Confessions of a Gunfighter

by Tell Cotten

  “I reckon I’d be twelve, Pa,” I finally replied.

  “Well now, I figure that’s old enough,” Pa declared.

  “Old enough for what?” I asked curiously.

  “Stay here,” Pa told me.

  Pa sunk his ax blade into a log, and then he limped down to the house. Pa came back shortly, and he was carrying a fancy looking Colt six-shooter.

  Chapter three

  “I took this off a dead Union officer,” Pa explained. “And, seeing how you have a way with guns, I thought you might like to have it.”

  I was real excited as I reached out and carefully took the six-shooter from Pa.

  I don’t know how, but as soon as my palm wrapped around the handle I knew I was going to be a natural. The six-shooter fit perfectly in my hand, and holding it was one of the most natural feelings I had ever felt before.

  I gave the six-shooter a good going over.

  The handle was made out of white ivory, and the short barrel was dark and polished. It had been well taken care of; there wasn’t a scratch on it.

  “I’ve never seen a gun any fancier than this,” I said excitedly.

  “Don’t think I have neither,” Pa agreed. “It’s a well-built pistol, and I expect you to take real good care of it. It should last you a lifetime.”

  “I’ll take good care of it, Pa,” I quickly reassured him. “I surely will!”

  From that moment on, me and that Colt became inseparable. It didn’t matter what I was doing; I always wore it, and I practiced with it every chance I had.

  But spare time was hard to come by. Running a farm was hard work. There was always something to be done, and it seemed like there was never enough daylight.

  Hard life as it was, to me it was still a mighty good life, and I never wanted it to end. But, as usual, things changed.

  Two years later, the war finally came to an end.

  Pa thought things would get better, but he was wrong. Reconstruction people from the North started moving in, and they took away property and gave everybody that fought for the South fits.

  We all stayed away from town during that time, and Pa kept his rifle handy. But then came the night that they came out to the farm.

  We had just finished supper when we heard them. I looked out the window and saw them.

  There was a buggy in front, and in it was an important looking businessman. Behind the buggy trailed about twenty Yankee soldiers riding a-horseback.

  Pa’s face got hard and dark, and he told us sternly to stay inside. Pa grabbed his rifle, and then he opened the door and walked out to meet them.

  The man in the buggy pulled up in front of Pa. They talked in low, sharp tones while me and Elliot pressed up against our window and watched.

  They didn’t talk for long.

  Pa turned away abruptly. He walked back towards the house while the buggy and the soldiers turned and left.

  Pa walked back inside, shut the door, and sat down heavily at the table while me and Elliot looked at him curiously. Pa stared blankly at the floor, but then he finally turned and looked up at us.

  “Well, boys,” Pa told us, “Them Reconstructionalists say we owe ’em a lot of money in back taxes, and if we don’t pay it they’ll confiscate the farm.”

  “What does ‘confiscate’ mean, Pa?” I asked, confused.

  “It means they’ll take our farm away from us,” Pa explained. “It isn’t right, but there’s nothing we can do about it. The law’s on their side, not ours.”

  “I know something we can do!” Elliot blurted angrily. “We’ve got guns, ain’t we?”

  “Son, there’s no use fighting it,” Pa said with a weak smile. “If we did they’d just send more of them Yankee soldiers, and we can’t fight ’em all.”

  “Can’t we come up with enough money?” I asked hopefully.

  Pa shook his head.

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  “Then what’ll we do?” I wanted to know.

  “I had a feeling this would happen, and I’ve been giving it some thought for some time now,” Pa said with a touch of hope in his voice. “With things the way they are now we can’t go north, and if we stayed here in the south we would just be pestered more by them Northerners. And I don’t think I could stand too much more pestering.”

  “So what can we do?” I asked, confused.

  “We’ll go west,” Pa declared.

  Chapter four

  “I met this old cattleman named J.T. Tussle during the war,” Pa explained. “We were both prisoners, and to pass the time we talked some. I told him about our little farm, and Tussle told me all about his big cow operation he has out in West Texas near a little cow-town called Midway.

  “We got to know each other pretty good, and before we got split up he offered me a job if’n I wanted one. But I told him no, ’cause I had to get back here. He understood, but he said if things didn’t work out to look him up, and the job would still be there. So, I figure that’s what we’ll do, boys. We’ll get ourselves an outfit put together and head west.”

  That was good news as far as I was concerned. Going west was what I had always dreamed about, and I was eager to get started.

  Them Reconstructionist folks must have been just as eager, because Pa said we needed to be gone within a week.

  We started getting ready to leave the next morning.

  The first thing we did was to help Pa load up some of the farming equipment into the back of our buckboard. Then, Pa went over to the corrals and cut out all but three of our riding horses to be sold.

  I wasn’t very happy about that, but Pa said we had no choice. We needed a wagon, and those horses would bring a good price.

  Pa left me and Elliot a long list of chores, and then he took off to town in the buckboard, leading behind him the long string of horses.

  Me and Elliot worked hard all day, and Pa didn’t make it back home until almost dark.

  Pa was riding in a brand new Conestoga wagon. He also had a brand new team of horses pulling it.

  As soon as we saw Pa, we dropped what we were doing and ran over to have a look.

  The wagon was sparkling clean and had a crisp, white canvas tarp on top. It was sixteen feet long and also had a false bottom to hide valuables in.

  Me and Elliot climbed all over that new wagon. Then, I had a good look at the new team of horses.

  They were a fine-looking team. They were young, big boned, stout looking, and were real gentle too.

  We also still had the three horses that Pa had decided to keep. But they were for riding purposes only, and unless one of the team got crippled or hurt they wouldn’t be used to pull the wagon.

  Pa had already explained that me and Elliot were going to ride a-horseback most of the time to save the team from pulling the extra weight, and that suited me just fine. I would rather be a-horseback any day than have to ride in a wagon, new or not.

  ***

  We left early one morning. Pa’s face was hard and stern when he woke us, and we were in somber moods as we got dressed.

  After breakfast, me and Elliot helped Pa hitch up the wagon. Then, while Pa checked over everything, me and Elliot saddled our horses.

  I rode a little sorrel horse named Slim that was considered mine.

  “You boys ready?” Pa asked us as he climbed up onto the wagon seat.

  We nodded, so Pa clucked at the horses.

  It was hard riding away for the last time.

  I reckon it was the hardest on Pa, and I’m sure he felt like he was leaving part of himself behind.

  As for me, I had a big lump in my throat, and I didn’t dare look at Pa or Elliot for fear that I would break out and cry.

  We walked our horses towards the end of the lane.

  When we got there I pulled up Slim and looked back, but I was the only one.

  Pa and Elliot kept going forward steadily, so I turned back towards them and kicked up Slim, and we put the farm behind us for good.

  Chapter five


  Those first few weeks passed by unnoticed. We were in good spirits, and we traveled at least forty miles a day.

  Every few days Pa would send me out hunting. I almost always brought back a deer or something, and it helped our grub go a long ways.

  At first we ran into one settlement after another, but as we got further west the settlements became fewer. Pa had hoped to meet up with a wagon train by now, because further west was Injun country.

  Pa had already explained about the constant danger of Injuns in Texas.

  The Civil War had drained Texas of most its young fighting men, and ever since then the Comanches and Kiowas had been on the warpath with very little resistance. They were a fierce and brutal enemy, and we were going to have to be alert and ready at all times.

  ***

  We had been gone about three weeks when Pa informed us that we were now in Texas.

  I was surprised, because the country still looked the same as Louisiana did. But Pa explained that we were heading for the Texas Plains, and that was still a long ways off to the west.

  A few days later we finally came across a wagon train. It was evening time, and we could see their campfires burning in the distance.

  We set up camp and ate a quick supper, and then Pa rode over to have a talk with them. He came back later all excited, saying that in the morning we would pull in with them.

  “They’re going all the way to California!” Pa told us. “But, I told them when we got close to Midway that we would be pulling out on our own again.”

  That sounded good to us, and come morning we packed up camp and went down to meet them. I counted twenty-three wagons, and ours made it twenty-four.

  We found out real quick that these folks weren’t very friendly. They were also a real clannish bunch. We later learned that they had all come from the same place back east somewheres.

  There was a lady named Karen Day that was the exception.

  Mrs. Day was a widow that was traveling all alone, and she had joined up with the wagon train a few weeks back.

  Me and Elliot could tell that she took an immediate liking to Pa, and Pa seemed to like her too. It was the first time since Ma had died that Pa had shown any interest in another woman, and it made me and Elliot glad.

  There was another wagon carrying three men that had joined up a few weeks back too. A big, husky man by the name of Jones was their leader.

  They were a rough looking bunch. When we made camp they always stayed off by themselves, and they didn’t talk to nobody. We also noticed that at least one of them always stayed with the wagon.

  Pa was wary.

  “Stay away from that wagon, boys,” Pa told us. “I don’t like the looks of ’em.”

  Pa didn’t have to tell me twice. I didn’t like the looks of them neither, and I kept my distance.

  A man by the name of Tom Benson was boss of the wagon train.

  Pa was surprised, and he told us boys that he had heard that Tom Benson was a no account gunfighter. He was a big, hairy, and gruff looking man, and his huge, square-like face was covered in a full-grown beard.

  At first Benson didn’t seem to mind us being there. But then, a few nights later, Mrs. Day invited us over to do some visiting.

  Pa was real quick to accept her invite, and that evening we had supper with Mrs. Day.

  We were all having a good time, and we were in the middle of laughing over the campfire when Tom Benson came walking up. Seems like he had come to call on Mrs. Day, and us being there spoiled his plans.

  After that Tom Benson took an immediate disliking to Pa. And, so did the rest of the bunch.

  But that didn’t stop Mrs. Day. She really liked us, and she started having supper with us a lot more often, which made Benson even more irritable.

  Benson was a sore loser, and he never called Pa by his name no more. Instead, Benson started using nicknames like ‘sodbuster’ or ‘tenderfoot’ and such. He made Pa’s life as miserable as he could, and he would yell and scream at Pa over nothing.

  Benson also gave me a hard time about my ivory handled six-shooter. Every time he saw me he would laugh and say a youngster like myself didn’t have any business wearing a gun as fancy as mine.

  I was aggravated, but Pa told me not to let it worry me. Pa said that Benson was making himself look like a fool, and that as long as we did nothing back he would only make himself look more foolish.

  A couple of weeks went by, and every day the tension between Pa and Benson built. Benson was starting to get real mean and ugly, and Pa was worried.

  Pa was also worried about the Jones’ wagon. They were acting real peculiar, and Pa was certain that they were up to no good.

  Pa wanted to avoid any trouble. So, every night when we made camp we tried hard to keep out of everybody’s way.

  Then came the day that we ran into Injun sign.

  Chapter six

  Another wagon train had been attacked and had been completely wiped out.

  The Injuns had burned the wagons, and unrecognizable charred bodies, both human and horses, lay scattered about. All the unlucky human victims had been scalped, and there was an unhealthy stench in the air.

  It was the worst thing I had ever seen. It made my stomach sick, and it was hard to keep my breakfast from coming back up.

  This Injun attack had been recent, for the coals from the burnt wagons were still warm, and the bodies were still fresh looking and limber.

  Everybody got worried, and Tom Benson had a hard time keeping everybody quieted down.

  That is, all except for the Jones’ wagon. They didn’t seem concerned at all.

  ***

  After that, things got more serious. Benson kept all the wagons bunched up together, and no one left the wagon train alone anymore to hunt. Instead, Benson sent out big hunting parties, and they shared the meat with everybody else.

  Pa offered my services, but Benson laughed.

  “I wouldn’t send a boy out to do a man’s work,” Benson scoffed.

  “He’s young,” Pa admitted. “But, he’s the best shot I’ve ever seen.”

  “Then I doubt you’ve seen very many, you being a sodbuster and all,” Benson replied, and everybody around laughed.

  Pa didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned abruptly and went back to the wagon.

  “Don’t let it bother you, Rondo,” Pa told me later. “What they think doesn’t matter none.”

  It did bother me, but I managed to smile for Pa.

  “Yes, Pa. I’m fine.”

  ***

  That night we had supper with Mrs. Day.

  We stayed a bit longer than usual, mainly because Pa and Mrs. Day were off talking by themselves real hush like.

  Afterwards, Pa was real cheerful and talkative as we walked back to our wagon.

  But Pa suddenly stopped short. His face got a startled expression, and Pa’s sudden movements made me and Elliot jump.

  “What’s wrong, Pa?” I asked.

  Before Pa could answer, Tom Benson stepped out of the shadows from beside our wagon. He was all sweaty and breathing hard, and he looked like he had been doing some real strenuous work.

  Benson was surprised when he saw us. A look of guilt crossed over his face, sort of like a youngster getting caught stealing cookies.

  “Evening,” Benson said, and he flashed us a shaky grin.

  Before Pa could say anything, Benson turned and hurried off into the darkness.

  “What was he up to?” Pa frowned suspiciously.

  Pa went over to the wagon and lit a lantern. He climbed into the back and checked over everything.

  “Nothing’s missing that I can see,” Pa told us as he climbed back out. “Let’s check the horses.”

  The horses were fine, as were our saddles and gear. We checked everything else we could think of, but we found everything to be safe and sound.

  The situation didn’t make any sense to Pa.

  “I just know Benson was up to no good,” Pa told us.

  “Maybe w
e came back too soon and messed up whatever he was planning on doing,” Elliot suggested.

  “Maybe so,” Pa said as he shook his head in confusion.

  There wasn’t anything else we could do in the dark, so we rolled out our bedrolls and went to bed.

  We awoke early, and in the daylight Pa checked over everything again. But, Pa didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.

  Pa planned on speaking to Benson about it, but Benson made sure and stayed well clear of Pa as everybody got their wagons hitched up. It was time to pull out, so Pa had no choice but to climb up onto the wagon seat and get going.

  Me and Elliot rode a-horseback in front of the wagon like we always did.

  The morning passed by uneventfully, and I had just decided that we must have been imaging things when I suddenly heard a shout from behind.

  I turned around in the saddle and saw Pa pulling out of the wagon line.

  “Something’s wrong with the wagon,” Pa explained. “It isn’t pulling right.”

  Me and Elliot dismounted and tied our horses to the back of the wagon.

  We were all down on our hands and knees looking underneath the wagon when Tom Benson came riding up. Benson took a quick look around, and noticed that nobody else was within earshot.

  “What’s going on here, Sodbuster?” He demanded roughly.

  “Looks like the axle’s broke,” Pa said from underneath the wagon.

  Tom Benson made no effort to hide his pleasure.

  “Is that so? Can you fix it?”

  “Yes, but it’ll take a while,” Pa said as he crawled out from underneath the wagon.

  Benson’s eyes lit up with victory, and a triumphant snarl crossed his face.

  “Sorry, Sodbuster, but I can’t wait. This is Injun country, and we’d make too good a target if we stopped.”

  “You’re going to leave us?” Pa asked, and his face was dark.

  “I’ve got no choice,” Benson responded. “But, I’ll tell you what. ’Bout six miles ahead there’s a creek that runs into a lakebed. There’s good cover there, and that’s where I had figured on stopping for the night. Now, if’n it don’t take you too long to fix your wagon, you should catch back up with us sometime during the night.”