by Dale Graham
‘Where they headed, boss?’ Laredo asked foolishly.
The writhing serpent on Stiller’s livid purple face threatened to strike. He was in no mood for such ludicrous questions. ‘Where in hell’s name do you think, bonehead? The Jaybird homestead, of course. Didn’t you hear that dude say he was gonna run the place while Lafferty skulks away in some hole? Well, that ain’t gonna happen. Now shift your asses and get after them.’
That pecuniary incentive certainly spurred the men into action. The only problem was the horses had been left down by the livery stable at the opposite end of town. Valuable time was lost while the gang retrieved them, giving Chisum and his buddy plenty of time to skedaddle.
‘You stay here, Squint,’ he said to the hired gunman. ‘I need you to find Ordway and make sure he disappears . . . permanently.’
‘Be my pleasure, boss. Maybe that’s worth a bonus as well?’
Steiger snorted. ‘Don’t push your luck, mister. Just get the job done before we discuss any bonus. So far, Chisum has easily outwitted you. I ain’t paying out good dough for failure.’ Without uttering another word, he stumped back into the saloon. After a morning like this he badly needed a drink.
Meanwhile, the two fugitives were making good their escape. On leaving the northern limits of Uvalde, Gus Ordway appeared suddenly from behind a grain store. Ben immediately palmed his pistol and aimed it at the burly hulk. The notion that he was intent on completing the task assigned by Steiger was at the forefront of his thinking. A bruised and blooded countenance did nothing to allay his suspicions.
Ordway was astute enough to have grasped that his sudden manifestation might give a false impression of his motives. A conciliatory hand was raised as he drew level. ‘Hold your fire, mister. I ain’t got nothing against you. Fact is, I’d like to join up with you.’
Ben’s brow puckered in a frown of puzzlement. ‘Just keep your distance, fella, and say your piece. One false move and you’re dog meat.’
Observing the hesitation etched across Chisum’s face, the giant pressed home his request. ‘I want nothing more to do with Steiger and the kind of law he’s after pushing in the Nueces. I might not be too well endowed up here.’ He tapped his large skull. ‘But I can still shoot straight and I know the valley better’n most.’ A smile broke across the big man’s bruised features. ‘And I would sure appreciate you teaching me that new way of fighting.’
Ben was still undecided. Nevertheless, he could see that this guy was incapable of effecting any meaningful degree of duplicity. ‘What do you reckon, Curly? Do we need a guy that just tried to beat my brains to a pulp?’ He winked at his pal.
Redlegs thought for a moment before answering. ‘I figure if’n one of them punches had landed it would have considerably improved your ugly kisser no end,’ was the equally droll rejoinder. Ordway just looked on vacantly. The lively banter was beyond the comprehension of the slow-witted booby. ‘Maybe a dancing lesson will help with the revamp.’
‘I know this country better than anybody around here,’ Ordway insisted, thinking they were going to refuse his request. ‘And I sure ain’t afraid of hard work if’n you need someone to help run the Jaybird.’
‘A fella that likes work scores heavily in my book, buddy,’ Redleg interjected, still refusing to take life seriously. ‘He can do my share anytime.’
‘Guess my pard here is all for you joining us,’ Ben concurred, maintaining a straight face. ‘And I always value his opinion – if not his sad view of my good looks. Glad to have you on my side, Gus.’ He held out a hand.
Now that kind of gesture was something the big fella did understand. He grabbed the proffered mitt, forcing a painful wince out of Ben as the big man’s enthusiastic reaction almost crushed it. ‘Gee, much obliged, Mister Chisum,’ he gushed. ‘You won’t regret it.’
Removing the throbbing member gently, Ben shook some life back into it. ‘I sure hope so. Another gun is always welcome, not to mention a helping hand if’n mine ever manages to recover.’
For the first time, a beaming smile broke across the giant’s rubbery face. ‘Sorry about that, boss. I sometime don’t know my own strength.’ There was no disagreement there, nor any resentment. Ben was glad to have the burly brawler on his side. Gus Ordway might not have all his marbles in one bag, but he appeared to know the country like the back of his hand. Neither he nor Curly Bill had that vital knowledge at their fingertips.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Shortening the Odds
The three amigos rode side-by-side at a steady canter. While his two companions discussed future tactics, Ordway remained silent, a permanent grin etched across his scabrous features. The guileless simpleton was content to bask in the envious position of having been accepted into the ranks of such notable company.
Ben kept turning around repeatedly to check if the were being followed. He was certain that Steiger would not sit idly by and allow the loss of face suffered in Uvalde to go unavenged. Their destination was Jaybird land, and that was where Gus Ordway’s knowledge of the terrain would become paramount. They had been riding for half an hour when Ben spotted a rising column of dust some two miles behind them.
‘Looks like we ain’t alone,’ he remarked, spurring the chestnut to the gallop. The others kept pace. The puerile smile slipped from Ordway’s face as the realization dawned that he had likely stepped from the frying pan into the fire. He quickly shook off the fearful notion. Anything was better than having to suffer the taunts and humiliation heaped on him previously. For once in his life, Gus Ordway, no longer a witless gump, could hold his head high.
‘And judging by that dust cloud,’ Ben carried on, ‘there’s at least eight of them on our tail. How far to the homestead, Gus?’ he asked.
‘We still have another hour’s ride, boss,’ was the rueful response.
Ben gritted his teeth, knowing there was every chance those jaspers could shorten the distance and catch up before they arrived. Somehow they had to be waylaid. Then an idea popped into his head. ‘Remember that stunt we pulled at Horse Creek outside Carthage?’ he said, addressing his old buddy.
‘You mean when that bluecoat column was after us and we sneakily captured their back markers?’
Ben gave a ready nod. His next question was for Ordway. It was a shouted request, competing with the wind tugging at their hats as they careered onward. ‘Is there a narrow ravine close by we could lead these critters through? It has to be a somewhere that forces them down to walking pace and in single file.’
The giant didn’t need to think it out. He spat out the perfect location in the next breath. A finger pointed forward. ‘Sidewinder Gulch is around two miles ahead,’ he asserted, eager to play his part. ‘Sounds like just the place you’re looking for. The trail is no more than five feet wide, with boulders rising to steep cliffs, hemming it in. And it twists and turns for another mile before breaking out onto the plains beyond. Does that sound right for what you have in mind?’
Ben leaned across and slapped the big guy on the back. ‘Reckon it was my lucky day coming up against you, Gus.’
Ordway’s lumpen features cracked in a grin wider than the Rio Grande as he rubbed his aching jaw. ‘I’m hoping the same can be said for me, boss.’ He then added, ‘But we’ll need to leave a clear trail for them to follow because it’s off the usual route to the Jaybird.’
Soon after, Ordway indicated the direction to take. Leaving the well-used trail, they crossed a shallow wash, making sure to leave clear sets of hoof prints their pursuers couldn’t fail to spot. They were now entering broken country dominated by mesquite and fallen rocks, a desolate landscape that became increasing rough to traverse, forcing the riders down to a walk. Rounding a rocky promontory, the cutting of Sidewinder Gulch could be seen ahead: a deep gash in the wall of rock seemingly chopped by some mighty axe. Darkly forbidding, it was the only way forward.
Once inside the confines of the gulch, Ben signalled a halt. The horses were tethered behind a large clump of rocks. H
e extracted his lariat and gestured for Curly Bill to do likewise. ‘You know what to do, buddy?’ He didn’t need to ask.
‘We take the last two riders off’n their horses, and Gus here clubs them down before any warning cry can be given.’ Both men looked at the big guy. ‘This is where them big mitts of your’n come in handy,’ Redleg stressed.
‘Remember, Gus,’ Ben added firmly, ‘not a sound. The first the others must know about the ambush is when they emerge from the ravine. They won’t know what’s happened and will double back to search for their pals.’
‘And that’s when they’ll get the shock of their lives,’ added Redleg.
‘OK, boys, let’s get in position. They’ll be along pronto.’ Ben and Redleg secreted themselves behind a clump of chollah cactus on one side of the trail, holding their lariats ready, with Ordway crouched behind a boulder opposite. The dead branch clutched in his huge fist looked like a twig.
Within minutes, the steady clip of hoofs assailed their ears. One by one the riders passed, completely unaware of the trap into which they had been lured. All eyes were facing forward. Once the sixth man had passed, the twirling loops snaked out, encircling both necks of the last two riders simultaneously.
A quick yank to tighten the nooses and the two men were dragged off their horses. The unfortunate pair had been lagging behind the rest due to one of their horses having developed a limp. The guy called Creedy had stopped further back to dig a stone out of the horse’s hoof. His buddy, Swede Larson, had waited to keep him company. They had only caught up with the others just as they were about to enter the gulch.
Even before they had hit the ground, Ordway dashed out from hiding. A swift bludgeoning effectively removed any chance of a warning shout from Larsen, who had recovered first. There was no problem with Creedy, knocked out cold by a stray hoof. The whole operation had been completed in little over ten seconds. The rest of the gang were already disappearing round the next bend, completely oblivious to the sudden removal of their sidekicks.
Ben patted both his partners on the back. ‘A classic Jayhawker trick,’ he whispered. ‘Now we string the bastards up to that tree by their heels, but not before we strip them down to their one-piece.’ Hearty chuckles greeted this final exhibition of degrading theatre. ‘And now we wait to make certain our ploy works.’
Ordway’s face dropped. ‘What happens if’n they carry on?’
‘Don’t worry, Gus,’ Curly gently chided. ‘Likelihood is they’ll abandon the pursuit and return to Uvalde. The shock of seeing those dirty pink bodies swaying in the breeze will be enough to knock the fight out of them.’
‘And just to make sure they get the message,’ Ben butted in, ‘we’ll stay here and watch what happens. If’n they do decide to carry on to the Jaybird, we’ll have to persuade them it ain’t a healthy choice.’ He tapped his rifle.
They didn’t have to wait long. Ten minutes later, the reduced line of riders gingerly appeared around the far bend. Looking far less confident than when they had entered the Sidewinder, wary eyes flicked around, fearful of what they might encounter. It was Bug Pincher who spotted the swaying pink bodies ahead. Guns drawn, the riders paused, staring wide-eyed and apprehensive before approaching the macabre sight gingerly. To dismayed peepers, the bent figures swinging gently back and forth gave the appearance of two haunches of raw meat.
The hidden watchers couldn’t help but chuckle quietly at the alarm gripping the anxious vigilantes. They could hear the panic-stricken voices easily, expressed by men ignorant and fearful of what had befallen them. It was the pragmatic Buckshot Roberts who provided the answer. ‘It’s obvious, ain’t it? Those crafty varmints have hoodwinked us into following this trail, then ambushed the two back markers.’
‘That’s Creedy and Larson,’ enunciated a buckskin-clad former trapper called Foxy Janus. ‘They were the last two because of that limping cayuse.’
‘Forget about them clowns,’ Roberts declared. ‘The critters that did it could still be around.’ Nervous eyes scanned the surrounding rocks.
To avert the panic threatening to overwhelm his men, Laredo, who was in charge of the supposed hunters – now the hunted – issued a curt order. ‘Cut them down, Bug. The rest of you, keep your eyes peeled and your guns handy. Like Buckshot so rightly observed, they could be watching our every move.’ The tremulous voice quivered with nervous trepidation as he and his men followed.
Pincher gingerly made his way across to the hanging tree. His feet felt like lead. Sweat bubbled up on his forehead. Breath emerged from an open maw in quick pants as he approached the supine bodies feeling totally exposed like a sitting duck. Gulping back his fear, Bug hacked at the ropes holding his sidekicks.
The inert bodies were heaved onto the abandoned horses and led cautiously back down the narrow ravine. Nothing moved to hint at the presence of the exhilarated spectators. Beyond the confines of Sidewinder Gulch, heavy breathing slowly returned to normal as the gang allowed their tension to disperse. Feeble jokes were aimed at the two underdressed suckers, but they lacked any mirth; hollow attempts to staunch the fear that gripped their innards. Each man knew it could easily have been any one of them caught out.
‘What we gonna do now, Laredo?’ asked a lanky jigger called Stringbean. ‘Push on and those jaspers could be just waiting to mount another ambush further ahead.’ This notion generated a muttering of agreement. None of the men were anxious to continue the hunt following their unsettling calamity. It was fortunate that apart from pride, nobody had been hurt.
A thoroughly niggled Laredo ignored the query. Pouring a canteen of water over the two victims, he then kicked them to instil life back into their aching bodies. ‘On your feet, you two.’
The two victims stirred but were unable to appreciate what had occurred. Larson groaned, ‘What happened? My head fells like it’s been kicked by a mule.’ His pal gingerly rubbed his scalp. A startled yelp was emitted when his hand came away coated in blood.
‘We’ve been suckered,’ rasped Buckshot, putting them both straight about what had occurred. A couple of the more sympathetic vigilantes lent Larson and Creedy their slickers. At least the yellow coverings offered some dignity to shattered self-esteem.
Without uttering another word, Laredo mounted up, heading back the way they had come. He spurred to the gallop, anxious to distance himself from Sidewinder Gulch. The others were no less eager to accompany him back to Uvalde. All the bluster allied to the chase had been crushed. This guy Chisum was certainly living up to his reputation. Web Steiger had gotten a tough fight on his hands.
Steiger knew something was wrong when they entered the Burning Bush. ‘What are you guys doing back here so soon?’ he snapped out, glazed eyes pinning Laredo to the spot. The cowed hardcase swallowed tentatively, apprising the vigilante leader of the crushing debacle. A bubbling rage gripped Steiger, turning his face a livid hue of purple. ‘Why didn’t you bunch of milksops try flushing them out?’
The scathing rebuke was received in silence. Nobody wanted to remove the focus of the boss’s ire from Laredo. ‘I send eight men to hunt down two,’ he began, unaware that Gus Ordway had joined the rebels, ‘and they make monkeys out of the lot of you, and without firing a shot.’ He snatched up a glass of whiskey and downed it in a single gulp. ‘What in tarnation am I paying you for?’
In truth, he knew the gang had been outwitted through no fault of its own. It was anger at having been duped that was boiling over. He paced up and down the room, his mind churning. No way was this interfering gunslinger going to thwart his plans for a complete takeover in the Nueces. He had enough men, and could easily hire in more if’n the need arose.
Eventually Steiger’s anger simmered down and the scheming strategist was able to think straight. He moved across to the bar. A drink of Scotch whisky would help him figure out a fresh strategy. ‘A bottle of the best,’ he rapped at the bartender. Shifty Ferret immediately left the other customers to serve the boss, who was noted for his virulent temper if
kept waiting.
Grabbing the neck of the bottle, he downed a hefty slug. A scornful gaze rested on the back of Squint Rizzo. The gunman was avidly regaling his cronies with tales of derring-do, from which he inevitably emerged the winner. Steiger now saw the cocky braggart for a mere amateur compared to Ben Chisum.
And judging by Chisum’s actions during his brief spell in the Nueces, those stories about his town-taming exploits were clearly no figment of a lurid imagination. So far, he had easily outwitted Steiger and his superior force. And Curly Bill Redleg was not far behind. Together, they were a formidable opposition to his plans. His mouth twisted in disdain. If only he had those two on his payroll, his ambition to be top dog in the valley would be assured.
Another scowl and a second gulp of whisky merely confirmed the inadequacy of the current situation. Clearly, a fresh approach was needed. Head bowed, he stared into the mirror behind the bar. The face that gawped back at him looked drawn and haggard. Was this the Web Steiger who had struck fear into the local populace with his ruthless brand of vigilante law?
He growled out loud, causing heads to turn. ‘Now that we’ve allowed that skunk to take over the Jaybird, at least we know his whereabouts,’ he mumbled under his breath, mulling over the best way to thwart the wily coyote. ‘But there’s still only two of them.’ A hand strayed to the livid scar carving a wayward path across the scowling countenance.
Once again, he peered at the reflection in the mirror. His eyes now glittered wildly. A new resolve had replaced the beaten man of moments before. Fingers snapped, a sure fire sign of the boss having arrived at a plan of action. His next, much more upbeat declaration found the gang emitting a collective sigh of relief as they gathered round.
