Kid Palomino

by Michael D George

  Both Palomino and Red had silently resolved to get justice for those pitiful souls. It was the spur which drove them on toward their own possible destruction. Every sinew of their aching bodies screamed for them to stop but neither of the peacekeepers could quit now.

  They had to prevent Carson and his equally depraved followers from continuing their merciless killing spree, even if it cost them their lives.

  The tin stars pinned to their shirts gleamed like beacons in the bright sunlit gully as they secretly circled the small town of Dry Gulch. Palomino was dictating the pace they were travelling at, making sure that they did not cause dust to betray their presence.

  ‘How far are we gonna go along this damn gully, Kid?’ Red quietly asked his fellow deputy. ‘I’m getting tuckered out holding this horse back, and no mistake.’

  Palomino looked over his wide shoulder. ‘Will you hush the hell up? I’m listening out for any sign of them murderous bastards, Red.’

  They continued to slowly steer their mounts around the back of the few structures erected close to the heart of Dry Gulch. Then the younger deputy hauled back on his reins and stopped the tall stallion.

  ‘What you stop for, Kid?’ Red asked as he dragged back on his reins and halted the quarter horse.

  ‘I’m gonna take me a look,’ Palomino answered and then carefully balanced in his stirrups and stretched up to his full height so that he could see above the deep gully.

  ‘What do you see, Palomino?’ Red asked as he smoothed the neck of his tired horse and watched his friend.

  Kid Palomino’s eyes were half closed as they peeped over the sandy rim and observed the area. The back of the telegraph office was roughly twenty feet from the gully. Thirty feet to the side of the office, a far larger building dominated Dry Gulch. There was a full water trough set at the rear of the smaller office. The reflections of its precious contents danced across the wooden wall.

  The young lawman lowered himself back down on his saddle and then he turned the palomino stallion to face his pal.

  ‘We’re right behind the telegraph office, Red,’ the Kid said. ‘It’s got a trough out back.’

  ‘What else did you see?’ Red wondered.

  ‘There’s a tall building off to the left,’ Palomino replied. ‘I figure that must be a saloon.’

  ‘Did you see their horses?’

  The Kid shook his head, ‘Nope, they must be out front.’

  ‘Have we got cover, Kid?’ Red asked.

  ‘Yep, we’ve got plenty of cover, Red,’ Palomino confirmed. ‘Nobody will see us approach from here.’

  ‘That’s all I wanted to know.’ Red tapped the flanks of his mount and rode around his friend. He studied the sandy slope and then jerked his reins hard and fast. The quarter horse cleared the side of the gully and reached the level ground behind the telegraph office. As the scarlet-whiskered horseman steadied his snorting horse, the Kid suddenly appeared right behind his quarter horse.

  Palomino pointed at the rear of the smaller structure.

  ‘We can tether the horses there,’ he said as the powerful stallion beneath him fought against its reins. ‘Right next to the trough.’

  Red nodded as they allowed their horses to walk toward the small weathered structure. The Kid dropped from his saddle first and looped his leathers around the metal pump beside the water trough.

  Before Red had dismounted and secured his own mount, the Kid had drawn one of his trusty .45s and was investigating the area carefully.

  His eyes darted from one building to another as they slowly headed into the very heart of the remote settlement.

  ‘Seems awful quiet, Kid,’ Red said as he stared through the shimmering heat at the array of buildings.

  Palomino pressed his back against the side wall of the office and carefully looked around the corner of the sun-bleached building. His attention was drawn to the outlaws’ three spent mounts tethered to the saloon’s hitching rail.

  ‘What you see, Kid?’ Red asked as he leaned against his friend’s shoulder.

  ‘I see three lathered-up horses tied up outside the saloon, Red,’ he answered before adding, ‘I also see two critters in long dust coats. They’re still looking for something.’

  The bright sun was blazing down on the loose-fitting coats worn by both Peters and Kane. Palomino suddenly felt his entire body go rigid as he spotted the bloodstains on the pale fabric.

  The Kid knew that he was looking straight at the blood of the Hardwick clan. He lowered his head and shuddered as he felt his spine tingle.

  ‘What’s wrong, Kid?’ Red asked his pal. ‘You look like you just seen a ghost.’

  The younger man looked down at his shorter friend.

  ‘Maybe I have, you old rooster,’ he sighed. ‘Maybe I have.’

  Red glanced around the corner of the telegraph office and watched as the outlaws went from one building to another. He scratched his head.

  ‘What in tarnation are them hombres doing?’ he wondered.

  Palomino inhaled deeply. ‘I reckon they’re looking for something, Red. I just can’t figure out what they’re looking for.’

  Red suddenly tapped his pal’s arm. ‘Their horses are spent, Kid. Look at them. They’re plumb pitiful. Maybe them hombres are looking for fresh nags.’

  Palomino considered his friend’s words. ‘You’re probably right. Those horses sure look worse for wear. They wouldn’t carry them outlaws far in that condition.’

  Red rubbed his mouth on the back of his glove. ‘If them two hombres are out in the sun hunting down fresh nags, Carson must be in the saloon on his lonesome, Kid.’

  The notion of getting the drop on the infamous Bill Carson gave the Kid renewed vigour. A smile appeared from behind the mask of trail dust on his face. ‘That’s right, Red. He’s on his lonesome in that drinking hole.’

  ‘What we gonna do?’ Red asked his pal.

  The taller deputy swung around on his heels and led his pal back to where they had left their horses. He pointed the barrel of his gun at the side of the saloon. His eyes tightened as he studied the structure carefully.

  ‘What you looking at, Kid?’ the older deputy asked.

  Palomino indicated to the veranda that encircled the wooden structure. Without answering, he grabbed his cutting rope from off his saddle and slid its coil over his arm.

  ‘I got me an idea,’ he drawled.

  Red scratched his whiskers. ‘What you need a rope for? You figuring on hanging them hombres?’

  Palomino raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Let’s go pay that Carson varmint a visit,’ he drawled.

  Using the smaller telegraph office as cover the two men circled around the rear of the weathered structure and raced toward the Busted Wheel saloon.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Red Rivers soon found out what his partner needed his saddle rope for. No sooner had the lawmen reached the high-sided saloon than Palomino uncoiled his rope, swung it a few times and then launched it skyward. The lasso went clear of the wooden trimmings upon the veranda railings and then he pulled and tightened its loop. The slipknot loop constricted around one of the wooden adornments until it held firm. The Kid checked the rope with his weight and then glanced at Red.

  ‘Ready?’ Palomino grinned as he wrapped the slack around his arm and shoulder.

  The older deputy shook his head and gulped.

  ‘You ain’t expecting me to climb up there, Kid?’ Red exhaled at the daunting thought. ‘Are you?’

  Palomino shook his head. ‘Nope, I reckon I’m about ten years too late to expect you to do that, Red.’

  The older lawman shrugged. ‘Then what?’

  Suddenly all humour vanished from Palomino’s face as he considered the daunting task ahead of them. He tightened the drawstring of his Stetson until it was tight under his chin. He pointed to the rear of the Busted Wheel.

  ‘You make your way around the back of the saloon and find a way in, Red,’ the Kid said as he gripped the rope and started t
o athletically ascend the wall. ‘I need you to back up my play. Be careful how you enter this place, Red. Bill Carson can shoot the eye out of a meat-fly at a hundred paces, I’m told.’

  ‘Don’t go fretting, Kid.’ Red gripped his six-shooter firmly and ran to the rear of the Busted Wheel. He had no idea what Kid Palomino intended to do but knew that whatever the Kid was intending, it was bound to be dangerous.

  The Kid leaned back with the rope gripped firmly in his gloved hands and then started to ascend the wall. Within a few moments he had reached the railings and grabbed hold of one of them. Palomino threw his right leg over them and swiftly followed it on to the balcony. He loosened the rope and then began to coil it again as he stealthily made his way toward the front of the saloon.

  Lowering his head so that his face was shielded from the bright sun he saw the two figures of Peters and Kane cross the street and head on to the back of the telegraph office.

  ‘I hope they leave our horses alone,’ Palomino whispered under his breath before continuing. He reached the weathered façade, which was nailed to the railings, then heard shouting from down the street. The Kid knew that it had to be the outlaws he had just witnessed heading to where he and Red had left their horses. He dropped on to one knee and squinted to where the raised voices were coming from.

  Then he saw them.

  Kane and Peters suddenly appeared from behind the telegraph office. As he watched them, the Kid knew why they were rejoicing. Just as he had figured, they had found both Red’s quarter horse and his palomino stallion.

  ‘Damn it all,’ he cursed angrily as it dawned on him that if he were to unleash his guns on the brutal killers, the horses were in the line of fire. ‘Why’d they have to find the horses?’

  The Kid chewed on the thumb knuckle of his glove and watched the grinning men sat astride the horses as they slowly rode toward the saloon. Red had been correct. They were looking for replacement horses, just as his pal had guessed.

  Palomino narrowed his eyes and glared down on Peters on his precious mount.

  ‘You just made a real big mistake, fella,’ he quietly fumed before carefully knotting the rope loop around the back of the railings. Then he frowned at Peters as he drew one of his matched Colts. ‘Nobody rides Nugget without my permission.’

  Dust drifted up from the hoofs of the walking horses as they steadily closed the distance between themselves and the Busted Wheel.

  Suddenly the jubilation both outlaws felt in discovering the two handsome animals evaporated. Jeff Kane hauled back on the reins of the quarter horse as he caught a brief glimpse of the lawman behind the decaying saloon name board. He glanced across to tell his fellow outlaw of what he had just spied but Peters had already spotted the Kid. Kane steadied the muscular animal beneath him as Peters slowly slipped one of his six-shooters from its holster.

  ‘You seen him too, Poke?’ Kane asked.

  Poke Peters gave a slow nod of his head as he screwed his eyes up tight and watched the vague shadow behind the long name board.

  ‘Yep, I seen the sun dancing off his tin star a few yards back.’ Poke Peters pulled back on the hammer of his .45 and then suddenly raised it. ‘Whoever that is, he’s a dead man.’

  The entire town rocked as the bullet flashed through the shimmering heat and punched a fist-sized hole in the façade beside the crouching Palomino.

  A thousand red-hot splinters blasted into Palomino’s face without warning. It was like being consumed by angry fire-ants. The deputy yelled out in pain and rolled across the floorboards to the end of the Busted Wheel name board. Half blinded by the sudden shock, the Kid lifted his six-shooter and blasted a wild shot down at the horsemen.

  Undeterred by the deafening reply of Palomino’s wild gunshot, Peters and Kane fanned their gun hammers again, sending chunks of debris rising up into the air from the wooden railings.

  The Kid rubbed the side of his face with his gloved fingers until he was able to open his eyes. It was like staring through a waterfall as the singed lawman crawled even further away from where bullets continued to rip the saloon sign apart.

  ‘Do you figure we got him, Poke?’ Kane shouted above the deafening din.

  Peters shook his head as his eyes searched the length of the balcony. ‘Keep shooting until we see the blood dripping, Jeff.’

  Like hounds with a cornered racoon, the outlaws refused to quit. They kept firing their guns up at the balcony whilst the Kid dodged the deadly lead like a matador sidestepping a raging bull.

  Palomino spat on to the tails of his bandanna and pressed them against his eye in a vain bid to soothe the fire that raged inside it. He blinked hard and could just see the devilish pair as they fired up at him.

  He ducked and crawled beneath the red-hot tapers.

  The choking smoke from the outlaws’ guns hung in the arid air as Palomino curled his finger around the trigger of his .45. Yet no matter how hard he strained to see clearly, an agonizing pain burned like a branding iron into his eye.

  He cursed.

  All he could make out for certain was the blurred images of the riders below his vantage point. He moved his barrel away from the golden stallion and toward his partner’s smaller mount.

  ‘If I get this wrong, Red can always buy a new quarter horse but if I accidentally shoot my palomino . . .’ the Kid reasoned as bullets continued to keep him pinned down. ‘Aim high and you shouldn’t hit Red’s horse.’

  Defying the agony which racked his face, the Kid cocked, aimed and fired his gun at Kane. To his surprise he saw the outlaw buckle as scarlet gore exploded from his back. Palomino ducked as Peters’ avenging bullets narrowly missed him. When there was a lull in the barrage of gunshots the Kid fired his Colt at the wounded Kane again. The outlaw jerked violently on the saddle as the second shot finished him off for good. A sickening groan escaped from Kane’s deathly lips as he tumbled from the saddle and fell limply into the ground beside the quarter horse’s hoofs.

  ‘Jeff!’ Peters screamed out in horror as he stared down at the gruesome sight. Yet no matter how loud he yelled, there was no reply. The outlaw dragged the neck of the palomino around and stared up at the long balcony.

  He shook the spent casings from his gun before reloading the smoking chambers.

  ‘You’re gonna pay for that, star-packer,’ Peters raged and then glared through the dazzling sunlight to where he had first spotted Palomino. He hastily started firing again at the saloon sign above him.

  Palomino threw himself across the balcony as bullets shattered the glass of the second storey windows. The injured star-packer kept rolling until he had returned to his cutting rope behind the bullet-ridden façade.

  He gripped the rope and lowered his head as more choking splinters cascaded over his hunched shoulders. Clouds of black smoke gave the deputy cover as he rose up to his full height and moved with the rope in one hand and his gun in the other.

  He cocked his gun hammer and trained it at Peters. The trouble was his weeping eyes still could not clearly see his target. The Kid was just about to fire his smoking six-shooter when it dawned on him that he might end up missing the outlaw and shoot his precious palomino stallion instead.

  Another shot came within inches of him. The Kid could feel the heat of the bullet and staggered sideways. He shouted at the top of his lungs at his obedient mount.

  ‘Punch them stars, Nugget boy,’ he yelled down at his horse. ‘Rise and punch them stars.’

  The magnificent stallion did exactly as its master commanded and reared up and kicked its forelegs out just as it had been trained to do. Peters was caught by surprise and found himself toppling backwards. The outlaw dropped his gun and grabbed at the saddle horn. As the palomino stallion landed its hoofs back on to the sand, Peters went to drag his other six-gun from his belt.

  It was too late.

  Kid Palomino had already launched himself off the balcony holding on to his rope. He swung wide and low through the smoke-filled air.

  Both the Kid’s bo
ots hit the outlaw squarely in the back sending him flying over the golden mane of the palomino stallion. Peters crashed heavily into the ground with the fearless lawman just behind him. Palomino released his grip on the rope and leapt on to the winded Peters. He grabbed the outlaw’s hair and dragged it toward him.

  The dazed Peters tried to reach up and grab the deputy but Palomino clenched a fist and smashed his knuckles into Peters’ jaw. The sound of knuckle on jawbone echoed along the street.

  For a moment the Kid thought that he had knocked the outlaw out but Peters was not so easily subdued. He twisted on his side, wrapped his legs around his opponent’s and caused the Kid to fall.

  Palomino could not see his foe clearly but he could feel his punches as they pounded into him. The tables had somehow been reversed. Peters leapt on to the Kid and sent a right cross into the deputy’s head. He then grabbed Palomino’s shoulders and wrestled him full circle.

  Both battling men feverishly grappled with one another as they slowly rose to their feet. The Kid grabbed Peters as the outlaw sent punch after punch into his midriff.

  Then suddenly the quiet street resounded to the deafening sound of gunfire. The Kid stared over Peters’ shoulder and saw the unmistakable figure of Bill Carson standing in front of the saloon’s swing doors. Even his blurred vision could not mistake the infamous outlaw as he emptied his gun in his direction.

  Without realizing it, the young lawman had somehow positioned Poke Peters between himself and Carson’s deadly bullets. He felt the impact of every shot as they drilled into Peters’ back. The young outlaw rocked under the impact of the merciless lead. Finally Poke Peters fell into Palomino’s arms as his pitiful face looked at the Kid in utter disbelief.

  Peters went to speak but the only thing that left his lips was blood. His eyes rolled back and vanished under his lids. He sighed heavily as life departed him and slumped into the arms of the Kid.

  Bill Carson stepped down into the sunlight as he reloaded his trusty gun and looked admiringly at the palomino stallion standing in the street beside the quarter horse. He then glanced over his shoulder and shouted at Deacon.