by Tony Masero
Little was said during the ride other than Devian’s constant attempts to gain some kind of accord with Justine. It was ill fated from the start but Devian could not believe that his good looks and winning ways would not bring Justine around and so he persisted.
It was a one-sided conversation that was even beginning to bore his companions when they arrived at the stage-line swing station.
‘Will you give it a rest,’ Fetch admonished Devian as the buildings came into view. ‘I think I heard enough of your poor try at some spooning with this here woman.’
‘But she’s breaking my heart,’ complained Devian. ‘Look here, a pretty fellow like me and this female won’t even give me the time of day.’
‘Must be plumb insane,’ observed the cynical Logan dryly.
‘You can say that again,’ muttered Justine and Joe had to smile at that.
Below them at the foot of the rise stood a group of fortified adobe buildings with a high-walled corral alongside.
‘What is this place?’ asked Fetch. ‘Anybody know?’
‘It’s an Overland Stage change-over,’ mumbled a disgruntled Devian. ‘See, they got a spare team waiting in the corral.’
True enough, the corral held a team of six matched black horses and a few others of different colors with some pack mules.
‘Okay, let’s rest the horses here,’ said Fetch. ‘We’ll get us a meal then head on.’
There were two brothers running the station and they welcomed the party into the large dining area after allowing stabling of the ponies.
‘I’m Jake Barzeen and this is my little brother Cecil,’ the stocky station manager introduced himself. He was a husky, no-nonsense looking fellow with a thick black beard. His brother was by no means ‘little’. A burly man with broad shoulders and muscular arms showing under his rolled shirtsleeves.
‘You people make yourself to home,’ said Cecil, in a deep voice that boomed gently in the almost empty dining hall.
It was a long room with a bar and trestle tables and benches and the only other occupant was a dust covered soldier, who was sitting alone and smoking a pipe, a half full whiskey glass in front of him.
‘Howdy,’ he called, tipping his white cavalry hat at Justine.
He looked a hoary old soldier, white haired and grizzle-chinned with a drooping mustache hanging over his lips. His shirt was bleached white with weather and dust and his campaign hat was worn with the brim pinned up casually in front.
‘This here, is trooper Caleb Morse. Rides courier out of Fort Lacey, that’s about fifty miles south of here.’
‘Please to meet you all,’ wheezed the grizzled Morse, waving his pipe stem in greeting.
Fetch made the introductions and asked if a meal was possible.
‘Sure,’ said Jake. ‘Old Cecil here is the best cook this side of the Rio Grande. Set yourselves down it’ll be with you right soon, he’s already got feed lined up waiting on the stage due in from San Cristobal. Day late already, I don’t know where the hell it can be.’
‘Could be the Indians,’ advised Morse. ‘Had a run in with them myself on the way up. Look here,’ he said and with his pipe stem dragged at a bloody ripped hole at the waist of his shirt. ‘Injun arrow. Took me a close one but I made it out of there alright.’
‘What is it?’ asked Fetch. ‘Apaches?’
‘You got it, mister,’ said Morse. ‘Victorio’s broke out of San Carlos with two hundred braves, damn fellow’s cut down five Buffalo soldiers from Company E of the 9th. Staked ‘em out and made a mess of the poor beggars over at Ojo Caliente. You people best be warned to take another route if’n you’re heading on south.’
‘That was our intention,’ said Fetch. ‘We was looking to meet up with a fellow called Monty Dupree, you seen any sign of such a party?’
Morse sniffed, jammed his pipe in the corner of his mouth, sucked on it a moment and then took it out again. ‘Wouldn’t be a small fellow riding around in a horse and four-wheel surrey would he?’
‘That’s him!’ said Fetch eagerly
Morse shook his head, ‘Yeah, I passed such a one on the way up here.’ He got up from his seat and made his way across to the dining room bar looking for a refill. A short bow-legged figure that looked as if it had spent a lifetime in the saddle, he ambled tiredly over with his loose spurs clanking on the floorboards. ‘Sorry to tell you he fell foul of them Indians, found his carriage overturned about ten miles down the track. Your boy was killed dead, they cut him up bad I have to tell you, begging your pardon ma’am, sorry to say they did all that mutilation thing they enjoy so much.’
‘Hot damn!’ cursed Devian.
Fetch frowned, ‘His surrey still there?’
‘Yeah but it ain’t no use no more,’ said Morse, slapping his glass down on the bar. ‘Fill her up, will you, Jake? Broken wheel, I guess, least that’s what it looked like. They done threw all his possessions about, I didn’t get too close a look as right then I was coming under the eye of them redskins and had to light out.’
‘Must be why the Overland is late,’ observed Jake as he poured Morse a glass. ‘Those bastards! I hope to hell the stage is alright.’
‘Can I get one of those?’ asked Devian, licking his lips at sight of the pouring bottle.
‘Sure you can,’ said Jake setting up a row of glasses. ‘Long as you got the readies.’
‘Here you go,’ said Fetch, slapping a handful of small coinage on the bar. ‘That’s too bad to hear about our pal Monty.’
Morse shrugged, ‘It ain’t no country for no fancy carriage. It’s rough out there and with them Indians on the prod, it gets to be doubly dangerous.’
‘Hell!’ spat Devian, downing his drink in one throw. ‘We won’t let a few dirt-bug redskins bother us.’
‘Don’t discount them,’ croaked Morse. ‘I fought right through the Yavapai war a few years back, it ain’t no picnic, I can tell you and them Indians can be real smart when it comes down to it. They know this country right well, better than us I have to say.’
Logan and Barnes were propping up the bar whilst Joe and Justine sat at one of the tables. Devian stood behind Fetch and helped himself liberally from the bottle on the bar whilst Fetch questioned the courier.
‘Where you headed now?’ asked Fetch.
‘On up to Lorelei Depot, got me a parcel of mail and some danged packages from the colonel’s wife at Fort Lacey. I guess she’s pulling out, I reckon the colonel sees what’s in the wind and aims to make his lady safe. Don’t it beat all that I got to risk my neck for a parcel of reports but why I should do it for a few female gewgaws is more than I can reckon with. Still, another ten-month and my five years is up. I reckon I’ll head back to civilization and get me some easy time then.’
‘You do that, old timer,’ chuckled Devian. ‘Old man like you shouldn’t be out here anyway.’ It was obvious the drink was loosening Devian’s tongue and Fetch looked at him warningly.
‘Don’t mind the young one,’ said Fetch. ‘He can’t hold two fingers of liquor without shooting off.’
‘Don’t bother me none,’ said Morse indifferently.
‘Oh, it don’t,’ chuckled Devian, a little drunkenly. ‘Nothing does, huh?’
Morse fixed an eye on the young man, ‘No, sir. I seen enough like you stretched out with their skin peeled off under the hot sun to know your true color.’
‘That so?’ sneered Devian, reaching across and lifting the bottle from the bar. ‘What color you got running down your back, old fella?’
‘Leave it be,’ warned Fetch, pushing Devian away. ‘You say poor Monty’s possessions was all lying about?’ he asked turning again to the soldier.
‘I did, they was scattered all around. Trunks and cases and whatnot.’
Devian frustrated at the lack of attention coming his way swallowed deeply from the neck of the whiskey bottle and turned his attention to Justine again.
‘Hey, honey,’ he said looming over her. ‘How about you and me getting it on, huh
? You’ve been there before, ain’t you? I see it in the cut of your jib, you’re a regular good time gal, I reckon.’
Justine looked at him coldly and shook her head, ‘Get lost, will you?’ she said.
‘Don’t be like that,’ smarmed Devian, resting his arm around her shoulders and breathing whiskey fumes in her ear. ‘Come on now, treat me nice.’
Justine shook herself free, ‘Will you cut it out?’ she said irritably.
‘You heard her,’ growled Joe. ‘Get off her.’
‘Oh! And what will you do about it, cowboy?’ slurred Devian, turning to face Joe. ‘You going to bust my chops, are you?’
‘If need be,’ Joe said coldly.
‘I’d like to see it,’ sneered Devian. ‘Come on then, punk. Get up and try.’
He took Joe’s upper arm and squeezed, trying to lift the cowboy from his chair. Joe who had hogtied many a calf during branding time and had hard-skinned and strong work hands, took Devian’s gripping hand in his. He twisted down, pinching behind the thumb in a forceful grip that surprised the gunman. Joe turned and rotated the gripping hand until Devian winced and cried out in complaint.
Joe pushed back his chair and got to his feet, continuing to turn the arm, locking it until Devian dropped to his knees.
‘I had just about enough of you,’ spat Joe, who had listened to Devian hitting on Justine for hours and was truly pissed off by it. ‘You are one loud mouthed little ass.’
‘Hey! Hold on there!’ cried Jake from behind the bar. ‘We don’t want none of that.’
Fetch spun around and saw what was happening, he took a long look and then gazed questioningly on at the other two. Logan shrugged indifferently and Barnes just stood watching, as baleful as ever.
‘Leave them to sort it out,’ advised Fetch, turning his attention back to Morse.
Joe crouched over Devian, who was making moaning noises and going for his gun. ‘Let go of me,’ he whined. ‘Or I’ll blow your head off.’
Devian drew his revolver and Joe leaned across to grab his gun arm at the wrist. ‘Drop it!’ he warned. ‘Or I’ll break your damned arm.’ Savagely, Joe twisted again and Devian howled with pain and dropped the gun on the floor.
Joe released the twisted arm, flipped it away and bent to pick up the revolver.
‘Leave that alone,’ said Logan. He stood motionless at the bar but Joe could see his hand had strayed to the pistol at his belt.
Just then, Joe felt a stinging pain in his side. He looked down to see that Devian had plunged a small blade into his waist; the gunman plucked it out and was about to repeat the move when Joe backed off and kicked him solidly in the jaw. The pocketknife, a small paring blade flew from Devian’s hand as his head was socked back but Joe was angry now and did not hesitate to grab hold of Devian. He lifted the small man up and swung him around easily.
‘You son-of-a-bitch!’ snarled Joe, grasping Devian by the collar and gun belt. ‘Stick me, would you?’
With that Joe ran him at full tilt towards the bar, Fetch and the others jumped aside with yelps of surprise as Joe slammed Devian’s head up against the edge of the bar. The wooden bar edge took Devian in the open mouth and front teeth crumpled under the impact. Devian gagged and spluttered and a stream of blood and fractured teeth dripped from his lips as he slid to the floor.
‘Shit!’ muttered Logan in surprised appreciation. ‘You sure shut his gab, cowboy.’
‘Neat work,’ allowed Morse, looking down at the dazed gunman.
Breathing heavily, Joe backed away.
Fetch looked at him calmly, ‘You going to finish it?’ he urged, a slight teasing smile playing on his lips and some sort of color coming into his yellow cheeks.
‘Enough!’ burst out Jake, lifting a shotgun from behind the bar. ‘That’s enough of that. Ain’t we got sufficient to worry about already with all them redskins on the rampage? I don’t need more of it in here.’
‘Put that down,’ warned Logan, levering back the hammer on his gun and pointing it at Jake’s head.
Slowly, the stationmaster dropped the hammers on the shotgun and carefully lowered it.
‘Go on, boy,’ urged Fetch, something glinting darkly in his eye. ‘Finish what you started.’
‘You bastards!’ spat Devian through his ruined lips. ‘Look what he done to me. Ain’t you going to do anything?’
‘Your fight,’ said Fetch, moving away. ‘You deal with it.’
The adrenalin was pumping through Joe’s body and he hesitated, unsure of how to handle things. Then he heard Justine’s faint voice behind him.
‘Joe?’ she said querulously.
At that moment, Devian lunged forward and reached out for his gun, still lying on the floor where he had dropped it.
‘Here, boy,’ Joe heard Morse call from behind him and the sound of a heavy service Colt pistol slid along the bar towards him.
Devian had his gun in hand and was swinging around. Crouching on all fours he brought the pistol up, cocking the hammer as he came. His face was bloody and twisted with rage as he leveled the revolver at Joe.
Joe had Morse’s service revolver by the grip but he was too late as Devian pulled the trigger with a broken grin of victory. His face changed to surprise as the hammer fell and nothing happened. He had forgotten that he carried an empty chamber under the hammer for safety’s sake and in the fire of the moment it had completely slipped his mind. Feverishly he worked to rotate the cylinder and bring a live shell to bear.
Joe felt nothing but cold anger as he raised the Colt, pointed and squeezed the trigger.
There was a plume of smoke and a flare of exploded gas from the barrel as the gun kicked in Joe’s hand. Devian’s head socked back as the lead took him in the center of the forehead. His brains sprayed out behind and the kneeling figure shot over backwards to sprawl on the floor.
‘Oh-oh!’ breathed Fetch, looking down with some perverse satisfaction at the dead body. ‘Sure don’t look so pretty now, do he?’
At sound of the shot, Cecil came bursting out from the kitchen. He pulled up sharply under his brother’s warning gaze and looked across the bar at the haze of gun smoke.
‘You people ready to eat now?’ he asked numbly.
‘Your mess, Joe,’ said Fetch, looking down at the sprawled figure. ‘Get this trash out of here, will you?’
‘I shall say the words,’ promised Barnes, turning into preacher mode, and bending to help Joe remove the body.
‘Okay,’ said Fetch cheerfully. ‘Let’s eat now.’
During the meal Morse took his leave claiming that he had to make Lorelei Depot by sunset. Joe gave him a nod of thanks for the use of his revolver and the old soldier whispered, ‘You watch your step, young fellow. These are mean hombres you travel with.’
‘Not by choice,’ Joe answered. ‘Soon as we check out Dupree’s remains we’ll part company.’
‘Just make sure it ain’t you that gets left behind out there in the desert. You and that pretty lady.’
With that the courier stuck his pipe in his mouth and shuffled out of the door.
The brothers Barzeen watched them complete their meal with obvious misgivings. After the shooting of Devian they were concerned that they had a pack of renegades in their midst and it was apparent that when Fetch gave the order to move out the brothers breathed a hefty sigh of relief.
As they trooped out to the corral to fetch their ponies, Joe could see the distant figure of Morse on the horizon. The old soldier was moving at a steady pace and dragging his pack mule behind. Joe wished he were heading in the same direction, as the prospect of confronting both wild Indian Territory and the three gunmen chilled his heart.
He managed a few words with Justine as they saddled up.
‘You get the chance,’ he whispered. ‘Make a break for it. Don’t look back just head out fast.’
‘Are you okay?’ she asked, a worried expression on her face.
‘I’m alright,’ he said tugging the cinch on his pony tight.
‘It was me or him, you understand that, don’t you?’
‘I know it,’ she said, smiling sympathetically. ‘How’s that cut in your side?’
‘It’s nothing. No more than a scratch.’
‘I’ll see to it soon as we get a break.’
‘Hell! I never thought it would all go this far.’
‘It’s just circumstances, Joe. You can’t do anything else.’
‘I can get out, there’s that. Damn the money, it’s beginning to feel like it ain’t worth a red cent now anyway.’
‘It’s a stake, I guess,’ she said.
‘I’ve still got the five thou tucked away. These critters ain’t found that yet. It’s enough….’
‘Hey!’ called Fetch. ‘What you two whispering about? You planning on making a break for it? Don’t even think on that, we’d get you before you’re a mile away. Old Cal is a mean shot with that Winchester he owns, so be warned.’
Logan looked sullenly at them both over the seat of his saddle. He said nothing but his cold gaze spoke volumes.
‘Let’s ride,’ said Fetch, swinging into the saddle. ‘I want to go see if this Dupree left something for us or if those rat redskins burnt it all for a fire.’
They rode out in single file and followed the solitary marks of Morse’s tracks south.
Eleven
As the courier had promised they came upon the ruined carriage some miles down the trail below a train of low hills covered with brush. It lay on its side in a gully, one delicate wheel broken clean in half with the spokes sticking up like cracked bone. The leather sunshade covering was canted over and the frame support bent and twisted out of shape. A horse’s dead body lay between the shafts; it was already swelling up and annoyed turkey vultures fluttered off as they approached.
Along the line of the gully lay broken trunks and scattered clothing lying in a jumble.
‘Sure took a tumble,’ observed Fetch.
