by Lee Clinton
Gus felt an uncontrollable surge of love for his son. It rolled over his body like the warmth of a chinook wind as it sweeps down to escape the icy clutch of winter. It was like inhaling balmy spring air. His first and only child. The son his wife had presented to him twenty-three years ago, was now talking to him man to man, and telling his father of the ties that bind.
‘Are you going to finish this once and for all?’ Henry asked.
Gus looked up. ‘Yes, one way or the other, once and for all.’
‘Then I want to be beside you when you do, Dad.’
Gus looked at his boy with pride and bit on the edge of his lower lip before slowly saying, ‘We will need to leave straight after the church service.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘West, then north to the Warren property, and we need to be there by last light. Check your rifle, handgun and ammunition, and be ready for bad company.’
‘How many?’
‘Three.’
‘Who?’
‘Rufus Cole, Aaron and Calvin Moy.’
Henry’s eyes widened. ‘You think they were—’
Gus cut in. ‘Yes, but I can’t prove it. That’s why we have to wait for them to try and do it again. And when they do, I’m going to strike. No arrests.’
Concern etched Henry’s features.
‘I know,’ said Gus, ‘but it’s no longer a matter of choice. All I want you to do is cover my back. You’ll need a good mount. Best you go talk to the livery.’
‘There are two good horses here, I’ve just taken Chrissy for a ride,’ said Henry. ‘I’ll keep them overnight and we can use them.’ Henry got up from the table. ‘I’ll get my guns.’
When Henry pushed back on his chair to stand, and the legs scraped against the floor, he thought he heard the scamper of feet from the other side of the kitchen door. But when he opened it, there was nobody there.
But there had been and now they were gone.
Chrissy had been listening, and the pristine hearing of a fifteen-year-old girl meant that she had heard everything. Every detail, and that included Henry’s love for her and the names of Aaron and Calvin Moy.
CHAPTER 29
THREE FINGERS
Smart
The decision to leave before the church service was made on the urging of Henry. His logic was sound. Why wait? They had a long ride ahead and the extra few hours would make it easier on the horses. However, for Gus there was now a missing piece to his original plan. He had wanted to go to church with Martha, to be close by her side as he silently sought forgiveness for future sins.
Henry obtained permission from his mother for them to leave straight after breakfast, and like his father he kept up the pretence with a lie. ‘The earlier we leave, the sooner we’ll be back,’ he had said.
Martha wanted them back, and the two men in her life slipped away just before she and Chrissy made ready for the church service. With his departing kiss, Gus told his wife that a boy would come with a horse from the livery, and that she should tell him that it was no longer required but pay him a small gratuity for his service. Chrissy stood just off to one side as she cleared the plates from the breakfast table.
They were over fifteen miles out of town when Gus caught sight of a rider in the distance, over to their left, on the old wagon track. He expected that the traveller would overtake them, and probably turn north, as that was the direction of the old track. But the rider slowed, departed from the track and started to pace them for the next three or four miles until they were close to the Mayfield property.
Henry didn’t pay much notice to the company until he put his water canteen to his lips and took a longer look. ‘Arr, jeez,’ he said and pulled up his horse.
‘What is it?’ asked Gus.
‘It’s Chrissy.’
‘What?’ Gus looked. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I know how she sits.’ Henry pulled his horse around and started riding towards the figure that had come to a halt some three or four hundred yards away.
Gus followed and as he got closer, saw that it was indeed Chrissy.
Henry reached her first and opened the conversation with, ‘Chrissy, what are you doing here? You have to go back.’
Chrissy sat silently looking at Henry as Gus arrived.
‘Head back straight away, Chrissy,’ continued Henry.
She shook her head defiantly. It was clear that she was not going anywhere.
‘And where did you get that mount?’ Henry was now showing his annoyance.
‘It’s the horse from the livery that I ordered,’ said Gus.
‘She’ll have to go back,’ said Henry.
‘I agree,’ said Gus, ‘but not on her own. I don’t want her running into any bad company coming this way. You’ll have to go back with her, Henry.’
‘But—’
‘No other way,’ said Gus, just as Chrissy called out, ‘Yah,’ and rode between the two of them and towards the crest that overlooked the Mayfield property.
Gus pulled his horse around, ‘Come on, Henry, she’s heading for the ruins of her old home.’
Chrissy rode at a full gallop, showing both style and ease, and neither Gus nor Henry were going to catch her. They slowed when the ruins of the homestead came into view, and by the time they did catch up she had dismounted and was watering her horse from the trough by the water pump.
Gus dismounted and led his horse over. As it drank, he took off his hat and leant over to put his hand on her shoulder. ‘You ride well, Chrissy,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen men who think they are smart on a horse, but not as smart as you.’ He then shook his head. ‘Chrissy, you’ll have to go back with Henry.’
Chrissy looked at Gus, glanced at Henry, then back to Gus, before quietly saying, ‘I heard what you told Henry. I was listening at the door. I heard the names.’
Gus tried not to show any eagerness as he asked, ‘Had you heard any of those names before?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which ones?’
‘Aaron and Calvin.’
‘Now, this is important, Chrissy. How many men were here on that night, can you remember?’
Chrissy looked over at Henry then back to Gus before holding up three fingers and saying, ‘Three. There were three men. The one on top of me was Calvin, the one on top of Grace was Aaron.’
‘Do you know what we are going to do, Chrissy?’
Chrissy nodded again.
‘Do you want to come with us and identify the men who did this?’ Gus glanced at the ruins of the Mayfield home. ‘Do you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, her voice firm. ‘I want to go with you and Henry.’
CHAPTER 30
FULL MOON
Coyote Call
They rode in silence, each with their thoughts, Chrissy close to Henry, and Henry close to Gus. They stopped every hour, briefly, to check their horses, but barely a word was said. As last light faded, a full moon rose early to cast its own pale light.
Gus knew they were close, but was unsure if this was the crest that looked down upon the Warren homestead, or the one after. The silhouette of the fir trees in the hollow looked familiar, but he expected to see the glow of an oil lamp, so he told himself it must be the next ridge on.
Just as he lowered his head a little, to better examine the ground underfoot, a shot cracked the still air so close to his ear as to startle and tumble him from his mount. ‘Down, down, down,’ he yelled instinctively as he fell. A second shot followed just as Gus crashed to the ground with a thud.
‘Hit,’ came a yelp followed by a second thud and a groan. It was Henry.
Another two shots cracked and thumped into the ground behind them. Four shots in all from a rapid-fire volley.
Gus caught sight of Chrissy as she scrambled towards Henry. ‘Down,’ he called again as a startled horse turned, pounding hoofs as it tried to escape, but Chrissy held tight to the reins and pulled the horse after her.
‘Git, go on and git, you’ll not put me off m
y land,’ came the shout from down the slope. It was Beverly Warren.
‘Bev, Bev Warren, it’s Gus, Sheriff Gus Ward of Laramie.’
‘Gus? What are you doing here?’
‘Coming to help you.’
Gus could hear the swishing sound of running legs against the saltbush as Bev and Luke arrived.
‘Are you all OK?’
‘Henry? Henry, you OK?’ called Gus.
‘Henry’s hurt,’ said Chrissy.
On hearing the voice, Bev said, ‘Is that you, Chrissy Mayfield?’
‘Yes, Mrs Warren.’
Bev hurried to her and Henry. ‘Give me a look.’
Gus followed to find Henry on his back clutching his upper right arm. ‘Can you move your fingers? Show me,’ he asked.
Henry opened and closed his hand.
‘Good. What about your elbow?’
Henry moved his forearm back and forth a little.
‘Good.’
‘Luke, Luke, lamp,’ called Bev loudly.
Gus glanced over to catch the shape of Luke Warren shuffling back down the slope, his rifle still in his hand. He turned his attention back to Henry. ‘Lift your hand from the wound and give me a look.’ The light from the moon showed a dark patch of blood upon the sleeve. It wasn’t as much as he feared. He put his hands around the arm and pushed his fingers into the soft flesh near the armpit to feel the bone. As he squeezed he waited for Henry to jump, but he didn’t. ‘You’re blessed,’ he said, ‘the shot has missed the bone.’ He moved Henry’s hand back to the wound. ‘Keep pressing till we can plug the hole. Can you stand? We’ll get you down to the homestead.’ Gus helped his son to his feet.
‘Oh, my Lord, it must have been the hand of God that saved you,’ said Beverly. ‘Because I’m normally a good shot and so is Luke.’ She put her arm around Chrissy’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘So good to see you, Chrissy. Bring the horses down, sweetheart, hitch them round back, there’s water there.’
Under the light of an oil lamp, Henry was indeed ‘lucky’. The damage from the shot was minor, causing a neat wound in the fleshy part of the upper arm, a little to the rear. The exit hole was not that far from and about the same dimension as the entry. The size of a fingertip. When washed clean, it was difficult to see how the shot had not actually entered Henry’s side. He must have had his arm raised as it crossed the path of the bullet.
Bev talked Chrissy through each aspect of the attention being given, from drying and packing each puncture to the arm with a rolled cotton gauze, to the tight wrapping of the bandage. ‘It’s going to be sore and best it be tucked inside your shirt for the trip home.’ Bev looked at Chrissy. ‘You will have to help nurse him along.’
Chrissy had her arm around Henry’s shoulder as she nodded her head.
‘So, am I presuming correctly that we might be expecting some other folks tonight?’ Bev asked Gus, as she lifted the wash bowl from the table. ‘Bring the cloth, Chrissy.’ They both walked across to a bench that ran along the wall next to the cast-iron stove.
‘Yes, not sure when, but I don’t expect long,’ replied Gus.
‘How many? Three? Or more?’
‘Three.’
‘Well, we’ll be ready. Have been for a while. We’ve been sleeping out under the trees on watch. When we saw three horses on the crest, we just did what we planned to do. Shoot. Maybe in hindsight it was not such a good plan after all. Don’t know what I’d done if I had killed any one of you. But I know one thing, I’m going to get my shotgun if I can’t hit the side of a barn with my rifle.’
‘Where do you and Luke sleep, Bev?’ asked Gus as he looked around the homestead.
‘Luke, there by the door, me back behind the divide, why?’
‘We need to pad up both beds to make it look like they’re occupied. I want them to enter your cabin.’
‘Are we going to shoot them in here when they enter?’ asked Bev.
‘No, I think your plan of taking watch from under the trees is a good one. But once they enter your home unannounced and uninvited, their intentions of harm are clear.’
‘Well, if that’s how the law works,’ concluded Bev.
Gus just said, ‘In a way,’ before turning to Henry. ‘You just rest. Chrissy, please help Luke make up the beds. Bev, show me where you’ve been taking watch.’
The moon was now higher and strong enough to cast a shadow. From the hiding spot on the edge of the trees, the crest of the ridge was clearly defined and Gus wondered how the three of them had not been shot dead from this position. The distance was not much more than a hundred yards and the elevation not much more than twenty feet over that distance. To the front of the homestead, before the narrow veranda, lay a bare flat patch of ground about twenty yards wide. The moonlight seemed brightest upon this area.
It would be the killing ground.
‘This will work fine,’ said Gus. ‘Let’s assemble the troops.’
Gus checked the beds, and with the lamp extinguished, the dark shapes each represented a sleeping body. He left the front door unlocked and positioned Henry, Luke and Chrissy out in the open before the homestead, ten yards apart, so that he could pace out the range back to the trees and view them as targets. Each was clearly defined in the moonlight, including their facial features. He then asked the three of them to walk to the top of the crest of the ridge and back down to the homestead.
However, Henry said he was feeling a little light-headed and needed to sit down. Bev offered to take his place and Gus watched them walk to the crest, Chrissy leading, only to see their figures quickly duck down and come scampering back. ‘They’re coming,’ said Bev quietly but out of breath. ‘Chrissy saw them.’
‘Everyone down,’ directed Gus as he sank onto one knee in the shadow of the trees.
When the uncertainty of peril approaches, fear intrudes upon the bravest of hearts. This is when courage must come to the forefront not only to act, but act decisively. Yet, the wait can seem to take an eternity and this time it was almost too much to bear. Where were they? Had Chrissy got it wrong?
Gus called softly, ‘Chrissy, come here.’ She responded quickly and carefully so as not to make a sound as she came close. ‘Are you sure you saw them?’
She leant in near to his ear, ‘Sure,’ she said quietly as Gus caught sight, just for a second, of three shapes, crouching low, moving across the skyline.
‘They’re here,’ he whispered. ‘All still.’
The three figures advanced to the edge of the clearing, paused for a second before each charged across the open space, guns drawn, and on to the porch. With a sharp kick of the door they were inside and the sound of furniture being booted aside could be heard. Two shots followed. Voices called, muffled and not clear enough to understand as more furniture was kicked and knocked over.
Someone moved a little behind Gus. ‘Steady,’ he said softly.
The door of the homestead swung open with force and the three emerged, the last one holding two unlit oil lamps. They gathered together, one crouching to ignite the lanterns as sharp, vicious words were exchanged amongst clearly heard expletives.
Gus felt a hand on his back as Bev said softly, ‘Don’t let them burn my home down, Gus.’
Gus slowly stood, Winchester in his hand, and the others behind him all rose to their feet. And just as he was bringing his rifle to his shoulder, he felt Henry grip and pull at his right arm.
‘Feeling faint,’ said Henry softly as he clutched tighter while starting to sink to the ground and pulling Gus off balance.
Chrissy stepped past Henry as he buckled and as she did, pulled the Colt .44 from his holster. Not stopping, she walked forward at a fast pace onto the open ground towards the figures in front of the Warren homestead.
‘Oh Lord,’ said Bev, who followed as if to bring her back.
Chrissy continued walking briskly until she was upon Cole and his half-brothers as Gus heard her say loudly, ‘Who is Aaron Moy?’
All three turned their heads to l
ook at the young girl and seemed momentarily stunned. The figure crouching by the lit lantern stood and shaded his eyes from the light as he said belligerently, ‘Me, why?’
‘I saw what you did to my sister,’ said Chrissy, lifting her arm, her hand tightly gripping Henry’s Colt.
The shot from the pistol was taken at a range of no more than five feet. The aiming point was the face, and the .44 projectile impacted just below the left nostril with ferocous force, smashing and separating the upper jaw, to drive shattered teeth and splintering bone back into the throat and upper palate.
Aaron Moy’s head was flung back violently, but his eyes remained open as he started to fall. The last sight he was to see of this world was Chrissy Mayfield and the revolver she held straight and true in her hand.
His body collapsed to the ground with a dull thud.
Rufus Cole reacted first and drew his pistol from his holster just as Bev came alongside Chrissy and fired the first barrel of her shotgun.
The distance was so short that the spread of the lead pellets was tight as a fist as they punched into his lower stomach, just near the hip. Cole fell back and as he did, his handgun fired, the shot striking the ground just between Bev and Chrissy to explode dirt and dust over their boots.
Calvin Moy took fright, turned on his heels and ran off at speed. Luke nearly knocked Gus to the ground as he leapt forward, Winchester in hand, to follow the escaping Moy brother.
Henry sank to his knees with a groan, while still gripping Gus’s arm.
‘Let go,’ called Gus, pulling his arm free so he could follow Luke. As he rounded the corner of the homestead at a race, neither Luke nor Calvin Moy were in sight. It was as if they had both vanished.
Chrissy arrived by Gus’s side, still grasping Henry’s Colt.
‘What the—’ said Gus as he went to move forward.
Chrissy put out her left hand and whispered, ‘Wait,’ and pointed to Luke, who had tucked himself in against the very end of the homestead wall, to be covered by the shadow of the logs that extended from the corner joint of the building. He stood searching the saltbush to his front where Aaron Moy had gone to ground.
