers by Krebs. He was sure they would at least talk about it, and perhaps Jones would point out where the massacre occurred. It was a chilling thought as he and Raskin rode past Belton in the wake of the Rangers.

  Late the next day, when the sun was striping long shadows on the plain, they rode into the long hills and high ridges above Round Rock. A few miles from Austin, Dan pulled up short when he heard something, a faint sound in the distance.

  �
��What was that?” he asked, not really expecting any answer from Raskin.

  “Sounded like a shot, maybe,” Pete said.

  Then they both heard the firecracker crackle of rifles and pistols, perhaps a mile or so ahead of them.

  “Come on,” Dan said, slapping the ends of his reins against Dapper’s rump. He put the spurs to his horse and rode at a fast gallop, Raskin right behind him, cleaving the wind.

  They rode through a small gully, choked with brush, and came out atop a low ridge. Below, they saw puffs of white smoke and flashes of orange flame. The air was filled with the sizzle and whine of bullets caroming off rocks.

  Dan reined up and drew his rifle from its sheath. “There,” he said, pointing down below. Raskin reined his horse to a skidding halt and gazed at the fight going on amid a cluster of large rocks.

  The Rangers were pinned down. They were surrounded by four men shooting into their midst. Rangers fired their rifles and ducked back behind the boulders.

  “They’re in a bad spot,” Dan told Pete. “See if you can find the shooters around those Rangers and pick one off.”

  “All I got is a pistol.”

  “Draw it and shoot it, then.”

  Dan slid out of the saddle, left Dapper ground-tied to a clump of low bushes. He pulled the spyglass out of his saddlebag, stuck it in his belt. He hunched over and stepped to the edge of the ridge. He pulled the spyglass from his waist and started looking for muzzle flashes. When he saw one, he put the glass on it and tried to make out the face of the shooter.

  Then he saw Dooley, creeping up on the Rangers from their blind side.

  Krebs was smart. He and his men would fire, then change positions. When the Rangers fired back at the smoke and muzzle flashes, they were shooting at vacated places, their bullets speeding harmlessly into brush and dirt.

  Dan could see Dooley clearly, and he was the closest to him. But, as Dan looked around, he saw that if he fired from that position, he would be totally exposed. Not only Dooley, but Krebs, and each of his men, would be able to pick him off like a fly on a wall.

  Cord looked down and saw a spot a few yards away that might work for him. There was a large boulder on the side of the ridge, lodged there from some ancient time when the earth was in upheaval. Bushes grew around it.

  But he knew he would be taking a chance if he crawled over the edge of the ridge. There was no cover. He would be in plain view for as long as it took him to slither toward that big rock and take up a position of concealment.

  “Pete,” Dan called in a loud whisper. “Get off that horse.”

  Raskin nodded and swung down from the saddle. He walked his horse away from the rim of the ridge, tied him next to Dapper. Then he hunched over and crabbed over to where Dan was lying prone.

  “I’m going down there,” Dan whispered, pointing to the spot he had picked out moments before. “I want to see if I can pick off Max Dooley. See him?”

  Dan pointed to where Dooley was crouched in the brush.

  Raskin nodded.

  “If he turns and sees me, you start shooting at him. Keep him busy until I get set.”

  “That looks like a mighty tough spot to get to, Dan. You got no cover for ten or fifteen yards.”

  “That’s why I’m counting on you to keep Dooley from shooting me on the way down. Can you do it?”

  “I don’t know if I can hit him from here, but I can sure as hell throw lead at him.”

  “I like your attitude, Pete,” Dan husked. “Here I go, like a lizard.”

  Dan slipped over the edge and started crawling, wriggling, pushing with the toes of his boots. Dirt and small rocks loosened and started small landslides. Stones dug into his flesh and sweat beaded his brow. He kept an eye on Dooley, and before Dan got to the hiding place, he saw the outlaw turn and stare at him. Then, Dooley brought his rifle up to his shoulder and swung the barrel so that it searched out Dan.

  Dan’s heart pounded like a berserk trip-hammer. Couldn’t Raskin see that Dooley had a bead on him? Then, a few yards from the boulders, Dan saw Dooley turn his head and look up at the ridge. But he kept the rifle pointed at Dan.

  “Shoot him,” Dan yelled, trying to keep his voice low.

  He turned and saw Raskin scooting into a sitting position.

  “Stupid,” Dan muttered under his breath. “Pete, get down,” he shouted. “Now.”

  In that one fleeting moment, Dan felt something clutch at his heart and he had a sinking feeling in his gut. That wasn’t Pete Raskin up on the ridge-top. That was not who Dan saw. It was his little brother Jason and he wanted to run up there and knock Pete out of the way, save his life as he had not been able to save Jason’s.

  That’s when Dooley pulled the trigger.

  Dan ducked, heard the rush of air as the bullet sought him out. It struck a few inches from where he lay, plowing a furrow that threw dirt in his face. He closed his eyes and pushed with his toes, pulled with his hands to propel him closer to cover.

  He heard a shot from the ridge-top as he pulled himself into the brush. Three quick pistol shots. He glanced up and let out a sigh when he saw that Pete was lying flat on his belly, shooting down at Dooley. Only the top of his head showed, and the snout of his Colt spitting out fire sparks and lead.

  Dooley fired again, sending a bullet up toward Raskin. He levered his rifle and began firing at Dan, but his aim was poor.

  Dan scrambled to the rock nestled in the brush, but realized it wasn’t the cover he had thought it was. He waited a few seconds and then brought his rifle up, levered a cartridge into the chamber and looked toward the place where he had last seen Dooley.

  Dooley was still there—reloading.

  Dan took aim, squeezed the trigger, and shot at Dooley. Dooley ducked and Dan heard the bullet whine as it tumbled past him, struck a rock, caromed off and shot off somewhere. More shots from Raskin and Dan saw little spouts of dust pop up around Dooley.

  Not a bad shot, he thought. Shooting a pistol from that distance held little hope of accuracy, but Dan hoped it kept Dooley hunkered down.

  Dan was wrong.

  Max Dooley burst from his hiding place, which wasn’t much to begin with, and began running toward Dan, zig-zagging, and firing from the hip.

  Raskin’s pistol was silent.

  Out of ammunition, Dan thought. So, Pete was reloading and was no help at all.

  Dan took aim, trying to track Dooley, squeezed off a shot when he thought he knew where the man would be next and knew he had missed even as he pulled the trigger. He drew down the lever and slid another cartridge into the firing chamber. Dooley was closing the distance and when Dan fired again, he missed again and then Dooley vanished.

  He heard yelling from where the Rangers were fighting for their lives and a man screamed in pain. Dan hoped it wasn’t Jerico Jones, but his mind was on other things and he didn’t dwell on it.

  He figured out that Dooley had gone down into a small gully or fissure and was holding fast until he could reload and come at Dan from another direction.

  Dan looked around and knew that he was now in a dangerous position. If Dooley came up on either flank, he would have the advantage. Dan felt trapped there. Vulnerable.

  Still no more firing from Raskin up on the ridge.

  What in hell was Pete doing?

  Dan’s nerves were screaming like birds in terror. He was getting the jitters as he sat there behind the rock, which was growing smaller by the moment. He knew he had to get out of there and take his chances in the open. He crawled around to the upside of the rock, the side facing the ridge and got to his knees for a better look.

  That’s when he saw Krebs, riding that black horse of his, Duke, closing in on the Rangers. Flanking him, at some distance, perhaps fifty yards apart, were two other riders. He recognized both, but lost focus when he heard the jingle of a spur and the loosening of a rock underfoot.

  “Dan, look out!” Pete yelled from the ridge.

  Dooley rose up before him, both hands full of iron.
Gone was the rifle. Now, Dooley was coming straight at him with two six-guns barking, spewing lead and flame.

  Bullets sped into the dirt all around Dan. He dropped his rifle and stood up, stepped to one side, as he drew his own pistol.

  Dooley was just shooting. He wasn’t calm and he wasn’t aiming.

  “I want your hide, Cord,” Dooley growled. “I’m going to stretch you out.”

  Dan calmly cocked his pistol, took aim and fired pointblank at the running Dooley. It seemed to him as if time had slowed down, as if he were in a hollow place where there was no sound for just a brief instant. And then, a roaring from his hand as he pulled the trigger of his Colt. He saw a crimson flower sprout on Dooley’s chest, heard the smack of the lead bullet as it struck him square in the breastbone.

  Dan could hear the bone crack. Dooley was no more than ten yards from him.

  Blood gushed from Dooley’s chest. He stood there, frozen for a moment, stopped by the bullet’s impact. His eyes widened in surprise, his mouth opened in a silent scream. His hands twitched and both pistols fired into the ground on either side of Dooley. He staggered, as if trying to stay on his feet and then fell forward, landing in a crumpled heap.

  Dan heard a grunt from where Max Dooley lay, and then nothing. He looked up and saw Krebs, waving to him, a strange smile on his face.

  The other two men joined Krebs and rode off with him.

  The Rangers’ guns went silent.

  Raskin fired off five quick shots at the retreating outlaws and then stood up, looked down at Dan. Dan gestured to him.

  “Bring the horses down,” Dan yelled up at him.

  He walked over to where the body of Dooley lay motionless, looked down at him. What chilled him was not that he had killed Dooley, but that now he knew who the fourth man was, the man riding with Krebs on the outlaw’s killing mission.

  Dan had seen him plainly.

  The fourth man was Deputy Marshal Frank Gaston.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dan’s hands started to tremble as he stood there looking down at the man he had killed. He felt the absence of life, the vacancy of the man who had once been Max Dooley, himself a killer of men, an outlaw, a thief, a robber. He felt the absence of vitality, taken away from Dooley so suddenly, so finally. And, he felt his own mortality at that moment, and a wave of compassion flowed through him and over him.