Big Win

by Tony Masero

  He dismounted and began to poke around.

  ‘Well, come on, you fellows. Give me a hand here, if there’s any money around we need to find it.’

  ‘Them redskins will have taken that long ago,’ said Logan doubtfully as he climbed down from the saddle.

  ‘What use have they for greenbacks?’ asked Fetch, turning over a leather suitcase and searching the inside. ‘Don’t mean nothing to a savage. What is this?’ he asked suddenly, holding up a corset and a woman’s wide-brimmed summer hat. ‘This ain’t no man’s gear.’

  ‘Here!’ called Logan. ‘I found him.’

  They hurried over to where Logan stood looking down at something behind a screen of mesquite bushes.

  The body lay there, laid out neat and dressed only in long and worn underwear. A bloody bullet wound had the ripped the long john’s open and marked the side just above the waist. Coyotes had already been at work burrowing into the wound and tearing it wider, to give it the ghastly meaty appearance of a butcher’s slab.

  ‘Oh!’ gasped Justine, looking quickly away as she saw awful wound and the pallid skin and milky staring eyes.

  ‘You know,’ said Fetch doubtfully. ‘He looks kinda like….’

  ‘That ain’t him,’ said Joe sharply.

  ‘It’s like that fella at the swing station’s twin brother. That mustache and white hair….’

  Joe sighed deeply, ‘The fellow at the station was Monty Dupree. He made himself up to look like this man.’

  ‘Then who the hell is this?’ asked Fetch.

  ‘This is the real courier,’ Joe explained. ‘Dupree is an actor, real good at disguises and taking on the aspect of others. Hell! That’s more than twice he’s fooled me.’

  ‘There ain’t no sign of Indians around here,’ said Logan, scouring the ground. ‘Look here, its all heeled boot marks and shod pony.’

  ‘It was Dupree must have killed him,’ said Joe, suddenly sure. ‘He probably busted up his carriage accidentally and killed the pony in the tumble. Then along comes the army rider and tries to help out but Dupree kills him and takes over his role by dressing in his clothes and making himself up like the old fella. Lord! He rode out of that station with a pack mule behind him. He must have tossed out all the colonel’s lady’s possessions and loaded the mule with his own stuff. That’s where the money is!’

  ‘Damn it!’ cursed Fetch. ‘You reckon that’s so?’

  ‘Stake my life on it,’ said Joe.

  ‘Maybe that is destined to be so,’ warned the gloomy voice of Barnes from behind them.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Fetch, spinning around.

  With a jerk of his chin, Barnes indicated the skyline above them.

  Bidu-ya sat on his pony with his war party of braves around him and looked down curiously at the small group gathered around the body below. He was an Apache of the Chihenne band, one that the Mexicans called Victorio and was now a chief of the Chiricahua. They had raided successfully at Ojo Calientes and attacked the town of Alma, taking many horses and killing the whites there. It had been a good raid.

  Victorio was a wide cheeked and not very handsome looking fellow; bareheaded with long and tangled shoulder length hair. He was in his fifty-fourth year and his followers saw in him a better prospect than the disgusting life they had been forced to endure on the San Carlos Reservation with its meager supplies and deadly diseases.

  At his side rode his famed sister, Lozen the prophetess and warrior woman. She was fifteen years younger than he but was already renowned for her courage and the mystique of her magical fingers, which could sense the direction of an enemy even before they came into sight.

  Victorio relied on Lozen heavily for her wisdom and good sense and he turned to her now.

  ‘What is this?’ he asked.

  Lozen studied the whites below as they scurried hurriedly to return to their horses. She shook her head. ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Shall we take them?’ he asked.

  She shrugged, ‘They are few. Not many horses and we have many already.’

  Victorio looked back over his shoulder and although his face did not show it he smiled internally. There were over two hundred ponies they had captured back there behind him with the women and children, the ponies milling in a herd and being guarded by his men. It meant a great deal to own so much horseflesh and earned him respect amongst his people.

  He turned to the men alongside him. ‘Those of you who wish to take them may do so. The rest of us ride to the mountains.’

  With that, he turned his pony abruptly and rode off with his sister at his side.

  A few of the remaining warriors looked at each other solemnly, four white men and one woman. It would be easy pickings.

  Ten of the braves lurched forward down the slope with high-pitched cries and started after the departing whites.

  The rest of the war band remained behind on the hillcrest and watched them go, and then they turned and followed after Victorio.

  Joe and the others had run back to the ponies when the first rifle shot rang out. The animals were tied to the wheels of the battered surrey and Joe’s panicked hands scrabbled to loosen the reins.

  Fetch and Logan already had their pistols out and were returning fire at the oncoming Apaches, whilst Joe quickly helped Justine up onto her mount.

  ‘This could be our chance,’ he said. ‘Maybe we can make a break for it.’

  ‘If the Indians don’t get us first,’ she said, her face pale and eyes wide with fear.

  Joe swung up into the saddle as an arrow narrowly missed and thudded into the saddle next to his thigh, ‘Goddamn it!’ he cried. ‘Let’s go.’

  Both Fetch and Logan were mounted and bringing their ponies around as the lumbering figure of Barnes struggled to mounted his frightened pony. The animal was terrified and was skittering in nervous circles making it difficult for Barnes to get his foot in the stirrup. As Fetch and Logan started to follow Joe and Justine, the Apaches burst out of the mesquite brush and fell on the lone figure of Barnes.

  The preacher was not about to give in easily though, snatching the long axe from his saddle horn, he whirled in a dangerous arc. His first blow took an oncoming Indian pony in the breast and brought the beast into a squealing rear. The rider was thrown and fell on his back in the dust, Barnes was on him in an instant and the axe rose and fell, burying itself in the Apache’s chest.

  ‘I am the right hand!’ Barnes bellowed, turning to face the rest of the men that surrounded him. ‘You shall not harm the righteous. My soul is the shield of faith and my strong arm the retribution of angels.’

  An arrow thudded into his shoulder but Barnes ignored it and charged at those around him. Swinging high with the razor-sharp axe he brought another rider down, hacking a solid blow into the man’s stomach and dragging him bodily from the saddle. Levering the axe head free, Barnes did not pause. The steel head flashed and another passing brave received a swinging blow that had his leg severed above the knee as cleanly as if amputated by a surgeon, the brave fell howling from his pony.

  Arrows were now peppering Barnes’ body like quills, a few rifle shots rang out and he bucked under the blow of the lead but did not give up. He lurched forward, his massive shoulder striking the breast of one of the circling ponies and as the rider raised a lance to bury in his back, Barnes spun around swinging upwards with the axe and catching the Apache below the jaw and almost lifting his head clean away from his shoulders.

  A snarling brave with a red stripe painted across his face leant across the wounded man and poked his Springfield rifle full in Barnes’ face and pulled the trigger. The preacher’s head disappeared in a flurry of red mist and the big figure keeled over and fell rigidly into the churned dust.

  As Joe and Justine charged ahead, Fetch and Logan followed some fifty yards behind. Logan had emptied his revolver and was now firing from his shoulder-packed .44 back at the braves that had chosen to continue the chase.

  They were running wildly and withou
t thinking, leading the following Apache’s out onto the open plain. The remaining members of the war band were excited and their blood lust was up and their calls followed the riders in high piercing shrieks.

  Fetch hung low over the saddle concentrating on urging his beast to run at full length whilst Logan wasted ammunition as his bounding pony made accurate shooting impossible. Streams of dust billowed out behind them and the hot wind tugged at the riders as they raced on.

  A lucky shot from the following Indians caught Justine’s pony in the hindquarters and the animal slid to a halt with its rear hip broken. It stood a moment quivering and then slid over taking Justine down with it.

  Joe saw her fall and dragged on the reins bringing his pony around in a swirl. He had travelled another twenty feet on and he brought the animal about and galloped back to the fallen girl.

  Fetch and Logan were coming on fast and Joe could see they were not about to stop. Behind them through the dust cloud he could see the shadowy shapes of the following Indians.

  Without thinking, Joe brought his pony broadside in front of the fleeing Logan. The gunman still had his attention behind as he loosed off wild shots at the Apaches and he did not see Joe blocking his path. But the pony did and tried to avoid Joe, it swerved viciously and swung Logan wide out. He lost his grip and flew away, tumbling to the ground.

  Joe dug in his heels and surged forward to catch up the reins of Logan’s tottering pony, dragging it he pulled the animal over to Justine who had freed herself from the fallen animal and was climbing to her feet.

  Joe heard Logan’s ragged cry from behind him, ‘What the hell you doing?’

  ‘Get up!’ Joe ordered Justine, pulling the pony alongside her.

  She looked from him to Logan who was on his feet now and running wildly towards them.

  ‘Hey! You can’t leave me,’ Logan screamed.

  Grimly compressing her lips, Justine leapt aboard the pony and as she drove the animal forward, Joe leant down and drew the double-barreled shotgun from the passing saddle scabbard. He dropped the gun on the ground and dug in his heels.

  ‘You rat bastards!’ Logan called, standing alone in the dust of their passage. He lifted the .44 and fired after Joe but the gun was empty now. ‘You leaving me here to die?’ he bellowed.

  It was the most words Joe had ever heard the cold-blooded killer make and he looked over his shoulder to see Logan picking up the shotgun and turn to face the oncoming Indians.

  Seconds later there was a boom from the shotgun that was lost in the swirling dust behind and then another one as the other barrel was fired. A long drawn out scream followed the sounds of gunfire and then a sudden whoop and the yip-yip of victory.

  They rode on at full gallop for another half mile before Joe risked another look back. The ground before them was rising into a raw-red rocky hillock and from its crest it gave a good view of the stretched out plain behind.

  There was nothing but their dust trail hovering in the air behind. Nobody was following.

  ‘Hold up!’ he called to Justine.

  Taking his canteen, Joe poured water down his dry throat and looked over at Justine. Both of them were coated in pale dust, only their eyes showed clearly in the mask. The ponies were covered in a swathe of sweat foam and they too were plastered with caked dust.

  ‘Are they gone?’ Justine croaked.

  ‘I reckon they’ve given up on us. They lost too many men, I’d say. Barnes and Logan put up one hell of a fight.’

  ‘Did we have to leave him?’ she asked.

  ‘It was him or you and I know which one I’d rather sleep with.’

  ‘Still, it doesn’t seem very charitable.’

  Joe harrumphed a laugh, ‘That man would have killed you without a second thought, Justine. He was a cold merciless killer. There wasn’t an ounce of charity in him.’

  ‘I know, but….’ She faltered, her justification fading away. ‘So what do we do now?’

  Joe looked away over the plain below them, the drifting dust of their passage slowly filtering away.

  ‘Hell! I’m pretty sick of it all, Justine.’

  ‘You want to give up?’ she asked, drawing close to him.

  ‘Do you?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s not my decision.’

  He studied her then. She was dust covered and her hair was blown awry by the wind but she was beautiful. She was some kind of woman, he thought. Was it worth it? He asked himself. So many men dying by chasing a ghost all over the country for a heap of money he had never wanted in the first place. It would only mean more death and bloodshed if they went on, he knew it.

  ‘I’m tired, Justine,’ he said, taking her in his arms.

  She came to him gratefully, tilting her head to look him in the eyes, ‘I love you, Joe. You know I’ll go with you, whatever you decide.’

  It filled Joe’s heart to hear her say that. She was asking nothing for herself but prepared to support him whichever way he went. She was the kind of woman most men never found in a lifetime.

  ‘You are something else,’ he said, cupping her chin and kissing her softly on the lips.

  She answered him hungrily, pulling him close and answering his kiss passionately.

  ‘That is real pretty!’

  The voice came from behind them and they turned to see Fetch, leaning against a pillar of red rock, his pistol held casually in hand but pointed in their direction.

  Joe hung his head, ‘Fetch,’ he said dolefully. ‘I thought you’d be long gone.’

  ‘Like my buddies down there. No, not yet, Joe. I’m still around and we have a job to complete.’

  ‘You’ve got to see it’s a waste of time trying to catch up with Dupree,’ pleaded Joe. ‘The guy’s a chameleon, he changes shape more times than the wind.’

  ‘Yeah, but you know his real face, don’t you? You’ve seen him without all the disguise. Your lady there worked for him and you visited at his mansion place. I need you to come get him. Now, I don’t mind which one I take, can be you or the woman, but one of you’s coming with me. The other one? Well, that one can stay here keeping Barnes and Logan company, if you like.’

  Justine pressed close to Joe, holding him tight and covering him with her body.

  ‘We’ll come, don’t worry. We’ll both come,’ she promised nervously. ‘Won’t we, Joe?’

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ said Joe, staring into her eyes.

  ‘It’s you that I want,’ she whispered. ‘Alive and in one piece.’

  ‘Okay, love birds,’ growled Fetch. ‘Mount up and lets get after that damned will-o-the-wisp fake soldier, or whatever body he takes on next. The bastard is short, that at least gives us something to go on. He can’t change his damned height.’

  ‘He’s clever, Fetch. He’s already led us astray a couple of times. It won’t be easy. Look at it, he sent us down here on a wild goose chase knowing those Indians was about, that lost you your two friends and there’s no telling what he’ll do next.’

  ‘So you want to let him take your money and run, is that it?’ Fetch asked in disbelief.

  ‘What you never had you ain’t likely to miss,’ Joe answered soberly.

  ‘I can’t believe you, fellow,’ spat Fetch. ‘The guy owes you a fortune and anyway my cut’s quadrupled just now. I ain’t about to back out nor let Soapy Smith down, that old boy is one mean sucker, he will follow me to hell and back I don’t come through.’

  Twelve

  The three drifted back north following the cold trail that the disguised army courier left. Fetch had word of the man at a few of the villages they passed through but after reaching the Rio Grande, Dupree had faded away again and nobody knew of him.

  They spent another five weeks of vain searching until even the dedicated Fetch was beginning to show signs of exhaustion and by the time they re-crossed the Colorado border he was making distinct noises of defeat. They worked their way up to Durango as they heard whisper of a miming actor appearing in a travelling show there. But by
the time they reached the town the theatrical group had long gone.

  Fetch decided it was time to report back to Soapy and explain their failure. Creede was close enough, just over the nearby San Juan Mountains and they headed up the Animas River to cross over at the mining town of Animas Forks.

  The three forks of the river met in a pleasant enough, although bleak valley enclosed by ranges of snow capped mountains. It stood high and was a chilly place that was quit in the winter by the miners, who headed for lower and warmer climes. Fir trees populated the slopes and had been the base material for the buildings that stood scattered on each side of the rocky slopes.

  A busy place sustained by the gold and silver strikes it held some five hundred people and was also the county seat. As a mark of its thriving success the Main Street held a few single-story false fronted buildings with a hotel, general store and post office. The drinking was done in the hotel bar, which was in the only two-story structure in the town. It was a natural magnet for all travellers and the trio made their way there on arrival.

  Justine sorted out rooms for them whilst the two men gravitated to the bar to wet their whistles.

  ‘I tell you,’ confided Fetch as the barman poured beer and whiskey shots for them. ‘I can damn well do with this.’

  The relationship had changed somewhat in the intervening weeks and there was less animosity between the three. The travelling and endless searching had pushed previous experiences to one side and there was now more a sort of companionship between Joe and Fetch, almost as if their combined involvement had borne some kind of familiarity.

  Not to say they were bosom buddies. There was still that tension aroused by Fetch’s crude manners and always the ever-present threat of what he might do if they ever came across Dupree. Yet the habitual time in each others company had worn away some of the more evidential aspects of danger.

  The bar was a busy place, with mud stained miners relaxing after a hard day spent digging in the dirt or working at one of the processing mills. So, the two were jostled on either side by rough looking fellows smoking and drinking and holding forth with noisy conversation in this primarily male domain.