by Jake Logan
7
The sun was just going down, and Slocum was standing his watch out on the front porch of the big ranch house when he saw the lone rider coming down the lane. He jacked a shell into the chamber of the Winchester just in case and waited until the man was well within shouting range. “Hold up there,” he called out. “Who are you and what do you want here?” The rider stopped his horse.
“The name’s Eddie Cobb,” the rider shouted. “Sheriff’s deputy. I want to talk to Charlie Joiner. That’s all. Just talk.”
“Hold your hands away from your sides and ride on in—slow and easy,” Slocum said.
Cobb urged his horse forward and rode with his hands up and out to his sides to make it clear that he was not a threat. He was getting closer to the porch when Joiner and Bobby came out the door, having heard the shouts. A minute later the two women came out to join them. Cobb rode up close to the porch and stopped his horse. “Eddie,” said Joiner. “What are you doing here?”
“They killed Bud,” said Cobb. “Can I step down?”
“Oh, God,” said Julia. “I was afraid of that.”
“Come on down,” Slocum said, lowering his Winchester. “Come and sit with us.”
“Goddamn,” said Joiner. “I should have known. I should—”
“Never mind all that,” Slocum said. “Coleman was a hardheaded lawman. None of us could have stopped him from trying it his way.”
Cobb stepped up on the porch and took the chair that Myrtle offered him. The others gathered chairs from various places on the porch and pulled them all together in a circle.
“Tell us what happened,” Slocum said.
“I don’t know exactly,” said Cobb. “I knew that Bud had come out here, and I knew why. Later, I was up in my room at the hotel, and I heard a shot. I was coming out the front door of the hotel to investigate when Joe Short met me. He had two of Harman’s men with him, and he said that Bud was dead and he was sheriff. He wanted to talk. I went on over to the Hi De Ho with them and, well, I can’t recall just exactly what he said, but what it amounted to was that if I would go along with them, I could stay on as deputy.
“I figured that I’d better play along with them right then if I wanted to stay alive, so I allowed as how I wouldn’t be bothered by nothing long as I had my job. Joe told me to go take care of things in the office. I went over there and found Bud. I reckon that’s what Joe meant. He meant for me to take care of the body. Well, poor old Bud had been shot once through the chest. His gun wasn’t even out of the holster. I couldn’t think what to do except come on out here. I sure won’t have no truck with Harman and that bunch. If you all don’t want me, I guess I’ll just have to get out of the country. I can’t stay in Rat’s Nest.”
“Did Short say anything else?” Slocum asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” said Cobb. “Wait a minute. Yeah. He said that Harman had complained that you all was out here illegal, so Bud had come out to take care of things, but then he had come back to town and made out to arrest Harman instead. That’s what he said.”
“Well,” Julia said, “I guess we know now where Joe Short stands.”
“You all want me here?” Cobb asked. “If it comes to a showdown, I can handle a gun all right.”
Slocum glanced at Joiner. “You’re the boss here, Chuckie boy,” he said. “Answer the man.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Joiner said. “Well, sure. Glad to have you, Eddie. Hell, we need all the help we can get.”
“That’s for sure,” Slocum said, “I expect we’ll get an all-out attack just any time now. Especially when they discover that Eddie here has slipped out on them.”
“Will they attack at night?” Julia asked.
“No telling what they’ll do,” Slocum said. “If I was to have to guess, I’d say in the morning, but we better watch through the night to be safe. Chuckie boy, you’d better tell ole Eddie here about the stakes out there in the yard. I’m going to turn in and get some sleep. Big times coming.”
It was ten o’clock the next morning when Bobby, watching from the porch, sounded the alarm and ran back into the house to take up a post at a front window. Slocum was at the other window of the main room in another instant. Joiner headed for the stairs. “Come with me, Eddie,” he said, and the two of them ran up to the second floor.
Slocum watched through the window as the large force of gunmen rode into the yard. Coming out of the narrow lane, they spread themselves out there in front of the house. Herd was in the lead, in the center, as the rest moved to the sides. The man to his immediate right wore a badge on his vest. Slocum figured that one to be Joe Short. Herd raised a rifle and aimed at one of the lower windows. Slocum made a quick count. Fifteen men.
“This is the only chance you’ll get,” Herd shouted. “Come out with your hands up and you won’t get hurt. Resist and we’ll blast you all to pieces.”
“You go to Hell, you pig-shit son of a bitch,” Joiner yelled, and he squeezed off a round that tore a chunk out of Herd’s left ear. Blood flew out from the wound as Herd yelped in surprise and pain and fired a wild shot that thudded harmlessly into the front wall of the house. Slocum took careful aim and knocked Herd backwards out of his saddle. All of a sudden everyone on both sides was shooting. The glass in all the front windows was shattered. Lamps and vases were blasted, and the walls in the rooms were pockmarked.
As Joe Short was raising his rifle to take aim, a bullet smacked into his forehead, knocking his head back. He rocked in his saddle for a moment before toppling off to one side. One bold rider decided to make a desperate charge for the house. Kicking his mount viciously and riding hard, he raised a six-gun and headed straight for the center of the porch as if he would ride right up on it and in through the front door. From his window post, Bobby shot the man through the face, and the horse, suddenly riderless, raced around in confused circles.
Then Slocum noticed that four riders were huddled close together to his far right. Near them a flagged stick poked up out of the ground. He took careful aim and fired, and the earth was rocked by the tremendous explosion that followed. One horse and rider flew up into the air. Another horse was knocked off its feet, pinning its rider’s leg under its body. The other two riders were thrown and their frightened horses ran loose. Through the dust and debris and smoke, Slocum could see the remaining members of the Harman gang racing toward cover back at the end of the lane, some on foot, some still mounted and riding hard.
Eddie Cobb, from an upstairs window, took aim at the laggard of the bunch, who was running on foot as fast as he could. Cobb squeezed his trigger, and he could see his shot tear into the man’s ass. The man fell forward and squirmed helplessly there on the ground. Then he started screaming in pain and fright. “Don’t leave me here!” he shouted. “Help me. Someone come back and help me. You bastards. I’m shot. Don’t leave me here, you chickenshits. I’m shot in the ass.”
Suddenly everything was still and quiet. Slocum watched. Myrtle came up behind him. “Are they gone?” she asked.
“I think so,” he said. “I ain’t sure. Fetch Bobby for me.”
Myrtle went for Bobby, and soon the two of them were there with Slocum. Slocum stood up. “Bobby,” he said, “let’s me and you go out there and see what’s what.”
“I’m game,” said Bobby.
Slocum led the way to the front door. He stood to one side, turned the knob, and shoved the door wide open. No shots were fired. “Come on,” he said. He went out the door and stepped quickly to his left. Bobby came out behind him and stepped to the right. Still no shots were fired. They walked on down into the yard, where the air was filled with smoke and the smell of burned black powder, and made their way first to the man pinned under his horse. He saw them coming and raised his hands. “Don’t shoot,” he said. “I’m helpless here. I can’t get up, and I think my leg’s broke.”
Slocum said, “Get his guns, Bobby.” Bobby took the man’s guns and tossed them aside. Then he and Slocum started making their way
slowly across to the other side of the yard, where the lane came in.
“Hey,” said the man with the broken leg, “what about me?” The butt-shot man was still writhing, once again whining and begging for help. Bobby kicked the man’s guns out of his reach and walked on by.
They found no men in the scraggly woods along the sides of the lane. All the other survivors had fled. Slocum and Bobby walked back into the yard, and Slocum made his way over to the butt-shot man. He toed him over onto his back, and the man screamed with pain at the movement. Slocum looked down to see where the bullet had come out. The man’s crotch was blood-soaked. Slocum pulled his Colt and put a bullet in the man’s chest. Bobby looked at him in clear astonishment. “Hell,” said Slocum, “he wouldn’t never have been good for nothing again, shot where he was. Let’s gather up the loose horses and pick up all the guns.”
By this time the others had come out of the house to look around. Joiner ran quickly over to Slocum’s side. “We whipped them, John,” he said. “We did it. Goddammit, we whipped their ass.”
“This time,” said Slocum. “It ain’t over.”
While Slocum, Joiner, Bobby, and Cobb caught the stray horses, put them in the corral, and unsaddled them, Myrtle and Julia picked up rifles and six-guns and carried them into the house. That done, Slocum took a cigar out of his pocket and lit it. Joiner stepped over by his side. Looking around at the bodies strewn about the yard, he said, “What’re we going to do with these?”
“Count them,” Slocum said. “Then load them up in the wagon. We’ll send them back where they come from.”
Joiner grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s a good idea. Send them home to Harman and let him worry about burying them.”
They found seven bodies and loaded them up. Then Slocum said, “Drag that son of a bitch over there out from under his horse.”
They did, the man screaming in pain the whole time. “You’re tearing my leg off,” he cried. Then they tied the dead horse to the back of the wagon, and they heaved the man with the broken leg up onto the wagon seat. “Ah,” he cried out. “You’re killing me.”
“Shut up,” said Slocum. “We could, but we ain’t. Take this wagon into Rat’s Nest and tell your boss that we’re still here. If you’re lucky, maybe he’ll get someone to set your broke leg for you. Maybe you’ll walk again.”
“I can’t drive like this,” the man said. “I’m in terrible pain.”
“If you can’t drive,” Slocum said, “then we’ll kill you. We got no other reason to let you live.”
Wincing in pain, the man flicked the reins, and the wagon lurched forward. With the extra drag on the rear, the team pulled slowly, but the wagon rolled, and finally it was out of sight down the road toward Rat’s Nest. Slocum took a puff on his cigar. “Let’s all sit down and talk this over now,” he said.
They sat in the chairs on the porch, and Myrtle and Julia served coffee all around. Slocum puffed on his cigar, savoring the fine flavor. “Well, we killed seven,” he said, “and we put one more out of commission. How many has Harman got left?”
“There was twenty to start with,” Myrtle said. “Subtract two right from the first. Bobby here and the one whose hands I shot.”
“Eighteen,” said Bobby. “We killed seven here this morning. And Bobo, him with the broke leg, he ain’t no good. That’s eight. So there’s only ten left.”
“One of them seven was Joe Short,” said Eddie Cobb. “There’s still eleven. Eleven and Harman himself.”
“So it’s us against twelve,” Slocum said.
“Hell,” said Joiner. “There’s six of us here. That’s only two apiece. That ain’t bad.”
“We were lucky here today,” Slocum said. “As many bullets as flew through the windows a while ago, it’s a wonder none of us was hit. We might could hold them off again like that, if we have to, but I’d sure like to come up with something else. I’d sure like to have a better plan.”
Harman was sitting at a table in the Hi De Ho Saloon when the four battered riders pounded up out in the street. He waited there until the men came staggering into the saloon, and when he saw that there was only four of them, and those looking like whipped dogs, a worried look crossed his weathered face. “Where the hell’s the rest of the boys?” he said. “Damn it. Where’s Herd?”
“Herd’s killed,” said Jelly, one of the lucky survivors. “Deader’n hell. Joe Short too. Hell, Boss, they got a army out there, and some kind of explosives. It was like war. A goddamn war. I ain’t kidding you. We’re lucky to have got away alive with our skins on us.”
“Are you four the only ones left?” Harman said.
“I think there’s some more,” Jelly said. “I don’t know how many, but they’re on foot. They’ll be coming along.”
“Goddammit,” Harman said. He turned to the man sitting to his right. “When the rest get in here, come and tell me,” he said. “I’ll be in my office.”
As Harman stomped across the room and on into his office and slammed the door, Jelly sat down at the table in the seat Harman had just vacated. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you boys,” he said, “but I sure need myself a drink. I ain’t never been through the like of that before. Never.”
The other three sat down and soon whiskey was poured all around. They’d had a couple of rounds each when the wagon pulled up outside. Jelly jumped up and ran to the door. “Goddamn, would you look at this?” he said. The others soon crowded around him, then shoved their way through the door to gather around the wagon there in the street. The wagon was hauling three healthy men, one hurt man, and seven bodies. It was also dragging a dead horse. Jelly turned to the man, who had been sitting beside Harman earlier in the saloon. “You better go get the boss,” he said. “He’ll need to see this, his own self, in person. Ain’t no way for any of us to go describe it to him. Just no way.”
The broken-legged man then yelled from the back of the wagon. “Somebody get me out of here,” he said. “Get me to a doc. Get me off these damn dead men.”
In another moment, the broken-legged man was dragged screaming off the pile of bodies and helped away somewhere, presumably to a doctor’s office. Then the messenger came back out of the saloon with Harman. Harman looked at the bodies in the bed of the wagon. He looked at the dead horse. “Holy shit,” he said. “How many men they got out there anyhow?”
“I don’t know,” said Jelly, “but they was shooting out of every damn window in that big house. You know, your house.”
Kurt was just climbing down off the wagon bench. “They was shooting a fucking cannon at us too.” he said, “Or something. Blowed over four horses. Blowed one horse right up into the air. Horse and rider. I seen it. Well, we took off. Some of us on foot, some still on horseback. The bastards on horse just run off and left us. We was walking along the road, dragging ass, when Bobo come along driving this stink wagon. His leg was all busted up. His horse had fell on him, he said, and they had just went and drug him out from under it and then made him drive this nasty load to town. Well, we put him in the back and clumb on up, and here we are.”
“All right,” Harman said. “All right. You men go on inside and get yourselves a drink, a bath, whatever you need. Jelly, you and Kurt come along with me. We got some figuring to do.”
Slocum struggled with his thoughts. He was trying to decide on the best move to make next. If their calculations were right, they had reduced the size of the enemy force almost in half. That much was good. There was really no way of knowing, though, if Harman had the means of raising more gunfighters. Even if he did, it would take some time. So if they could act fast enough, they’d have the dozen men to deal with, no more. On the Joiner side, they had four men and two women. The women were both good shots, but Slocum didn’t like the idea of using them any more than he had to, and certainly not for any kind of a face-to-face showdown.
He was trying to decide which of three or four approaches to the problem would be best. Should they just stay put and wait for
the next assault by Harman’s men? They had done well enough against the first attack, but a second one would be different. Harman’s bunch now knew what was waiting for them at the ranch house. When they came back, they would likely sneak in, maybe come at the house from all sides, try to get up to and even into the house before anyone was able to detect their presence. It wouldn’t be easy to watch all possible approaches to the house. It would be a very different kind of a fight.
A second possibility that occurred to Slocum was the laying of an ambush somewhere between the ranch and the town of Rat’s Nest. If they could set up a sentry somewhere along the way who would spot any approach of Harman’s bunch, then, when he brought the word that they were on the way, Slocum, and his friends could plant themselves along the road and blast the bastards from ambush. If they were to try that, though, Slocum would insist that the women be left out of the fight. There would then be only four guns against the Harman gang, however many Harman should choose to send out, up to twelve. And if anything should go wrong, if the Harman gang should prevail, the two women would be left alone back at the ranch house. He didn’t like that thought.
He had one other thought, and he called the rest of the party together out on the porch to discuss it. First he explained to them the problems of the first two possibilities as he saw them, and everyone seemed to agree with him on their drawbacks, except for the two women, who disagreed when Slocum talked about being protective of them. “We can handle ourselves,” Myrtle said. Slocum let that slide and went on.
“So here’s the other way we can go,” he said. “But we need to start right now. We need to hit them while they’re licking their wounds. I don’t think we ought to ride like an army into town and attack the saloon. That’d be the quickest way to get the rest of the town on Harman’s side. We’d look like an outlaw gang riding in on a raid or something. I don’t think we should do that.
