Lawless Breed

by Ralph Hayes

He whirled around just as the bartender was leveling a double-barreled sawed-off shotgun at his face. Sumner fired first, the lead hitting the fat man in the high chest and punching him back hard against the shelves of bottles, the shotgun blasting loudly now and tearing a hole in the tin ceiling a foot wide. Broken glass and liquor fell onto the bartender as he slipped slowly to the floor back there, and out of sight.

  Sumner scanned the room again, to deafening silence. He twirled the Peacemaker twice forward, and then backward into its well-oiled holster. From down the bar, a hushed gasp.

  ‘Jesus and Mary!’ Whispered. From an old man at the rear.

  Sumner turned and left the deathly quiet room.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When Sumner arrived back on the street, it was dark out there. He just stood for a long moment, looking up at the full moon and unwinding. It had been a long journey, and now most of it was over. Pritchard had always been more important than Guthrie. But it wasn’t really over till both men were found and justice visited on them.

  He returned to his hotel room and sat on his bed, recalling everything he had experienced since he left Fort Sill that long ago day with a warning to the two deputies. That seemed like a thousand years ago now, in a different world.

  He’d been in his room less than an hour when a knocking came at the door. He had been propped up on the headboard of the bed, with his gun-belt hanging on the bedpost. He stood up warily, drew the Colt, and called out.

  ‘Who is it?’

  A muffled response. ‘It’s Douglas and Spencer. From the National Prohibition Council.’

  Sumner furrowed his brow. He walked to the door with the Colt hanging from his grasp, at his side. When he opened the door, two men were standing there. Douglas and Spencer. They were both about the same height and build, with round faces and thick middles. The one called Douglas wore spectacles, and he spoke first.

  ‘I’m Jeff Douglas, and this friend here is Owen Spencer. I gather we’re speaking to Wesley Sumner?’

  Sumner nodded. ‘You’re from that reform group that’s been making all the trouble here in Dodge?’

  They exchanged a look. ‘The real troublemakers are those who refuse to obey state law,’ Spencer offered.

  ‘Do you think we might have a moment of your time, Mr Sumner?’ Douglas asked.

  Sumner let a slow breath out. It had been a big day and he didn’t need this. ‘I can spare a minute,’ he said reluctantly.

  They followed him into the room, holding hats in their hands. Sumner walked over and re-holstered the Peacemaker and they watched his actions carefully. Sumner leaned against the wall beside the bed.

  ‘OK. Make it fast. I’m about to go get something to eat.’

  Douglas glanced at Spencer and cleared his throat. ‘Well. We just heard what you did at that saloon down the street.’

  Sumner grunted. ‘News travels fast.’

  ‘It’s our understanding that you’re not affiliated with any of the saloons. You haven’t been hired by them. Is that right?’ Douglas pursued.

  ‘Why is that your business?’

  Spencer was squinting at Sumner’s vest. ‘Say, you know you’re bleeding through your vest? On your side there?’

  Sumner glanced down at the dark spot. ‘Oh. I almost forgot about it.’ He touched his hand to his neck on the left side which was burning from the slight graze. It hurt more than the flesh wound along his ribs. ‘I’m stopping at the doc’s before I eat and get it looked at. Now, if you gentlemen are about finished here, I’m ready to leave.’

  ‘We wondered if you’d be interested in hiring in at the Council,’ Douglas blurted out quickly.

  ‘Hiring in?’ Sumner frowned.

  ‘As a bodyguard. Like those men at the Long Branch, and the other saloons. They have all the guns, you see. We have a couple of hot-heads who think they can stand up to those people. But they can’t. We need someone that could face up to Wyatt Earp. And Masterson.’

  Sumner shook his head. ‘It would be suicide to stand up to Earp. Even if you got the first shot in.’

  The two exchanged another look. ‘We heard you could,’ Spencer said.

  ‘You heard wrong,’ Sumner told them. ‘Anyway, I’m not interested in your little war. My advice? Pack up and go back to Kansas City or wherever you came from. All you’ll do here is get some people killed. And most of them will be your people.’

  ‘Well, I must say,’ Douglas remarked, ‘we expected more of you, Sumner.’

  ‘I’ve disappointed a lot of folks,’ Sumner said with a tired smile. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me. Your time is up.’

  They left somber-faced, with Sumner staring after them shaking his head. He wondered why their kind didn’t just stay back in Boston or wherever they hailed from and enjoy what they already had back there.

  Sumner stopped very briefly at a local doctor’s office when he left the hotel, and got a bandage on his ribs, and had a previous side wound looked at, which was healing nicely. The neck wound required just a bit of salve. After that he had a light meal at a small restaurant not far from the Long Branch, and then walked down to the marshal’s office. When he appeared there, L.C. Hartman stared hard at him from his desk.

  ‘I’ll be damned! I thought we had trouble before you arrived. But you’ve managed to turn it up a notch, young man.’

  ‘I gave you fair warning,’ Sumner told him. ‘Pritchard was a lawless sonofabitch that got what he had coming to him for quite some time.’

  ‘You’re a little lawless yourself. I hear you put one in him while he was on his back, and talking.’

  ‘You want to arrest me?’

  Hartman shook his head. ‘No. I say good riddance. Anyway, I might look foolish if you resisted arrest.’

  They both grinned. ‘I just wanted to tell you I’m on my way tomorrow early,’ Sumner said.

  ‘Off to Cimarron?’

  ‘I’m hoping that’s where I’ll find him.’

  ‘You’re a relentless bastard, ain’t you?’

  ‘I know my duty.’

  Hartman shuffled some papers on his desk. ‘Say, I thought you might want to know this. ‘There’s $3,000 on Pritchard’s head, and $2,000 on Guthrie. Sign this affidavit I got for you here, and I’ll put things in motion for you.’

  Sumner hadn’t even thought about that. He stood there mulling the idea and found that he felt differently about it now from when he had gunned down Curly Quentin. Maybe Pritchard owed this to him. Maybe Corey would have told him to take it. For Corey. And maybe, eventually, Jane.

  Sumner nodded. ‘I’ll sign it. Can I get them to send it to my Las Animas bank account?’

  ‘That can be done.’

  Ten minutes later, Sumner had finished the paperwork and was ready to leave. ‘If I don’t get a chance to see him again, tell Wyatt Earp I took his advice,’ he told Hartman. ‘He’ll know what I mean.’

  Hartman frowned. ‘Earp is a hero here. But I wish he’d never rode in. He ain’t the law here no more.’

  ‘I think if you just sit back and let it play out, the reformers will settle down and Wyatt will be gone,’ Sumner told him. ‘In the meantime, play it safe, Marshal.’

  ‘You, too,’ Hartman advised him.

  After a quiet night back at the hotel, Sumner was on the trail again just after dawn the next morning.

  It was a long ride to Cimarron out west of Dodge. It was a sunny, warm day and Sumner arrived in Cimarron mid-afternoon, dusty and tired. The place looked a lot like Dodge, with several saloons lining the main street, and stores and a bank. It was a cow-town, sitting more directly on the cattle drive trails than Dodge City or Wichita, and there were already cowboys standing around outside saloons and stores, or riding their mounts up and down the main thoroughfare.

  Sumner had no idea why the two deputies had split up and Guthrie ended up here instead of Dodge. He even had no idea if he would still be here. There was a small hotel near the saloons, and Sumner decided to make that his first stop.


  When he stepped into the small reception area, a green-visored clerk was at the desk, behind its counter. Very busy with some papers. He didn’t look up when Sumner stood before him.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Sumner finally spoke up.

  ‘Yes?’ Without looking up.

  Sumner frowned, and asked about Guthrie. ‘Is he a guest here?’

  ‘We don’t talk about our guests. Are you registering?’ He finally looked up at Sumner, and stared at the color around Sumner’s eye. He looked him up and down haughtily.

  ‘That remains to be seen.’

  ‘Depending on what, sir?’

  ‘On whether Guthrie is registered here.’

  The lofty clerk looked exasperated. ‘I told you. Information on our guests is private. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’ He looked back down at his papers.

  Sumner walked around the counter and came up to the clerk on its back side.

  ‘Hey! You aren’t allowed back here!’ the clerk cried out.

  Suddenly the Colt was in Sumner’s hand as if it had already been there. He stuck the muzzle up against the clerk’s long nose.

  ‘Now, are you going to play nice, or am I going to blow your nose for you?’

  The clerk’s face changed dramatically, the arrogance gone. ‘Hey. Take it slow, mister. I never heard of Guthrie.’

  ‘Then why the hell didn’t you just say that?’ Sumner growled at him. He put the Peacemaker away and left the hotel in a bad mood.

  His next stop was a small saloon, where he spoke to a slim bartender. ‘He was in here a couple nights ago. I think he prefers the nicer facility up the street there, the Sagebrush.’

  ‘Was he alone?’ Sumner asked.

  ‘There was another man, a regular here. Maybe they’re cousins, I ain’t sure.’ He leaned toward Sumner. ‘I think they was talking about the bank. You know. But don’t quote me on that.’

  ‘That’s why he came this way,’ Sumner said to himself.

  ‘They’re a couple of tough-looking customers,’ the barkeep added.

  Sumner threw a gold coin on the bar and left without another word.

  Outside with his stallion, he knew he should take a room and get a good night’s rest. To be fresh, and at his best. But he had come too far and too long to put it off. He took his mount down to the Sagebrush Saloon, tethered it outside, and went in. He didn’t recognize Guthrie’s horse at the hitching rail out there.

  The place was big and rather civilized-looking. A George Catlin painting hung on the wall behind the bar. Potted palms guarded the entrance. Sumner went over to the bar.

  ‘A cold beer,’ he said to the bartender. ‘And some information.’

  The bartender was sweaty from his work. Wisps of hair were combed over a bald head. ‘This ain’t no information bureau, stranger.’

  ‘This is simple,’ Sumner persisted, ignoring the man’s rudeness. ‘Has a man named Guthrie been in here in the last few days?’

  ‘Never heard of him,’ came the grunted response.

  But a man behind Sumner, at a nearby table. called out. ‘He just left out the back way. He hurried out when he saw you ride up outside.’

  Sumner gave the bartender a cold look. He listened for sound out of the back of the building, and heard a horse snicker back there.

  ‘A drifter come in earlier from Dodge. Said somebody called Sumner killed this boy’s partner. He thinks you was sent from Fort Sill.’

  Sumner heard horse’s hoofs out there. ‘Cancel that beer order,’ he growled at the bartender. Then he hurried out of the front entrance.

  When he reached the stallion it had already caught his tension. As he boarded, Guthrie came riding out of a side street about fifty yards away and whipped his mount down the long, hot street, the horse galloping now.

  It appeared Guthrie had concluded that Marshal Atkins in Fort Sill had deputized Sumner to find and arrest himself and Pritchard, and the fact that things had gone badly for Pritchard already made him think twice about confronting Sumner.

  All that flew through Sumner’s head as he now spurred the big horse and headed out of town after Guthrie, to the west.

  It was late afternoon, and it was hot. Sumner spurred the stallion and whipped it with the reins. Guthrie was 500 yards ahead, and going at full speed. He was riding a zebra dun mustang pony and it was very fast. In fact, Sumner lost sight of Guthrie for almost an hour, and then finally saw him again as Guthrie rode into a high outcropping of rocks. Boulders on both sides of the trail. He seemed to slow down as he entered that area, so Sumner did the same as he arrived at the near end of the outcropping.

  He was drenched with sweat, and there was foam on the stallion’s flanks. A big muscle jumped in its rump, and its mouth was open.

  Guthrie was nowhere in sight. Then suddenly a rifle roared out from the rocks up ahead almost 200 yards, just as the stallion reared up in nervousness. Instead of smashing into Sumner’s breastbone, the lead struck the horse a grazing shot in its neck.

  ‘Sonofabitch!’ Sumner grated out. He slid his Winchester from its saddle scabbard and dismounted quickly as another shot made its thunder and Sumner felt hot lead hit his left arm. He swore again, ducked low, and swatted his mount on its rear from that position, and the horse ran off into the rocks.

  Sumner dived for cover behind a boulder. A third shot rang out just as he reached that cover, and sang off the rock above his head.

  ‘You bastard, Guthrie!’ Sumner called out. ‘This is the end of your dark trail!’

  Guthrie’s voice called back from behind a high boulder on Sumner’s right. ‘I guess Atkins sent you to do his dirty work!’

  ‘Atkins didn’t send me,’ Sumner called back. ‘Corey Madison did!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The boy you watched Pritchard beat to death!’ Sumner called back. ‘Remember that day at Fort Sill when I told you that wasn’t the end of it? Well, this is.’

  Guthrie laughed loudly. ‘Are you crazy? Taking all this on for that snot-nose kid? I didn’t touch that little thief. You have no beef with me. Look, I know you tricked Pritchard somehow in a shootout but this is long guns now, boy. Didn’t you know I won medals for long shooting? Why do you think I lured you out here? I got you right where I want you.’

  ‘Can you shoot as fast as you talk?’ Sumner responded.

  ‘Listen, it could be work killing you. Tell you what. I know the marshal in Cimarron. What if I let you take me in, and I take my chances with the law. You could even claim the bounty. I think it’s $1,000.’

  ‘It’s $2,000,’ Sumner said.

  ‘Better yet! What do you say? This can work out for both of us!’

  ‘I say forget it. You have to pay the bill, Guthrie.’

  A brief silence. ‘All right, you little Texas rat! I’m going to cut you up into little pieces. There won’t be enough left to bury you with when I’m finished with you!’

  ‘Talk is cheap, Guthrie!’ But he was concerned about Guthrie’s rifle now. Guthrie moved out of cover slightly for a shot, and Sumner fired the Winchester. Up at the rocks, Guthrie yelled and grabbed his right arm.

  ‘You goddamn snake! You’re a dead man!’ He took aim just as Sumner tried to move to better cover, and hot lead smacked into Sumner’s left shoulder. Sumner felt raw pain rocket through him.

  He was knocked to the ground and lay on his back, hurting. And at that moment he decided to employ some strategy. He dropped the rifle from his grasp, drew the Peacemaker, and snugged it under his right thigh. Then he lay absolutely motionless.

  ‘What’s the matter, Sumner? Can’t take a hit?’

  No response. The sun burned down on Sumner and sweat inched into his eyes and made them burn. The shot in the high left shoulder was lancing sharp knives of pain through him. A buzzard saw him and circled overhead for a moment, its beady eyes looking for its next meal. A beetle crawled up onto his chest and tried to go under his vest. He remained rock-steady still.

  ‘Sumner?’ With curiosity in his voice now.
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br />   Sumner had a clear view of Guthrie’s cover, and now saw Guthrie warily rise from behind it and tentatively expose himself.

  A bluebottle buzzed around Sumner’s face. He didn’t twitch a muscle. He closed his eyelids so he could just barely see what was before him.

  He waited.

  In another five minutes, Guthrie came out from the rocks and just stood a long moment. Rifle aimed directly at Sumner’s still form.

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ Sumner heard him say. ‘I got you, you goddamn baby rattler!’

  Cautiously, Guthrie walked down the slope of ground between him and Sumner.

  Sumner lay still.

  Guthrie was ten yards away.

  Sumner stopped breathing. The beetle was under his vest now. He dismissed it.

  Guthrie walked on over to him, and stared down. His face changed.

  ‘Why, you wasn’t hit so bad, boy. I’ll just put a couple more in you.’ A hard grin.

  Sumner pulled the Colt from its hiding place and fired quickly, just once, the surprise explosion echoing off the nearby boulders. The lead struck Guthrie over the heart and ripped through it like a hot poker, taking a chunk of his spine with it as it exited his torso.

  Sumner stared into that bony, evil face with its ice-cold gray eyes, a face he hadn’t seen since that last day at Fort Sill. Guthrie returned the stare with a look of pure nether-world hatred as his Hotchkiss roared out a last time and dug the sand up not far away, throwing dirt onto Sumner and making his ears ring. Then Guthrie fell heavily to the ground beside Sumner, unmoving.

  Sumner lay there for several minutes without trying to get up. Now it was over. Really over. Corey had sent him on a mission that was now completed. Visions of his friend flickered through his head and comforted him.

  When he struggled to his feet, he found that his arm wound was just a superficial one. But the shoulder hit was a through and through, and he would need immediate medical attention. The beetle emerged from his vest, and he brushed it off, grinning. He looked around, holding his left arm. Guthrie’s mount was still visible up at the rocks, and he saw his own stallion down the draw a hundred yards. In a few minutes, he had coaxed it back to him, and he saw its wound was shallow.