by Joe Nobody
“Yes, sir. Do we carry him out?”
Bishop knew exactly where he was, and on a paper map, a cross-country trek carrying Grim on a makeshift stretcher didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Reality and the terrain, however, told a different story.
While Fort Davidson was only 11 miles away, it might as well be 111 given the canyons, lack of roads, and mid-sized mountains that dotted the area. It wasn’t impossible, but by the time they crossed the rugged landscape, Grim might already be dead.
“No, I don’t think we can carry him out, and using the road is a bad idea. We’ve got a lot of hostile people around here, and walking alongside the pavement carrying a wounded man doesn’t seem like a winning strategy. We need one of the trucks we left back in the valley.”
Butter nodded but didn’t like the idea. “I don’t think those fellas back there are just going to hand you the keys, sir. Even if you ask nicely.”
The kid had a point.
Bishop turned, his gaze drifting toward the basin area. “Maybe those guys have left after pushing us off. We’re assuming they’re still occupying the place, but we don’t know for sure. I think I need to do a little observation work before we decide on a play. Who knows, I might be able to steal one of the trucks right out from under their noses.”
Again, Butter wasn’t thrilled about being left behind with a dying teammate. “And if they catch you, sir?”
Bishop glanced at his watch. “If I’m not back in two hours, make a drag stretcher and head directly south. You’ll eventually hit either the highway or Fort Davidson. But don’t worry. I’ll be back. I’m not planning on trying to retake the valley. I just want to see what’s going on.”
Katherine strolled across the front porch, her best riding boots and spurs clicking and jingling across the planks. She paused for a moment, scanning the gathered men under her employ.
Mack had managed to mount 14 riders, all of them armed. Given the losses of the last few days, it was an embarrassingly small number, but she was confident her foreman had done his best.
No one moved to help her climb into the saddle. Katherine Baxter wasn’t some frail, city girl who needed help with a stirrup.
With the grace of a longtime rider, she was up and pulling on the reins in a flash.
“Riders coming in,” a sentry shouted from the nearby barn’s rooftop. “Looks like Abe Pomelos and two of his men.”
Mack acted instantly, motioning for his crew to spread out and prepare for an attack. Katherine overrode his concerns. “Wait! It’s okay. He wouldn’t just ride in like the welcome wagon if they were up to any shenanigans. Especially with only two guns.”
The ranch’s second in command didn’t like it but heeded his boss’s command.
Abe galloped up the lane, flanked by two of his riders and slowing their pace to a gentle trot as they entered the courtyard. The rival rancher scanned the gathering of mounted hands and shook his head. “Looks like we got here just in time,” he said to Katherine. “You look like you’re heading out to look for trouble.”
“You had to have seen the fires last night, Abe. I want to see the valley with my own eyes,” she tersely replied.
Nodding his understanding, Abe adjusted his hat and delivered the bad news. “The house is gone, Katherine. We rode along the north ridge on the way here. It’s a complete loss.”
“Damn it!” she spat, “I knew it in my heart, but… those sons-ah-bitches are going to pay for that. I swear it.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Abe said. “One of my ranch hands just got back from Meraton and has heard of that Bishop fellow we met yesterday. I thought you might be interested in what he had to say.”
“Go on.”
“It seems this Bishop has quite the reputation as an enforcer, rabble-rouser, and hired gun. According to my man, he was involved in that massacre of U.S. Army troops last summer. He’s also been given credit for shooting up no less than three towns, and he sports quite a few notches on his gun barrel. He’s known far and wide as a stone cold killer.”
Tilting her head, Katherine seemed pensive, contemplating the Intel. “Kind of fits now that I think about it. He drove up to your place in that van like he owned the entire county. I knew that man’s swagger was a sure sign of trouble.”
“It gets worse,” Abe continued. “It seems Bishop’s wife is a big shot with the Alliance down in Alpha. That’s supposedly how he gets away with the killing… she protects him, even spins some of his deeds into positives for the government. Somehow she even managed to get his name cleared after all those National Guardsmen were murdered.”
“So, he’s not only ruthless but well-connected politically,” Katherine observed. “Those are the worst kind. Maybe we should contact Sheriff Watts and see if he applies the law equally to all.”
Abe disagreed, “Won’t do no good. From what I gather, Bishop is his own law. Hell, one rumor has it that Sheriff Watts is even on the wife’s payroll.”
“Figures,” the lady rancher barked. “I never have liked Watts. Makes sense that he’s on the take.”
For a moment, Katherine sat and pondered the information just received. Finally refocusing on Abe, she stated, “Our dispute over that land is a family matter. We made a mistake yesterday by not stopping that Bishop fellow right in his tracks.”
“So far I follow,” Abe replied.
“We need to join forces and run them off. If even half of what you heard is true, the Alliance didn’t send their henchmen up here for no reason. If they control that valley, then eventually they control both of our spreads. We can’t let that happen.”
Now it was Abe’s turn to think things through. After a bit, he countered, not quite buying into the lady’s open-ended plan. “Let’s say for a moment I do help you push them off. Then what?”
“Then we’ll settle our differences afterward the best way we can… cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, there’s one big-ass ogre blocking the way, and we need to deal with him.”
It took Abe a bit to consider all the angles, but he finally agreed. “I’ll meet you at the north pass in an hour with 25 men. We’ll ask them to leave, and if they don’t, we’ll help ’em along.”
“We’ll be there.”
Bishop found the perfect outcropping to observe the basin oasis below. After double-checking that the sun would not reflect off the optic, he began studying the men who’d done their best to kill him just last night.
Only two of the shooters were visible from his angle, one man on sentry duty watching the backdoor game trail Bishop had used to escape just a few hours ago. The other fellow was eating breakfast, reclining in the shade of a small oak.
The house had burned to the foundation, a second patch of smeared earth not far from the old barn. All three of his team’s pickups were still right where the Alliance men had parked them.
Also, a white panel van was now parked directly alongside the lane leading from the road. Bishop was sure at least nine or ten men had pushed his team out of the valley, and there was no way all of them could’ve arrived in that single truck. It was a puzzle, but not an important one.
Bishop began a slow, methodical search of the terrain, certain that any commander as competent as the one that had kicked their asses last night would have posted more than one sentry. Where were the rest of his men?
Less than 20 minutes later, motion on the opposite side of the canyon drew Bishop’s attention. An image of dozens of horsemen soon filled his optic.
“This can’t be good,” he whispered, counting at least two dozen armed riders.
Then Katherine Baxter came into the Texan’s view, she and an older man obviously in charge of the mounted brigade.
It wasn’t only Bishop that noted the newcomers. Men were now moving in the valley, the Texan counting four individuals rushing for cover. Four? He thought. Did we hurt them that badly last night?
Evidently, Katherine had learned a hard lesson from the schooling Bishop and his team had given th
e rancher two nights before. Rather than come in from a single charge, her men split into several small groups and began moving off in different directions. Smart, Bishop thought. Don’t bunch up like before. Approach the target from multiple vectors.
After watching her riders begin their descent, Miss Baxter and the older gent spurred their mounts and rode directly toward the valley at a measured pace. Halfway down the trail, she raised a white flag.
“They want to have a powwow with the shooters,” Bishop whispered, now completely puzzled by the string of events. The only logical explanation he had come up with for the men who’d attacked his SAINT team was that they were a bunch of mercenaries under contract to the ranchers. Now, that reasoning didn’t make sense. Why would Kathy need a white flag to speak with her own hired guns? Why bring so many men? Why split up like they were preparing for trouble?
Wanting answers, Bishop decided to move closer. Given the men who occupied the valley were now completely distracted by the oncoming ranchers, he thought it was worth the risk to move a bit further down the trail.
He found the grenade booby trap right where he’d left it.
“Maybe we did hurt them worse than I thought,” he mumbled. “That’s why they didn’t pursue us this morning. They’re shorthanded.”
Bishop continued slowly, working his way through the thick underbrush until he was only 20 yards from the burned out shell of the old house.
One of the shooters rose from his fighting position and began his march toward Katherine and her white flag. Bishop knew instantly the now-exposed man was in charge of the team that had taken the valley last night. He held himself with the confidence of command, his step the measured gait of a military officer.
When Miss Baxter and her fellow rider were within earshot, the commander raised his palm to signal that they were close enough. The two riders heeded, reigning their mounts to a halt.
Katherine’s voice carried across the quiet valley, “I’ll come right to the point,” the lady began. “I want you and your Alliance thugs out of here. Right now.”
Bishop couldn’t hear the response, but it obviously wasn’t what Kathy wanted to hear.
“I don’t give a shit,” the woman barked in retort. “We know who you are, Bishop. We know your reputation as a murdering marauder and enforcer for those power hungry hooligans down in Alpha. Now I’m only going to ask one more time. Pack up and get out, or we’ll move you out.”
For a moment, the Texan thought he was hearing things. “Did she just call that man by my name? What the hell? Are there two of us walking around with the same weird handle? Poor guy.”
The man sitting next to Katherine now spoke, “We don’t recognize the Alliance’s authority, Bishop. Nor do we need your help. We didn’t know who you were yesterday when you offered to move those squatters off our property. That aside, we never expected you to burn the place to the ground. Now, why don’t you and your henchmen head on back to Alpha before more people get hurt?”
The real Bishop was stunned. The man talking to the ranchers was an imposter, either by accident or intent. The Texan’s head was spinning.
The conversation with the riders ended with Katherine snapping a harsh, “You’ve been warned.” She and her mate pivoted their steeds and began riding away. When they were near the far side of the valley, Katherine dropped the white flag to the ground.
A moment later, the thunder of hooves sounded from all directions, a dozen cowboys charging the four men surrounding the burned-out home. The report of multiple rifles quickly followed.
Bishop soon realized that the riders charging up the valley were a feint… a distraction… a head fake. The majority of Katherine’s men had dismounted and were now firing from the surrounding rocks. They were using cover with braced firing positions. “Smart,” Bishop whispered. “Very smart, old gal.”
The defenders fought like they had against Bishop’s team, two riders falling, and another shooter in the rocks screaming out in agony as he was hit. Still, there was no question in the outcome, the numerical superiority of ranch hands was overwhelming.
The hailstorm of accurate bullets quickly began taking a toll on the four men trying to hold the valley. Bishop saw one fall in the first volley, another go down less than a minute later.
The riders circled after their initial pass and then charged again. This time, with the defenders reeling, their speed and numbers came directly into the fray.
Bishop watched a group of riders pass right in front of his position, one of the men shot out of the saddle as a bullet tore through his chest.
It was over in less than two minutes, the rancher’s forces now circling, checking the dead and wounded.
The Texan saw an opportunity to retrieve one of the trucks his team had left behind. The valley was a swirling mess of horseflesh, downed men, and general confusion in the aftermath of the battle. In a few seconds, he was out of his load vest and hat.
Waiting until no one was in the immediate vicinity, he darted out of the brush and to the man lying nearby. Bishop scooped up the cowboy’s hat and lever-action rifle and then walked with purpose toward the dead fellow’s nearby horse.
The animal was a bit suspicious of the stranger, but Bishop managed to grab a handful of reign, and then began leading the mare toward the pickups. He said a prayer that no one had snatched the keys from the sun visors.
Keeping the horse between himself and the majority of the surviving ranchers, Bishop continued with his stolen hat low, eyes darting here and there, ready to mount up and ride like hell if discovered. At worse, he could use the horse to help transport Grim.
No one seemed to be paying attention as Bishop passed close to a large cluster of the victorious cowpokes. That’s when he noticed they’d taken one of the defenders alive.
The man who Bishop knew was in charge of the mystery team was on his knees, several of Kathy’s men pointing their weapons at the captive. The Texan could see blood pouring from the prisoner’s scalp.
“I tried to warn you,” Katherine taunted. “I tried to end this without more bloodshed. Now we have to dig more graves. I should probably kill you right here and now… get it over with.”
The older man who’d accompanied the lady rancher stepped forward, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. “He might have value,” Bishop heard. “Don’t forget his wife is some big shot down in Alpha. He might be a good card to have up our sleeve.”
The Texan kept walking but slowed his pace. They are talking about Terri and me, he realized. What the hell is going on?
The captive said, “My name isn’t Bishop. I told you that to scare you. My real name is….”
One of the surrounding ranch hands stepped in and barrel-whipped the prisoner before he could finish, growling a harsh, “Shut up, you lying sack of shit!”
Evidently, the blow was delivered with more force than intended, the captive falling over onto the grass and no longer moving. Katherine didn’t seem to care.
“Tie him up and take him back to our bunkhouse,” she ordered. “Abe is right. He might be a good bargaining chip.”
A flurry of activity followed as two of the ranch hands rushed to execute her orders while others gathered weapons and bodies, and tended to the wounded.
Bishop reached the nearest pickup, opening the door as if someone might be hiding inside. The keys were still there.
After making sure no one was in the immediate vicinity, he smacked the horse on the ass and then pointed toward the cliffs, screaming, “Hey! Hey! I just saw one of them running that way!”
The Texan didn’t wait to see how many heads turned in the direction of where he was pointing. In a flash, he was behind the wheel, hitting the ignition and flooring the gas.
Gravel, dirt, and dust flew from the back tires as he raced down the lane, leaving a group of bewildered, startled ranch hands in his wake. Bishop kept low, his eyes barely able to see over the dash, but not a single shot was fired in his direction.
He turned sou
th onto the county road that fronted the valley, speeding in Butter’s direction. A few miles later, he spied an excellent spot to hide the truck.
Taking the keys with him, Bishop began hiking toward his teammates, wadding up the western hat and shoving it in his pack. Butter might shoot him if he approached the nervous kid while wearing the disguise.
Bishop felt like Santa Claus on Christmas morning, so happy was Butter to see his leader alive. “I heard the shooting, sir, and I thought for sure they’d caught you spying on them,” the big kid gushed, embracing the Texan in a rib-crushing hug. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to be wrong, sir.”
After realigning his spine, Bishop relayed the events that had just occurred in the valley, including the part about the mysterious imposter.
A pained expression crossed Butter’s face, “I know some people don’t agree with our SAINT team’s missions,” he confessed. “When I worked at Pete’s bar, I’d tell people I was training to work with you guys, and some folks would get a little mouthy. I guess rumors, gossip, and exaggerations can spoil the best intentions or results.”
The Texan thought about his man’s comments, for a moment wondering who on earth would have enough gumption to get mouthy with the huge kid. Shaking off that unproductive line of thought, he continued, “There are still citizens of the Alliance who believe I killed all of those National Guardsmen not far from this very spot. It’s like we used to say about the Internet – haters are going to hate. The apocalypse wasn’t enough of an event to modify human nature.”
Grim’s weak moan snapped both of them back to reality.
Butter, believing his boss had fallen to gunfire in the valley, had already constructed a makeshift drag-stretcher. Bishop admired the craftsmanship, citing that it would be perfect to haul the contractor back to the waiting pickup.
Constructed of two wrist-thick saplings and a webbing of paracord between, Bishop was proud of his man for having enough foresight to make the gurney large enough to not only handle Grim, but his pack as well.
