Ralph Compton Big Jake's Last Drive

by Robert J. Randisi

  * * *

  * * *

  When Taco, Dundee, and Curly reached the fork, the two young men had to wait for the Mexican to examine the ground and read the sign.

  “When they left here, they were tracking him,” he said finally.

  “Great,” Curly said.

  “Six of ’em?” Dundee asked.

  “Sí, all six.”

  “He hasn’t gotten to any of them yet,” Curly said.

  “That could be good news,” Dundee said.

  “How do you figure?” Curly asked

  “It could mean they ain’t got to him yet either,” Dundee said.

  “Either way,” Taco said, “we must hurry.”

  With Taco to read the sign for them, they were able to travel at a brisk pace. After a few hours, Taco called their progress to a halt.

  “What is it?” Dundee asked.

  Taco pointed.

  “A fresh grave.”

  Once he pointed, Dundee and Curly saw it. They dismounted and walked to it. Close up, they confirmed that it was, indeed, a grave.

  “Aw, crap,” Curly said. “You think it’s Jake?”

  “The only way to be sure is to dig it up and have a look,” Dundee said.

  “No,” Taco said.

  “Why not?” Dundee asked.

  “If it is Señor Jake,” Taco said, “I do not think Major Seaforth would have buried him, do you?”

  Dundee looked at Curly.

  “He has a point.”

  “So then Jake got one of them,” Curly said.

  “Sí.”

  “That’s good,” Dundee said. “We’re down to five.”

  “Also, I believe Señor Jake is leading them somewhere,” Taco said.

  “Where?” Curly asked.

  “I do not know, but I believe we will soon break from this brush country into the open.”

  “Where there’s no cover?” Dundee asked.

  “There is always cover, Señor Dundee,” Taco said. “You just have to find it. And Señor Jake will.”

  They continued to ride.

  * * *

  * * *

  As Major Seaforth’s Raiders broke from the brush they stopped.

  “What’s going on?” Garfield asked, riding up to join Walker and Seaforth.

  “We’re gonna be out in the open from here on,” Walker said.

  “So is Motley,” Seaforth said. “And without that brush to hinder us, we can ride faster than he can with a bullet in him.” He looked at Garfield. “He’s worried,” he said, indicating Walker.

  “That’s not what he’s getting paid to do,” Garfield observed.

  “Right you are.” Seaforth looked at Walker. “Go ahead, lead on.”

  Walker took a deep breath, let it out, and spurred his horse into a trot. The others followed, with Seaforth riding just behind him.

  * * *

  * * *

  Jake found his spot.

  It was an outcropping of rocks that he could not only hide his horse behind, but climb up with relative ease, considering his wound and the fact that he was carrying two rifles and a canteen. Once he got to the top, he lay down on his belly, set the canteen and rifles down next to him.

  He had no idea how long it would be before the raiders showed up. In fact, he didn’t even know if they would. It was possible they had given up the chase, but considering Seaforth’s arrogance, he didn’t think that was likely. So he was committed now, and had no choice but to wait it out. Every so often he would pick up one of the rifles and sight down the barrel, flex his arm to be sure he’d be able to extend it when the time came. He would take a sip of water every so often, trying to keep the sun from drying him out. But if this took long enough, and he ran out of water, he would have to consider packing it in, moving on, and finding another location—and some water.

  * * *

  * * *

  Every so often they would come to a dry creek or gully they thought might afford Jake Motley some cover. Each time, Seaforth would send Walker on ahead to check. Each time, Walker waited for the impact of a bullet, which never came. He rode back and reported no one was hiding there, and they continued on.

  As late afternoon came Garfield could see that Major Seaforth’s patience had begun to wear paper-thin. This had to end soon, either with Jake Motley’s death, or by giving up the entire idea of killing him. This was Seaforth Bailey’s personal vendetta, and it had already cost many lives, including that of Sequoia, who was a valuable member of the raiders.

  As far as Teddy Garfield was concerned, the price was becoming too high. Seaforth was getting to the point where he’d do anything to accomplish his mission, and that wasn’t sitting well with his segundo anymore.

  On the other hand, Seaforth also knew he had paid a high price to this point, and to him that made it imperative that they succeed. To admit failure and turn back would mean all of the dead raiders had died for no reason. Or worse, they had died because of his personal vanity.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Jake heard them before he saw them.

  Five men on horseback, pushing their mounts, could be heard from a distance. The dust cloud they were generating could also be seen. Doubly warned of their approach, Jake was ready with his Winchester ’76, sighting along the barrel and waiting . . .

  * * *

  * * *

  Earlier, Garfield had decided to finally try to take some sort of control. He rode up alongside Seaforth.

  “I think it’s time for you to drop back,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Ride drag with me, Sea,” Garfield said. “If you’re riding point, he could take you out with the first shot.”

  “From ambush?” Seaforth said. “He’s not going to ambush us, Gar. Not Big Jake Motley. That old codger’s got too much integrity.”

  “Humor me, Sea,” Garfield said. “Keep me company in the rear for a while.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Dead serious.”

  Seaforth turned to Walker.

  “You stay on point,” he said, “I’m going to drop back for a while.”

  “Yessir.”

  Garfield and Seaforth slowed down until they were riding behind Walker and the other two men . . .

  * * *

  * * *

  Jake spotted the five men in the distance and, momentarily, had second thoughts about the ambush. He could’ve just let them ride by, and then head south again and forget all about the matter. By the time they realized they’d lost him, he would be far enough away for it to be all over and would never again encounter Seaforth’s Raiders.

  But they would still be out there, wreaking havoc on their little part of Texas, unpunished for the shooting of Chance McCandless.

  The moment passed . . .

  * * *

  * * *

  I don’t like this,” Garfield said.

  “What?” Seaforth asked.

  “We’re too vulnerable,” Garfield said, scanning the horizon ahead of them. “Every so often there’s a place he could hide.”

  “Hide?” Seaforth said.

  “He could hide himself and ambush us,” Garfield complained, “or he could hide himself and let us ride by, double back again. Then we’d never catch him.”

  “Not that old man,” Seaforth said. “He’s not going to give up. He’s not going to hide, or ambush us. He’s going to want to kill me face-to-face.”

  “He may have started out wanting that, but he’s not going to get it to be just him and you. The odds are going to be against him every time. I’m telling you, he’ll have to change his tactics.”

  “Tactics?” Seaforth said. “You make it sound like we’re going up against a soldier, not a rancher.”

  “Face it, Sea,�
�� Garfield said. “The man’s outsmarted us twice. First with the herd, and then back in town, with the dynamite.”

  “I won’t face that!” Seaforth snapped. “And if you’re going to keep talking that way, I’ll go back and ride up front with Walker.”

  Only, as he urged his horse on faster, the first shot came, and there was no more Walker . . .

  * * *

  * * *

  Jake let them get inside a hundred yards . . . seventy-five yards . . . fifty yards . . . in fact, he allowed them to almost draw abreast of his position and then started to fire his Winchester as fast as he could lever fresh rounds into the chamber.

  The lead man went down under the first volley. His horse screamed as the rider fell to the dirt. The two men behind him froze just long enough for Jake to fire another volley into them. Forty-five-70 slugs tore into their chests, yanking them both from their horses. The animals reared and twirled, unsure of which way to run off. As Jake set down his rifle and picked up the second, the three riderless horses turned and finally decided to head back—and right into the other two riders.

  As their own mounts collided with the panicky horses, both Garfield and Seaforth were knocked from their saddles. They both landed on the dirt hard, but the next volley of shots passed over their heads. Falling from their horses had saved their lives.

  * * *

  * * *

  Jake saw the collision, realized his shots had missed the two men who were now on the ground. He recognized one of them as Seaforth.

  While they scrabbled around on the ground looking for some kind of cover, he reloaded both rifles. By the time he was ready, one of them had shot one of the horses, and they were now crouching behind the carcass.

  * * *

  * * *

  An ambush!” Garfield said. “He’d never ambush us, right?”

  “Jesus!” Seaforth said. “You shot my horse.”

  “We needed the cover,” Garfield said. “And, it kept him from running off with the others, so we’ve got this.” He reached over and pulled Seaforth’s rifle from its scabbard.

  “One rifle,” Seaforth said. “It sounds like he’s got a dozen.”

  “He’s got two,” Garfield said. “Fifteen rounds each, Probably Winchesters.”

  “You counted?” Seaforth asked.

  “I guess so,” Garfield said, looking up over the horse. “He’s up in those rocks.”

  “He’s gone crazy, ambushin’ us like this,” Seaforth said.

  “You think he’s lost his integrity?” Garfield asked. “We tried to steal his herd, killed his friend, and now he’s got a bullet in him? That pretty much changes a man, don’t you think?”

  “Why don’t you shut up,” Seaforth said, “and figure out a way to get him down from there?”

  Garfield looked around. There wasn’t much cover for them. Motley had picked a good spot for his ambush. He looked over at the other three men lying on the ground, obviously dead. The only good they would do was if he and Seaforth could reach them and grab their guns. But still, they only had one rifle, and handguns weren’t going to do much good in this situation, unless they could get closer.

  Which they couldn’t do because there was no damn cover!

  * * *

  * * *

  Jake watched.

  It was all he could do at the moment. The next move was going to have to be theirs. The other three were dead, the horses were gone, Seaforth and his man probably had one rifle between them. He looked back down at his own horse, to make sure he was still there and hadn’t pulled himself loose amid all the shooting. The sorrel looked back up at him calmly.

  Jake’s shoulder ached from firing the rifle. He levered and pulled the trigger with his right hand, but had to keep the left extended, firing the whole time, and now it was aching. He looked inside his shirt to see if he had started bleeding again. There seemed to be some seepage, but not much.

  He hadn’t known when he started shooting exactly where Seaforth was. Now he realized the man had been riding drag, and when the riderless horses panicked and ran, they pushed Seaforth back farther. It looked like his and his man’s position behind the dead horse was about twenty yards away. Their only logical next move was to try to get to the base of the rocks, where Jake couldn’t see them. At that point, they would have him trapped up on top, and they would have his horse.

  If they both broke from cover and ran for the rocks at the same time, he might get one of them. If he did, what would the other one do? Grab his horse and ride? Or wait for a chance at him when he came down?

  * * *

  * * *

  You want to what?” Seaforth asked.

  “Run for those rocks,” Garfield said.

  “Right toward him?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And what’s that going to accomplish?”

  “Listen,” Garfield said, “you go right, I’ll go left. He can’t get both of us.”

  “But of the two of us, which one do you think he’ll try for?” Seaforth asked.

  “What does that matter?” Garfield asked. “If we’re fast enough, he won’t get either of us.”

  “He wants me,” Seaforth said, “and you’re the one who shot his partner.”

  “Because you ordered me to,” Garfield said. “Besides, he doesn’t know who I am.”

  “You’re obviously my segundo,” Seaforth said.

  “But he doesn’t know my name,” Garfield said. “And I bet if I stand up and walk away, he’ll stay where he is and wait for you.”

  “You would do that?”

  “I don’t want to,” Garfield said. “I want the two of us to take him, bring him down off his perch.”

  “By running right at him.”

  “Yes,” Garfield said, “with any luck we’ll surprise him, and he’ll freeze with indecision just long enough.”

  “Okay, how do you want to play it?” Seaforth asked.

  “Handguns,” Garfield said, taking his from his belt. “We fire as we run. They may not be as accurate as a rifle, but we might throw some stone chips up into his face. We get to the base of the rocks, where he can’t see us, and work our way around. I’ll bet his horse is there, and that’s where he climbed up from.”

  “And where he’ll have to come down.”

  “Yes.”

  “And if he happens to kill one of us?”

  “Then the other has a choice,” Garfield said. “Take his horse and run, to possibly fight another day, or stand and fight, man-to-man.”

  Seaforth looked around them, could see no other cover. The only other option would be standing and running back the other way.

  “What’s the nearest town?” he asked.

  “Probably San Antonio,” Garfield said, “but too far to walk.”

  And if a man ran long enough, heading south, eventually he’d be on foot in the Texas brush.

  Seaforth looked around again, this time hoping to spy a horse that might not have run off so far. There were none in sight.

  No matter how long he waited, or how hard he tried, he could not come up with a viable, alternate plan to what Garfield proposed.

  “Well?” Garfield asked. “What’s it going to be?”

  Seaforth looked at his segundo and said, “On the count of three?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  It was too quiet.

  Jake was sweating, his shoulder was aching, and his vision was getting fuzzy. He had one mouthful of water left in his canteen that he was saving, but he had to drink it now. It was while he was drinking that mouthful, holding the canteen with his right hand, that Seaforth and his man decided to move.

  They broke from cover and started for the rocks, one from the right and one from the left. As they ran they fired their pistols. Jake dropped the canteen and it went tum
bling down to the ground. He grabbed up his rifle and started to fire, even before he realized the man on the left was Seaforth.

  And then they were out of sight, and he didn’t know if he had hit either of them.

  Damn!

  * * *

  * * *

  On three, they both broke from cover, one running left and one running right, firing their handguns as they ran. Surprisingly, Motley didn’t start shooting immediately, but then the shots started coming, landing in the dirt around them. When they reached the base of the rocks, they pressed their backs to them.

  “You hit?” Garfield yelled.

  “No, you?”

  Garfield looked down at himself.

  “No. Jesus, he didn’t hit either one of us?”

  “I guess not.”

  But when Garfield looked at Seaforth, he saw the blood on his left side.

  “Sea, you were hit,” he said.

  “No, I wasn’t,” Seaforth said, reloading his gun.

  “Yeah, you were,” Garfield insisted. “Look.”

  “Huh?” Seaforth looked at him, then at where he was pointing, down at his left side. “Oh, hell!”

  He put his left hand down to the blood, then lifted it and looked.

  “I’m bleeding.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  Things were changing for Garfield. If Seaforth died, he didn’t care about Jake Motley. In fact, he had been trying to make up his mind whether or not to quit Seaforth. After all these years, the man seemed to have lost his edge. Now he had a bullet in him and was bleeding like a stuck pig. As he watched, the blood began to run down the leg of Seaforth’s pants, dripping onto his boot. He’d been hit good.

  So where they were, Seaforth had a bullet in him, and Motley probably had Sequoia’s bullet in him. Garfield suddenly realized he was on his own.