by Jake Logan
Axel thought that he was at last close enough for a good shot at Harman. Besides, he was more than tired of crawling around on his belly. He raised himself up, rifle ready, but he did not see Harman. Harman had moved. He looked up and down the road, but he stayed up and exposed for too long. A shot rang out, and Axel felt something hot tear through his left ear. He yelped and dropped back down out of sight. Holding his rifle tight, he rolled hard to his right, away from the road. He rolled into deeper and thicker brush, and then he sat up quickly, alert. Where was the bastard?
He felt the hot sticky liquid running down his neck and under the collar of his shirt. He reached up to touch his ear and found it jagged, a piece hanging loose. The touch of it almost made him sick to his stomach. He jerked his hand away. It was sticky and wet and red-stained.
“You greasy asshole son of a bitch,” he shouted. “You tore off my fucking ear. I’m going to gutshoot you. I’m going to shoot holes in both your kneecaps. Goddammit, I’m bleeding like a stuck pig from out of a hangy-down ear. I’ll get you, you hog’s ass. I’ll cut off both your ears and wear them on a watch chain.”
“You’ll have to find me first, Axel,” said Harman, and Axel, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out just where the voice came from. He sure didn’t want to stick his head up again for a look. He decided that he would have to change his whole approach to this problem. He began scooting farther away from the road and backtracking at the same time. He was moving away from Harman. Harman would expect him to try to get closer. It would take Harman a while to figure this one out, and by the time he did, maybe Axel would be already behind him in position to shoot.
Axel moved slowly, inching his way along. His wretched ear still bothered him, was still bleeding profusely. Axel wondered just where in the hell all the blood was coming from, just out of a little old ear. He never would have thought an ear could bleed all that much. He thought, with sudden horror, that maybe it was leaking out of his brain. He kept himself going anyhow. He was determined to kill Harman, or at least hurt the son of a bitch real bad, before he bled to death out of his ear.
He at last reached the place where his and Harley’s horses had gone down. He crept back over to the road and peered out cautiously. Still, he did not see Harman. He hoped that Harman would not see him, would instead be watching for him to sneak closer. On hands and knees Axel scurried into the road, pulled loose the rifle from the scabbard on his dead horse, then scooted on across. He was now on the same side of the road as Harman was, or at least, the same side of the road where Harman had been. The son of a bitch could have moved. Axel looked back briefly at the carcass of Harley, flies buzzing around it already, and he thought that Harley, dead like that, looked pretty stupid. He started moving again, getting himself well off the road. The cover was pretty good there. He straightened himself up and started walking. He meant to come up right behind Harman and shoot him in the back.
Walking down toward Harman, Axel realized suddenly that he was winded, and his mouth and throat were dry and scratchy. He wished that he had taken time to grab a canteen of water from off one of the dead horses. Then he remembered that he and Harley hadn’t even bothered to load canteens. They had thought that they would catch Harman easily, kill him, take the money, and ride on. He thought about the stream where Harman had watered. It was just down there, past Harman and on the other side of the road. He puffed as he walked, each puff of breath drying his mouth and throat even more. “Shit,” he said. He felt as if he’d been eating dirt.
Cobb stopped his horse. “This is as far as I can go,” he said, “legally. Course, I could keep on going with you, unofficially.”
Slocum considered his own earlier abrupt comment on the matter of jurisdiction. He knew that his caustic manner had hurt both Cobb and Joiner. He didn’t really want to do that again. He hadn’t meant to do it the first time. He’d figured just at that moment that once he finished this chore, he would likely never see either one of these men again. He would just keep riding on—somewhere. There was nothing at Rat’s Nest or Joiner’s ranch for him. Nothing but painful memories. But these men had fought and killed with him. Well, he could part with them better than with an insult.
“Eddie,” he said, “since you’re the only law among us, I really need for you to go on back to your office and do whatever it is you lawmen do to make Harman and them other two into fugitive outlaws. Whoever I find alive out there, I mean to kill him. And like you said, I’ll be out of your jurisdiction. That means I’ll be in someone else’s jurisdiction, and I might have to answer for that. You get my drift?”
“Yeah,” Cobb said. “I think so. Well, I guess I can fill out some papers on Harman and them other two. Then send the word out on the wires about them. You know, wanted men. That sort of thing. Hell, I think I can even authorize a reward. I ain’t sure about the procedure on that, but I think I can.”
“You go on and do all that for me then,” Slocum said. “And won’t you be needing Chuckie boy here to sign something, like a complaint or something?”
“Well, yeah, I guess so,” Cobb said.
“Aw, now, wait a minute, John,” Joiner said. “I mean to see this thing through with you. After all, it was my fight that got you into this.”
“It was a bushwhacker’s bullet that got me into this,” Slocum said, “but it’s something else that’s driving me on now, and it ain’t got a damn thing to do with you or your ranch. It ain’t even got to do with the bushwhacker no more. Even so, I don’t want to get throwed in jail or hanged for it, so I need for you to go back with Eddie and take care of that legalistic paperwork. All right?”
“All right. John,” said Joiner. “When you’re done, come on back to the ranch. Okay? You got yourself a home there for as long as you want it. You know that. You will come back, won’t you?”
Slocum looked from Joiner to Eddie Cobb. “Eddie,” he said, “if you do come up with a reward, use it for her funeral.” He then turned back to Joiner. “I’ll be seeing you,” he said. They shook hands warmly all around, and then Slocum nudged his big Appaloosa forward. He did not look back again. Joiner and Cobb sat still watching him for a long, silent moment.
“Eddie,” Joiner said, “he ain’t coming back. You know that, don’t you? We’ll never see him again.”
“We best get back to town and take care of that paperwork,” said Cobb, “like he said.”
“Yeah,” Joiner agreed. Both men turned their horses and started back toward Rat’s Nest.
“Don’t worry about Slocum, Charlie,” said Cobb. “He can take care of himself. If them three ain’t already killed each other, he’ll get them all.”
“Yeah,” Joiner said. “I know. It ain’t that. I’m just going to miss him. That’s all. I kind of got used to having the son of a bitch around, you know?”
“Yeah,” Cobb said. “I like him too.”
“Is he really going to be all right, Eddie?” Joiner said. “I mean with the law?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Cobb said. “He’s riding up into old Sheriff Tom Hunter’s county. Hell, I’ll just send Hunter a wire right away and tell him what’s happened down here. Why, when Hunter finds out that Harman had Bud killed, that’s all he’ll need to know. Him and Bud went back a long ways together. Hell, Hunter’s likely to give old Slocum a medal or something.”
“All right, well, let’s get our ass on into town lickety-split and get that wire sent out,” said Joiner. He kicked his horse in the sides and loped out in front of Cobb. Cobb whipped up his own mount to stay with him.
Axel had finally worked his way around to a point where he figured he must be right above and behind Harman. The blood had quit running down his neck too. It was all dried and clotted, but there was a painful throbbing on the side of his head now. He moved easily toward the road. Just there, the road ran along the side of a gently rolling hill, so if Harman was still on this side of the road, Axel would come up above him. Above and behind. He would be looking down on Harman’s ba
ck. That was just fine with him. He forgot all the thoughts he’d had and the threats, he’d made about shooting kneecaps and such. His head hurt, and he was tired, thirsty, and hungry. If he could get a clean shot at Harman’s back, he’d take it. Just kill the son of a bitch, take the money, and get the hell out of there as fast as he could.
Close to the top where he would be able to look out over the edge and down onto the road, Axel dropped back down on his belly. It was sore from all the crawling, and it angered him to have to assume that position again, but it seemed like the only safe thing for him to do. He inched his way cautiously toward the edge. He took the hat off his head and set it aside, then dragged himself another couple of inches. Stretching his neck, he could see the road below. He saw the black horse lying there a little farther down the road. He expected Harman to be just below him, as Harman must have worked his way up toward where Axel had been.
He couldn’t see Harman, though. He inched a bit further, and then he saw him. It seemed sudden, and it startled him. Goddamn, he thought. There he is. Right there. Straight below. One well-placed shot right between the shoulder blades would do it. It wouldn’t even take a rifle. A revolver shot would do as well. He was just right there. Axel congratulated himself on his calculations. He had come up in exactly the right place. All right, he told himself, now is the time. He laid the rifle down carefully, not wanting to make the smallest sound. He even worried about his breathing being too loud. He was close. He was real close.
Holding his breath, he lifted his right arm and moved it back toward the six-gun on his hip. He managed to pull it out, but reaching out with it over the edge to aim it down at Harman’s back was awkward. Damn. He would have to inch up a little more. He held the six-gun out ahead of himself so that it would be ready just as soon as he got into the proper position. He scooted.
Down below, Harman sat ready with his rifle. He was watching the far side of the road where he had last seen Axel trying to work his way down closer for a good shot. Harman was tense and nervous. He knew that Axel was an expert, deadly shot with rifle or revolver. That was why he had hired the man in the first place. He told himself that he should have been more selective with his first long shot a little while ago. He should have aimed for Axel instead of Harley. Damn it, without Axel, Harley would most likely have just run for it. He had no gumption on his own. Never did. But Axel was stubborn and mean. Once he got a notion in head, it was hard turning him back away from it. Axel was the one he should have shot first.
Something sprinkled down on his back and shoulders. Dirt. He spun to the side and over on his back, at the same time raising the rifle and snapping off a shot. He saw blood splatter from the hand up above him, and a revolver fell down the side of the hill to land almost by his side.
“Yow!” yelled Axel. He flung himself backwards, rolling over and over down the back side of the hill. He finally came to a stop against a scrub oak, and he scampered quickly around behind it. It wasn’t much cover, but it was all he had. Trembling with pain and anger and fear, he looked at his right hand, and where the thumb should have been, there was nothing but a short stump of raw flesh dripping blood.
“Goddamn you, Harman,” he shouted. “Now you’ve gone and shot off my shitting-ass thumb.” And then he realized that he had no gun. He had laid his rifle aside up on the rise, and he had lost his six-gun along with his thumb. “Oh, shit,” he said out loud. “Oh, shit.”
18
“Come on down, Axel,” said Harman. “I won’t kill you. Come on.”
“The hell you wouldn’t, you double-crossing donkey’s ass,” Axel said. “You’ve shot off my ear and my thumb already.”
“I’m sorry about that, Axel,” Harman said. “But you were trying to kill me. Admit it. You were fixing to shoot me in the back just now. You weren’t even going to give me a chance. Were you now?”
“Well, you shot first, goddammit,” Axel whined. “And you killed Harley. You never give him no chance. We was just coming out to join you. That’s all.”
“Sure you were, Axel,” Harman said. “But, hey, that’s all behind us now. All this money I got with me’ll go better split twice than three times.”
“It’d be even better not split at all, wouldn’t it?” Axel said.
“Is your thumb really shot off, Axel?” Harman said. “Is it your right thumb?”
Axel started to answer, but he caught himself. If he let Harman know what lousy shape he was really in, he would be a goner for sure. He couldn’t shoot, even if he had a gun. The rifle was just up there on the rise, but even if he were to run and get it, he couldn’t operate it. Not without his right thumb. All Harman had to do was just crawl on up over that little rise, walk a few feet, and blast away. It would all be over. Just like that. He decided to try a bluff and then run for it.
“It was my right thumb, all right, you chickenshit bastard,” he said, “but I’m just as good with my left hand as I ever was with my right. You ought to know that, and I’m just waiting for you to poke your shitty head up over that rise. Come on, Harman. I’ll blow a fucking hole in your head.”
He stood up and started backing away quietly and easily, watching the edge of the rise for any sign of an approach from Harman. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder. Some twenty yards back was a grove of scrub oak. He backed away a little further. To keep his bluff alive, he shouted, “Come on, you son of a bitch.” Then he turned and ran hard for the grove.
Harman waited, watching the hilltop above him. Axel had stuck a gun hand out over it before. He might be stupid enough to try it again. Harman didn’t really think so, though. He thought that Axel was trying to lure him into a trap, get him to climb the rise and then shoot him as he was struggling over the top. He tried to recall if he had ever seen Axel shoot with his left hand, and he couldn’t be sure. He’d never paid that much attention to the gunhands. He knew that Axel was good, though, and he knew that guns were Axel’s profession, damn near his whole life. If anyone could shoot with a left hand, it would be Axel.
He had dropped a six-shooter when Harman had shot his thumb, but he could easily have another, or a rifle. Harman waited. At last, his patience almost gone, he called out, “Axel, this is stupid. We might sit here all day like this. Come on down. Let’s talk things over.” There was no answer. Slowly, Harman stood up. He kept his eyes on the top of the hill and began walking backward up the ditch beside the road. He stumbled over a rock and nearly fell. Regaining his balance, he continued backing away.
The hilltop on his right became lower and lower until there was no hill at all. Leaning to his right, Harman tried to peer around the hill, but it was no use. He walked out in the open field to look back to the place where Axel should be. He saw no sign of life. Holding his rifle ready, he walked toward a lone scrub oak. He judged it to be just about on line with where he had been hiding when he shot Axel’s thumb. He walked slowly, his eyes darting all around. There was still no sign of Axel.
Reaching the lone tree, Harman saw blood on the ground. He stood a moment looking all around. Then he saw the rifle on the ground up by the hilltop. He walked toward it, and he almost stepped on Axel’s thumb. Damn, he thought, I really did shoot the damn thing clean off. He stepped on up to the edge and looked over. Axel’s six-gun was still down there where he had dropped it.
Harman couldn’t be sure, but it was beginning to look to him as if Axel had pulled a bluff on him. It was beginning to look as if Axel had run for it, on foot, unarmed and with a missing ear and thumb. He grinned at the thought. If he was right, Axel was no longer a threat. He shouldn’t waste any more time. There might be pursuit from Rat’s Nest, and he too was on foot. He had better get going and try to make a farmhouse as quickly as possible, get a quick meal, and buy a horse. He picked up the rifle, sat down on the edge of the hill, and slid down to the ditch beside the road. There he picked up the six-gun. He walked the distance to his dead horse, jerked loose the saddlebags, and slung them over his left shoulder. Then he started walkin
g down the road.
Slocum rode up on the bodies of two horses and one man. He didn’t recognize the man, but the horses were a roan and a sorrel, just what old Gorman had said the two outlaws rode out on. He dismounted and checked the hooves. Sure enough, one had a shoe with a visible nick in it. So there were only two men left. Harman and whichever one of these two was still alive. And this man was unhorsed. He found a rifle in the scabbard on the side of one of the dead animals. He took it. The scabbard on the other horse was empty. He also took the dead man’s six-gun. Then he mounted up and started riding again. He still rode easy, almost casual.
Back in Rat’s Nest, Cobb sat behind the sheriff’s desk while Joiner paced the floor. The gang of ranchers and cowhands still milled around in the street, and they had been joined by almost all the townspeople and some from outside of town. People stood in the street gawking at the shell of the Hi De Ho. The boldest ventured inside to look more closely at the ruins. Now and then someone shouted that he had found a piece of one of the blasted gunmen.
Thurman came riding into town, having gone back to Joiner’s ranch to inform the women there that everything was settled. He’d also had the sad chore of reporting the one casualty of the big battle. Mrs. Thurman and Julia rode in Thurman’s wagon, driven by one of the ranch hands. The women looked at the shell of the Hi De Ho in amazement. “Good riddance,” said Mrs. Thurman. Thurman’s hand Pete came walking over to join them. He took the hat off his head and nodded a greeting to each of the women. Then he looked at his boss.
“Charlie and Eddie come back,” he said. “They’re over in the sheriff’s office. Slocum’s still out there after them three that got away.”
Julia ran to the sheriff’s office as fast as she could go. When she broke through the door, Joiner grabbed her in his arms. She held him tight for a moment, then pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Thank God it’s over,” she said. “But poor Myrtle. I can’t believe it, Charlie.”
