The Adventures of the Lone Jack Kid: A Western Adventure (Western Fiction, by Joe Corso Book 1)

by Joe Corso

  In the darkness and by the light of a torch, the Kid and Ezra dug shallow graves and buried the bodies. As soon as the two men were buried, Ezra said he wanted to leave. He didn’t feel comfortable having his family have breakfast in a place where two men were just killed so Charlie helped him hitch the horses. Then the Kid mounted his horse and the small party broke camp and rode along the trail while it was still dark before stopping by the side of a rocky escarpment, just as the sun was coming up. Ezra built a campfire close to the cliff, away from the wind, and made a fresh pot of coffee, while Mildred heated some biscuits.

  Wagon trains traveled about 2 miles an hour or 15 miles a day. The road was straight and dry. The weather was good and Charlie estimated that they were making good time. He was thankful that it hadn’t rained because then the road would have been impossible for traveling, and they’d have the problem of finding shelter and a safe place to stay until the weather cleared. But their luck held, and the skies remained clear. The small group was now traveling through Indian Territory and Charlie knew when he left to find game in the morning that he had to be extra careful from now on.

  That morning, he rode high up into the hills. He slid off of his horse and positioned himself so that he had a clear view all the way down to the flat plains and to the small covered wagon making its way slowly west. He waited patiently for hours, hoping to find something he could kill. He didn’t care if it was porcupine, skunk, or squirrel, as long as it was something with meat on it that he could take back to the wagon so they’d have food to eat. He heard a sound and he instinctively ducked lower. After a few seconds, he raised his head to see what had made the sound. There was a rustling coming from somewhere in the brush below him. Then a deer stepped out from the thick foliage and into the clearing. He watched it lift its head to nibble on a tree branch. Charlie quietly lifted his Winchester repeating rifle, sighted on the deer, and squeezed off a round. The sound of the bullet leaving the barrel echoed throughout the woods and the hills like a thousand cannons and he winced, hoping it wouldn’t be heard by Indians. He knew it couldn’t be helped, and he made up his mind that if there were trouble because of that shot, he’d just have to deal with it.

  Ezra trimmed and butchered the deer and that evening Mildred cooked each of them a nice steak for dinner. After dinner, Ezra carried a jug to Charlie, who was sitting beside a tree, and sat down next to him. “That was a nice buck you brought back with you today, Charlie. We won’t have to worry about catching any game for a while, and thanks to you we’ll eat good for a week. I don’t know how to thank you. We wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

  Charlie felt uncomfortable being complimented like this. “You’re a strong man, Ezra; you would have managed. And soon, maybe tomorrow or sometime this week, we should catch up with your wagon train, and then, you and your family will be safe.” Ezra took a swig from the jug and passed it to Charlie, then he took his pipe from his shirt pocket and lit up. Charlie took a cigar from his pocket and pulled Ezra’s hand, holding the lit match, and lit his cigar.

  The two men sat quietly, taking occasional swigs from the jug until finally, Ezra asked Charlie straight out. “You know, Charlie, I never was good with names, but yours sounded familiar, only I couldn’t quite place it, so I put it out of my mind.” He reached into the side pocket of his jacket, pulled out Buntline’s book, and held it up for him to see. “Abigail bought this dime novel back in Abilene. She showed it to me while you were gone and said I should read it. It’s an interesting book, Charlie. It tells the story of a man with the same name as yours and his description fits you perfectly. And the way he carries his two guns is exactly the way you carry yours. That man wouldn’t be you, would it?”

  Charlie shook his head and ground his teeth. “Yeah, that’s me all right. That Buntline just about ruined my life with that book. It’s made me the target of every gunfighter in the west. But, yes, that book is about me.”

  Ezra smiled and clapped Charlie on the back and raised his hands to the sky. “Hallelujah,” he said loudly, surprising Charlie “Don’t you see? It’s the lord’s work, son. The lord works in mysterious ways. It’s now clear to me. He brought you to us in our hour of need. I would be dead now if not for you. Of all the places in the world you could have been, you were right there beside me when I needed you.” Ezra suddenly got on his knees and made the sign of the cross and began praying out loud, thanking the lord for delivering Charles Longstreet to them. He called out to his wife and children to come down from the wagon to pray alongside him, which they did. Charlie was embarrassed by this display of religious gratitude and he backed into the shadows. He wasn’t a particularly religious man, but he had learned to pray from his ma and he did some praying while in the army on Sundays when the chaplain came around, but he was never a religious man. As far God was concerned, he wasn’t even sure that there was a God. He did believe in creation, though. How else could all the beauty in the world have been created if not by the hand of the Grand Architect of the Universe . . . and if that was what God was, then he believed in God.

  Abigail followed the telltale orange glow of his cigar that pointed the way to him. She found him by a tree back in the shadows, smoking his cigar. “What are you doing back here all by yourself, Charlie?”

  “I didn’t want to interfere with your praying, and besides I just wanted to be alone for a little while.”

  “Do you mind if I stay here and keep you company?” She was shorter than he was and he could see that she was a beautiful girl. For the first time, he noticed that she filled out her clothing nicely. “Will you be leaving us soon, Charlie?”

  He took the cigar from his mouth and looked at her. “I expect that we’ll catch up to the wagon train in a few days and that’s when I’ll leave you. You’ll be safe with the train.”

  She snuggled close to him. “It’s getting cold, Charlie. Do you mind if I get close to you?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know, Abby. It doesn’t look right, you being a kid and all.”

  She took a step back and looked up at him. “I’m not a kid. I’m almost twenty.”

  “How old?”

  “Well . . . I’m 18.”

  “And when was that? Come on now. When did you turn 18?”

  She looked down and played with her fingers. “Three weeks ago. But a lot of my friends were already married at 16. I’m a woman. I’m no child.”

  Charlie took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “Look, Abby, this is not right. I like your father and mother. They’re good people and I don’t want them to think badly of me after I’m gone. You should go now before we do something we’ll regret.”

  When he said those words, it lit a fire under her. “Well, what if I want to do something that I won’t regret? What then, Charlie?”

  The Kid’s resolve was weakening by the second, so to end it all, he figured he’d shock her. “If that’s the way you feel, then take your clothes off. Now!” he said with authority, figuring she would turn and run back to her wagon crying.

  Instead, she smiled at him coyly, and began to take off her clothes slowly. “Hold me, Charlie, I’m cold,” she said, and then she melted into his arms. He pushed her away, but didn’t let go of her. Instead, he held her again at arm’s length to look at her body in the light of a full moon. He shook his head, admiring the perfection of her naked young body. It was cold and he noticed her full breasts and her nipples standing erect like the tips of new pool sticks. She initiated the act by putting her lips to his and then she began unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his belt buckle, and then she loosened his pants. She pulled them off of him and she felt his hardness. She pulled the Kid to the ground with her and she guided him into her warm softness. He knew that she wasn’t a virgin.

  “I’ve wanted you since the first time I met you, Charlie,” she said. She couldn’t get enough of him and she was willing to experiment with whatever he suggested. He tried positions she didn’t think possible and he had her every w
ay imaginable and she let him do whatever he wanted with her. She even did things she never thought she would enjoy, but found that she did. Every day, when Charlie rode off to find game, she insisted on going with him. What surprised Charlie was that he managed to find game every day in spite of the wildcat he was with, and even though he never intended for this to happen, Abby had become his sex slave who was willing to do whatever he asked her to do, whenever he asked her to do it.

  The following day, Charlie and Abby were high up in the hills hunting for game, in between moments of sexual intimacy, when Charlie heard a sound coming from the thick brushes somewhere below them. Abby started to say something, but Charlie put his palm over her lips to silence her. Something was wrong. He could feel it. It was like he was in combat again; feeling, sensing, seeing nothing, but knowing instinctively the enemy was near. Another sound, and this time Abby heard it too. It sounded somewhat like when he shot the deer, but not exactly the same. This sound was man, not animal. He cautioned Abby to be still. “Don’t make a sound and don’t move, or they’ll hear you.”

  “Who? Who will hear me?” she said, trembling.

  “Indians. There’s maybe seven or eight of them, maybe more. Stay here and don’t move until I call for you.” He pulled one gun at a time out and checked his wads. He regretted not changing them this morning, as was his habit. He liked fresh wads in his guns because he worried that the dampness from the previous night might affect their ability to fire correctly, or to fire at all. Well, he couldn’t worry about that now. He took his Winchester repeating rifle that he loved, because it was an improvement over the Henry repeater, which didn’t have a safety on it. Charlie quietly added the extra rounds to make sure it was loaded to its fifteen-round limit. He slithered quietly down the slope in the direction of the noise he heard a few minutes ago, which was getting louder by the second. He got close enough to see clearly that he was right. There were seven Indians and they were standing around two semi-naked white women who appeared to be a mother and daughter. The Indians must have found a jug somewhere because they were whooping and hollering and having a good ole time. Charlie knew that in the state they were in, it wouldn’t be long before they took turns raping the women. Charlie positioned himself behind a tree with a clear view of the scene taking place before him, and rested the gun on a low branch. He saw the Indians clearly and he had a great field of fire. He had to kill these Indians fast before they had a chance to fire back.

  Charlie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he aimed - - and fired, and fired, and fired again, repeatedly. He dropped four of the Indians before they knew what hit them. Then he charged into the clearing and shot another Indian reaching for his gun. Having fired all fifteen rounds and emptying the Winchester, he dropped it and before it hit the ground, he pulled his revolvers out and, without aiming, he opened up on the other two who were shooting back at him wildly. When the smoke cleared, Charlie stood tall, looking down at all seven Indians who were lying dead on the ground. He walked over to the two women and helped them to their feet.

  “Are you ladies all right?” he asked. Then he realized how stupid that must have sounded to them. How could they be all right? The women were traumatized and in shock. Charlie picked up a blanket and covered the almost naked younger woman, who was screaming hysterically, while the other woman, who he thought to be her mother, just stood there sobbing while trying to cover her nakedness.

  Charlie yelled up to Abby. “Come on down here, Abby. It’s all right now.” A few minutes later, she came rushing through the brush and into Charlie’s arms.

  She looked at the seven dead Indians. “You killed them all?”

  “Yes. Now be a good girl and go and help the ladies; they need you. Then let me know when you’re ready, and we’ll help them onto the horses the Indians were kind enough to leave us.” When the women were mounted, Charlie asked them to remain there for a moment while he rounded up the other five horses.

  Charlie tied the horses together, then led them down the slope and guided them along the trail to Ezra’s wagon. When Mildred saw the terrible state the women were in, she ran to them and led them to her wagon where she would be able to care for them and they could rest and gain their strength back. Charlie gave Ezra Jr. and Abigail one Indian horse each and he tied the rest of the horses to the rear of the wagon.

  About a mile up the road, they came upon a wagon still simmering, burnt and charred. The men got off of their horses to examine the remains of the wagon. They noticed coffee beans scattered over the ground along with the iron from the wagon that hadn’t burned, and Charlie knew this was where the Indians got their jug. Just then, the ground trembled and when Charlie turned to look at the cause, he saw riders in the distance. Because of the dust clouds caused by the horses, he couldn’t make them out. Whoever they were, they were racing toward them at a gallop.

  Charlie picked up his reloaded Winchester and ordered everyone to get behind the wagon and keep down. But to his relief, he saw that those were white men riding towards them. When they got closer, Ezra recognized the wagon master and waved to him. The men came to a halt alongside the wagon and dismounted. “Ezra. Thank God it’s you. Didn’t realize you were so close to us.” Then he looked at the burned out remains of the wagon. “We wondered why the Joneses were taking so long to fix their wheel. When they didn’t return, we decided to come looking for them. Indians?”

  “Yep. Seven of them.”

  “I take it they killed Hiram and his wife and daughter then.”

  “They killed Hiram, but this young man saved the women. They’re in the wagon, resting.”

  The man doing the talking looked at Charlie. “You saved the women?”

  The Kid just nodded, but Ezra exclaimed proudly, “Killed all seven of the Indians too.”

  That impressed the wagon master. “I’m Jeremiah Simpson , the wagon master of this train and I’m mighty pleased to meet you. So you killed all seven of them, eh?” Ezra was beaming with pride. “Jeremiah, let me introduce you to Charles Longstreet. He’s the Lone Jack Kid that everyone’s been reading about.”

  “Hmm. I thought he was a fake person made up by that Buntline fella. You know - to sell books. Well, son, I’m glad to see that you’re real and that you’ll be traveling with us for a while.” He looked at Ezra. “You ready to roll Ezra?”

  “I sure am, Jeremiah.”

  “Okay, then, we’ll get saddled and start back to the wagon train.” The men surrounded the wagon as protection against any remaining Indians and escorted it back to the safety of the camp.

  Ezra’s wagon was guided through the train to a spot made ready for them in the circle. Everyone’s eyes were on the dashing young man on horseback with the two guns. A rider from the posse had raced back to the wagon train earlier to give them the good news of the miraculous rescue of the two women by the Lone Jack Kid. The camp was abuzz with the talk of how he had killed seven Indians all by himself and then rescued the two frightened women who faced a fate worse than death.

  CHAPTER 8

  Charlie decided to remain a while longer instead of leaving the train as he had intended to do, but he kept to himself. Mingling with people bothered him because of the endless questions they were always asking, so most of the time he stayed away. Instead, he spent hours in the saddle, scouting the terrain to make sure there was no danger ahead on the trail.

  One morning, while out on a scout, the Kid approached a bridge spanning the large Blackfoot Stream, where men were charging a toll to cross it. The price for allowing a wagon to cross the bridge was one dollar and for a man on horseback fifty cents. To hedge their bets, the toll collectors dug a ditch on either side of the bridge in case someone didn’t want to pay the toll. If they tried to go around the bridge, the wagon would become bogged down in the mud.

  Charlie informed the men that a wagon train would have to cross the stream sometime today and he wanted to negotiate a better price. “Our money is short and we can’t afford to pay your pri
ces, so how about dropping it a little - to let’s say fifty cents a wagon and twenty-five cents for a man on horseback. It’s a big train and you fellas should make a decent profit at that price. What do you say? Do we have a deal?”

  The men laughed and waved him away. “Our price stands, and we don’t give a rat’s ass if you take it or leave it, and if you try crossing without paying, you’ll have us to deal with.”

  Charlie’s temper was rising. He ground his teeth until he thought they’d turn to powder, and he looked at the men for a moment before speaking. “Now you can keep your price because we’re not paying you anything, but one way or another we’re going to ford this stream.”

  One man stood to face Charlie. “Try crossing here without paying us our toll money and you’ll pay all right . . . But it won’t be with money; it’ll be with lead,” he said loudly.

  Charlie pointed a finger at him. “Lead is my business, boys. We’ll see you in a few hours and when we get here, we’re gonna cross your damned stream. Only we won’t be paying you a dime, so get used to it.” The way Charlie said it caused the leader to become slightly nervous, but when Charlie rode away, he put it out of his mind.

  When Charlie arrived in camp, he told Jeremiah about the bridge and the tolls they were required to pay. Jeremiah became upset when he heard about the tolls. “What are we going to do? We have to cross the bridge and we can’t afford to pay the toll.”

  “Just leave that part to me, Jeremiah. I’ll get you across the stream and you won’t have to pay a dime.”

  Jeremiah looked at the Kid sideways. “You sure you can get us across the stream without paying the tolls? . . . and without causing trouble? That’s the last thing the women and children need is trouble.”