Outlaw's Reckoning

by Ralph Compton

  “Get to our horses. Get on them. Ride away.”

  “Short and sweet. I like it.”

  Even if Gus had more to say, he wouldn’t have gotten the chance. Whoever had come aboard the train to check on the shots that had been fired looked out the window and caught sight of the two men making their way toward the engine. There was more shouting and soon a few men ran around the front of the engine to point frantically toward Gus and Doyle.

  Keeping the accountant’s satchel under one arm, Gus raised his pistol and waited for the men up there to poke their heads around before firing a shot that sparked against a piston. “Climb up and run through,” he said. “I’ll keep them looking this way.”

  Doyle looked over to find that they’d stopped at a spot between cars. Glancing back and forth between the sleeper and a passenger car, Doyle extended his arms to either side so he could aim at both the front and back of the train. “You go first. I’m better at distractions anyhow.”

  There was no use in arguing the point, so Gus climbed onto the railing connected to the back of the closest car and then swung over it to drop onto the metal landing. It took two quick steps to reach the other side, where he vaulted over the next railing to drop onto the edge of the platform. All the while, enough gunfire was coming from the other side of the train to make it seem as if war had been declared on the town of Benson.

  The war let up a bit once Doyle stopped shooting long enough to climb onto the landing behind Gus. Rather than jump over the other side, he stopped and quickly reloaded his .45. “You still think this was a good idea, Gus?”

  Walking along the edge of the platform, Gus measured a shot and squeezed his trigger. The .38 barked once to place a single round into the edge of the shack that served as a station. The men who’d stuck their noses out to get a look at who’d just emerged from between the cars quickly pulled back behind cover. Rather than answer Doyle’s question, Gus looked around for the horses. They were hitched about thirty yards away.

  “That’s what I thought,” Doyle grumbled as he finished reloading. He stuck the gun he’d taken from Franklin under his belt so he could hoist himself up and over the railing. The gun was back out again the moment both of his boots were on the platform. Even though Franklin’s gun was still empty, he waved it toward a few passengers who were huddled nearby until they yelped and turned away.

  Gus hurried to the hitching post to fetch his and Doyle’s horses. As he climbed into his saddle, he said, “To your right.”

  Hearing that, Doyle looked in that direction and spotted a group of men climbing down from the train a few cars back. Doyle aimed at them, which prompted the men to cut loose with some fire of their own. Bullets whipped through the air, forcing Doyle to quicken his pace toward the horses. All the while, he grinned through the thick whiskers covering most of his face.

  Now that he’d hooked the satchel onto his saddle, Gus switched from using his .38 to the more familiar .44 that he’d reclaimed before leaving the dining car. He sat in his saddle, watching the chaos at the station over the barrel of his gun. Once Doyle had climbed into his own saddle, Gus shifted his eyes toward the rest of Benson.

  “Looks like more than just the railroad gunmen heard us,” Doyle said.

  “Yeah,” Gus replied as he counted up the men rushing toward the station. “Remember what we’re here for. Let’s not dawdle, and if need be, we’ll meet up again ten miles north of here.”

  “Dawdle?” Doyle asked. “I thought we were gonna have a pleasant business meeting. You’re the one that went loco and tossed that poor bastard out the window!”

  “Like I says, no more dawdling.” With that, Gus snapped his reins and bolted away from the station. Doyle stayed close behind him.

  Gripping his reins in his left hand, Gus used them to build up some more speed. There were at least eight or nine men rushing to the station, but they hadn’t seen enough of what happened to know Gus and Doyle’s connection to all the shooting. Working in the two men’s favor was the fact that several passengers and locals alike were fleeing from the commotion like a flock of scattered quail. Gus managed to ride among the panicked folks, using the confusion as a dust cloud to cover his and Doyle’s escape. Before he and Doyle could get away completely, some of the chaos from the station caught up to them. Thundering hooves rolled in behind them, which were accompanied by the occasional shot.

  “That’s them, all right,” Doyle shouted after glancing over his shoulder. “Too bad there ain’t no windows nearby or you could just fix this like you fixed the last mess.”

  “Just hush up and skin out of here,” Gus barked. “You know where to meet up.”

  “Sure I do. Last one there is a rotten egg!” With that, Doyle tapped his heels against his horse’s sides and veered away from Gus while letting out a wild yell.

  Gus gave his own reins a snap, pointed the horse’s nose to the west and tore out of town at a full gallop.

  For a good stretch of time, Gus thought about nothing but maintaining his speed. His horse was well rested, so it was eager for the chance to run. When its enthusiasm waned, there was always a snap of the reins to put some steam into its strides. When he heard the gunshots behind him, Gus turned to look over his shoulder.

  There were a few riders behind him, but it looked like they’d gotten snarled up in the panicked crowd before being able to give chase. They struggled to keep Gus in their sights while fighting to gain ground. The shots they’d taken had to have been from rifles, which meant there was the slightest chance that one of those bullets could catch Gus in the back. Considering how fast the horses were going and all the jostling that entailed, Gus wasn’t too worried about getting hit. If there was a marksman in Benson with that kind of skill, then this was Gus’s day to go.

  Gus raced down the trail leading from town and blazed a few new ones along the way. Just when the men following him made a move, Gus circled around in another direction. The men might have known the terrain better than he did, but that didn’t mean they could outguess him. And since Gus was making up his route as he went along, there was no way in creation for anyone to figure out which way he might turn next. Putting his head start to good use, Gus stretched out his lead until the men chasing him dwindled to one or two.

  Before long, those men either got turned around or simply gave up the chase. Hopefully, Doyle had the same results. If that fool got it in his head to stop and face off with his pursuers, Gus might just have to waste some time in breaking his partner out of a jailhouse.

  It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Gus rode back just far enough to get his bearings. Once he caught sight of Benson, he pointed himself in the direction he and Doyle had agreed upon and then rode ten miles that way. If he’d been riding with anyone else on any other sort of job, Gus would have insisted on scouting things out and deciding upon a specific spot to meet up if they needed to split apart. Seeing as how it was only Doyle, Gus merely had to pick a spot and come up with a reasonably safe distance. The rest would work itself out.

  Gus thought long and hard about the mess he’d made as he settled in at a spot on relatively high ground overlooking a sizable portion of the sunbaked ground outside of Benson. While collecting some firewood, he sifted through everything that had occurred and played through all the choices he’d made one at a time. He continued to contemplate those things as he piled up the wood and used a lucifer to set some dried leaves ablaze. The fire became good and high before Gus was able to fully justify what he’d done.

  After mulling that over a bit, he tossed some more leaves onto the fire and sifted through his thoughts one more time.

  The hours ticked by and the sun dropped below the horizon. Gus sat in his spot without moving except to swat at something buzzing around his face or stomp his heel to discourage a snake from getting any closer. Every now and then, he spit out the sand that had blown into his mouth.

  Gus kept the fire going and continued to pile on whatever he could find that would cause smoke
to billow up and form a dirty smudge upon the canvas of the Arizona sky. Doyle shouldn’t have any trouble spotting the smoke and Gus would be able to spot anyone else with the gumption to follow the marker to its source. But even as he sat and watched for those men who’d chased him out of Benson, Gus didn’t expect to find them. He’d been chased by lawmen, posses and a few vigilante mobs, which gave him a good sense of who was serious and who wasn’t. Those instincts told Gus that the men who’d chased him weren’t interested in going too far from home. That meant he could stop thinking like a rabbit and more like a wolf.

  His arm moved as if only the wind was pushing it about. His head hung low and his hooded eyes remained fixed upon the horizon. If not for the smoke billowing up to the sky, he might have been overlooked by man and nature alike as just another bump on the landscape.

  The truth, however, was that Gus was more like a whirlwind trapped in a bottle. A storm raged behind his scarred face. Even his partially shut left eye was taking in more than most men would ever see. Gus watched the clouds slide along, the dirt swirl and the sky turn a hundred different shades as the sun grew too tired to stay up any longer.

  He thought about what he’d done.

  He thought about what was in the satchel he’d stolen.

  He wondered if that woman was still alive.

  He wondered if Doyle had been caught or killed.

  He figured how long it would take to ride to Ewell’s Pass.

  Finally, he thought about the angles required to hit whoever was riding toward the fire he’d built.

  There was a spyglass in his saddlebag, but Gus didn’t bother getting up for it. Any move he made could potentially give away the fact that he was there beside the source of all that smoke. If he didn’t move, the man riding toward him could mistake him for a rock or tree stump. If the man already knew he was there, it was too late for Gus to change his mind.

  Gus’s eyes narrowed once the horse and rider had moved within rifle range. It would be a difficult shot to knock the man from his saddle, but not an impossible one.

  When the rider corrected his course to head straight for him, Gus was fairly certain it was Doyle. Anyone else would have shown a bit more caution, but Doyle tended to ride at a dead run even if he was headed for the edge of a cliff. The light was also shining down just right to show Gus the markings on the horse he’d been looking for. The color of the horse’s coat was right and so were the clothes on the rider. Finally, the rider started waving like a blooming idiot.

  It was Doyle, all right.

  Gus stood up with his hand resting upon his holstered Colt. He trusted his eyes, but never took a chance with anyone. His nerves still jangled and his mind was filled with escape routes. He didn’t exactly suspect Doyle would do him harm, but Gus carried too many old wounds that had been given to him by too many old friends to let his guard down now.

  Doyle rode up to the fire and asked, “Where do we go from here?”

  Standing up, Gus untied his horse from the tree where it had been hitched and replied, “We’re heading north. Will anyone else be coming along?”

  “Nah. I ran circles around them fellas before they gave up and went home. It just felt good to get some wind in my face.”

  “So nobody followed you here?”

  Doyle looked over his shoulder but was already shaking his head. “I think I winged one right when they chased me out of town. After that, they didn’t seem too interested in catching up to me so long as I wasn’t about to double back.”

  Gus hadn’t taken anything from his saddlebags that needed to be put away. He kicked out the fire and then climbed into his saddle. Doyle was itching to give him hell for what had happened in Benson, but Gus rode away before his partner got started. Whatever Doyle wanted to say, it could wait until they made a proper camp.

  Chapter 8

  If Gus was going to get a wink of sleep, he needed to do more than make another fire and lay out a bedroll. A good spot had to be chosen where they couldn’t be ambushed. He had to take a good look around to see if anyone was coming. At least two different paths had to be chosen in the event an escape was needed and then there was the business that came along with merely filling his belly and not freezing during the night.

  Doyle, on the other hand, had only to dig some jerked venison from his supplies and find something to lean against when he stretched his legs out. “You gonna tell me what the hell you were thinkin’ back there?” he asked as he gnawed on the smoked meat.

  Gus poked at the fire and studied the dancing flames. “Same thing you were thinkin’ in that feed store back in Wichita.”

  Although he had to think back a ways, Doyle recalled that day from a few years back. “This ain’t the same as deciding to rob a place because the mood struck. Besides, this is you we’re talkin’ about. You don’t squat without plannin’ for every possible circumstance.”

  Nodding slowly, Gus could tell the subject wasn’t about to die on its own. “I saw that ring . . . and . . .”

  “I knew it! You saw that fine ring and knew we could make a whole lot more money than whatever they were set to give us. I was thinkin’ the same thing!”

  “No,” Gus said as he shook his head, “I didn’t just want the ring.”

  “But . . . you did get it, right?”

  Gus didn’t need to feel his shirt pocket to make sure the ring was there. He’d tucked it away when the shooting started and he knew it was still in its spot. Even so, he found himself starting to reach up for it. When his callused fingertips brushed against the little circle in his pocket, his thoughts cleared once more. “I got it.”

  “Good!” Eventually, Doyle frowned. “Then what were you about to say? There was more than the ring? You think we could get something for them clothes?” Snapping his fingers, Doyle added, “That satchel! If they took that ring, there’s got to be other stuff in there they didn’t even show us. Better stuff! Open it up and let’s find out.”

  “We’re going after the woman,” Gus announced. He looked over at his partner, only to find Doyle staring expectantly at the satchel resting on the ground near Gus’s feet. “You hear me?”

  Doyle’s eyes snapped up and immediately widened. “Now that is one hell of an idea. You really think we can find her?”

  “I know where she is. That squirrelly fellow told me after I shoved him out the window.”

  “So we ride up there and take her for ourselves. How many men you think they got guarding her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you kill Smythe?”

  Gus shifted his eyes back to the fire and replied, “No. He got away.”

  “That don’t matter. Although, if he got away, he probably sent word to whoever is with that rich lady to get some more men. That is, unless he was wounded. But Mason said she wouldn’t be near a telegraph, so that should buy us some time. Maybe he bled out somewhere on that train. Or maybe the law got him!” Doyle added excitedly. “He was doing just as much shooting on that train as we were. And it ain’t like he’s a law-abiding citizen. He’s a kidnapper. You think he would tell the law where he’s holding that rich lady?”

  “Probably not.”

  For the first time since he’d started running at the mouth, Doyle stopped and took a good look at his partner. “What’s the matter with you? Why ain’t you the one coming up with ideas? You must have been thinking something when you decided to toss our original plan out the window along with that poor fool and his satchel.”

  “What do you think they’re doing to her?” Gus asked. “For that matter, what do you think they’ve already done?”

  “Done to who?”

  Gus looked at Doyle with a fierce anger in his eyes. That anger flared up even higher when he realized Doyle truly didn’t know who he was talking about. At the moment, the woman in question was just the reward at the end of the next job. Nothing more.

  “The woman being held for ransom,” Gus said in a measured tone.

  Now it was Doyle’
s turn to study Gus. “What does it matter what they done to her? Even if she’s dead, the family probably don’t know it yet.”

  “All that blood on them clothes had to come from somewhere. That ring looked like it had been ripped off of her hand. It might have even been cut off.”

  Chuckling as he ripped off another piece of jerky, Doyle asked, “You mean like that mouthy redhead back in Abilene? She had a ring on every finger, and even after we threatened to gun down everyone in that store, she still wouldn’t part with a single one of them. You recall that, Gus?”

  The knot in Gus’s belly cinched tighter. He cast his eyes down as if an unseen hand was shoving his face toward the fire. “Yeah. I recall.”

  “How long ago was that?” Doyle asked.

  “A year and a half,” Gus replied. “Give or take.”

  “Seems like longer. She slapped you plumb in the face when you tried to pull that necklace offa her. I thought you were gonna cut her throat right then and there! I wish you coulda seen the look on yer face.”

  Rocking back on his heels, Doyle continued as if he was passing the time by telling a bad joke. “Then you went for them rings and she spit in yer face. I remember that like it was yesterday. She spit in yer face and you—”

  “Enough!”

  Doyle was taken aback by the outburst, but then he started to laugh. “You didn’t have to do much before she gave it all up. And you did it with plenty of time for us to skin out of there. That was a hell of a day. I ain’t thought about that in a while.”

  “I said enough, damn it.”

  At first, Gus figured Doyle was just wrapped up in the story the way he’d been wrapped up in the chase that had brought him to the signal fire. But then he saw the look on Doyle’s face as he kept his eyes aimed at him. There was more going on in there. Wheels were turning and Doyle was mulling over more than just a fond recollection.

  “I never did mind a good scrap, but I didn’t see it coming today. You should let me know the next time you get a burr that big under your saddle.”