Fast Guns Out of Texas

by Ralph Cotton

  Moments later, seeing the torchlight wave back and forth, Shaw perked up in his saddle, put the ham away, and rode down to the house. Stopping at the hitch rail he found Dawson standing with the quickly made torch in his hand and a worried look on his face. “What did you find out here?” As he asked his eyes searched across the front of the house.

  “I don’t know,” said Dawson, “but Clarity’s been here. I found my razor in the dirt back by the barn. There’s blood, both inside the house and out.” He gestured at the ground in the glow of torchlight. “Somebody left here in a wagon, not long ago from the looks of it . . . today, yesterday at the most.”

  “Blood, huh?” Shaw looked out along the direction of the wagon tracks. “You looked the house over good?”

  “Yes, real good,” said Dawson, knowing Shaw was asking if he might have overlooked a body in a closet or under a stairwell. “It’s empty.”

  “The barn?”

  “I’ve looked everywhere,” said Dawson. He stared at Shaw with a grim knowing expression.

  “Let’s not go thinking the worst until we have reason to,” said Shaw.

  “We’ve got to follow these tracks,” said Dawson, holding the torch.

  “I’ve got a feeling they’ll lead us to Crabtown,” Shaw said.

  “We’ll ride all night,” said Dawson.

  “Kill the torch, though,” said Shaw, gazing off along the high trail they had ridden down from an hour earlier.

  “We can use it to follow the wagon tracks,” Dawson said.

  “And they can use it to follow us,” Shaw replied coolly, gesturing toward the tiny glittering beads of lantern and torch light winding down the high trail.

  “God, I hope she’s all right,” Dawson said in a half-prayerful tone. He rubbed the torch back and forth on the ground to put it out, then stamped on the smoldering end of it. Looking at the distant lights on the high trail, he said, “Maybe that’s not even Landry’s and Black’s men.”

  “Maybe it’s not,” said Shaw, “but let’s not count on it.”

  When they’d first arrived in Crabtown, Madden Peru rolled the wagon up to the hitch rail out in front of the sheriff’s office and said to Madeline Mercer before stepping down and dropping the tailgate, “I hope you and me will see one another real soon, Miss Madeline.”

  “We will. I’ll see to it we do,” she said. “But only if you promise to start calling me by my first name. I am a widowed woman.” She smiled. “Not a miss, or a ma’am. I am Madeline. All right, Madden?” She lightly touched her fingertips to his forearm, realizing for the first time the great similarities in their names. “Madeline and Madden,” she said playfully, testing the sound of the names together. “Or, Madden and Madeline,” she said. “Wouldn’t it just be something if you and I grew close? Our names, I mean.”

  Peru swallowed, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “Yes, it would at that,” he said. Seeing Caldwell step out of the office and come toward the wagon, he’d stepped down and hurried around to the passenger side, in order to help Madeline down before Caldwell could walk around and take the opportunity from him. . . .

  That had only been yesterday evening, Peru reminded himself. But once he and the young widow had looked deeply into one another’s eyes, last night over dinner, things had moved along quickly. Oh yes . . . He smiled to himself, rocking backward and forward on his heels, gazing out across the morning sky.

  “What are you so happy about this morning?” Caldwell asked, walking up beside him without Peru noticing.

  Upon Peru’s hearing Caldwell, his smile disappeared as if it might reveal his thoughts. “Nothing,” he said instinctively. “That is, nothing out of the ordinary,” he corrected himself. “I mean, sometimes a man can just be happy, can’t he?” He shrugged. “It’s not that I have anything to not be happy abou—”

  “Forget it, Deputy,” said Caldwell, cutting him off. In a guarded tone he said, “I saw you and the widow Mercer at the restaurant last night, remember?”

  Peru stiffened a bit. “Yes, of course I remember, I hadn’t lost my senses. We enjoyed one another’s company. Is there something wrong with that?”

  “No, nothing at all,” said Caldwell, not mentioning that he had also watched the two of them slip away from one another out in front of the hotel, only to see Peru return later and look all around before walking inside. “The fact is, I’m glad to see you and the widow both find someone you care for.”

  “Who says we care for one another?” said Peru. “Can’t two people have a nice meal together without it meaning there’s something between them?”

  “Sorry,” said Caldwell, seeing the deputy turn a little bristly. “I didn’t mean to imply anything untoward.” Not long after seeing Peru enter the hotel, Caldwell had watched the lamp go out in the widow’s window overlooking the dirt street. “I only meant that, after all the poor woman has gone through, it’s good to see her enjoying herself. All right?” He gave Peru a questioning look.

  “Yeah, it’s all right.” Peru relaxed and even smiled thinly. “Just between you and me, I believe her and me could care a lot for one another, given the chance.”

  “Well now, that’s good to hear,” said Caldwell, unaware of what had happened between Madeline and Cray Dawson when he’d sent Dawson by to look in on her. “I strongly believe every man deserves a chance at finding himself a good woman and settling down.”

  “What do we have here?” Peru asked quietly, not really hearing his last few words.

  He and Caldwell both looked off at the two riders coming toward town from the north in a rise of dust. “Someday I hope to find a good woman myself,” Caldwell added absently, the riders having drawn his attention from such matters.

  His eyes on the riders, Peru asked, “Did you find out who the dead woman is?”

  “Oh yes, I did,” said Caldwell, also staring intently at the two riders. “Turns out she’s a dove from Black’s Cut. A couple of miners and a tin-goods peddler all three recognized her.”

  “Why do you suppose she tried to kill Madeline—I mean, the widow Mercer?” Peru said, catching himself before sounding too familiar with her.

  “Who knows?” said Caldwell, shaking his head, but still watching the riders draw nearer. “Some of these doves are crazy to begin with. Then they dope themselves up and make it worse. She might have been running away from Giddis Black, just wanted to rob the widow and move on. You happened by and foiled her plan.”

  “Well, I’m glad I got there when I did,” said Peru, letting out a breath. “I feel like it was all meant to be that way, me and the widow coming together right then.”

  “Hey, that looks like Dawson,” said Caldwell. Without further comment, he stepped down from the boardwalk and stood waiting as Dawson rode up and turned his horse sidelong to him in the street. Looking past Dawson to the edge of town, Caldwell saw the thin rider with the full thick beard stop and pull his horse to the side. Shaw . . . he said to himself.

  Dawson nodded, as if seeing Caldwell’s thoughts. “I just came from the Mercer spread,” Dawson said. “I’m afraid something bad has happened out there.”

  Caldwell held a hand up, stopping him. “You’re right, something bad did happen,” he said, seeing the worried look on Dawson’s face and realizing instantly that there had been something between him and the widow. “Some dove from Black’s Cut tried to shoot her. But lucky for her, Deputy Peru was there. He shot the dove before she got the chance.”

  “Oh? The deputy was there?” Dawson looked at Peru, keeping his suspicion hidden.

  “Yes,” said Peru. He stepped down beside Caldwell, taking an interest. “What brought you by the Mercer spread?”

  Before answering Peru, Dawson saw something in Caldwell’s eyes that told him to weigh his words very carefully. So he did. “The dove’s name is Clarity Jones,” he said. “I followed her to the Mercer spread. She was on the run from Giddis Black’s men.”

  “Oh,” said Peru, although Dawson’s answer didn’t really explain m
uch.

  Caldwell cut in, giving Dawson a look that asked him to go along with things. “I said as much, just a moment ago. I said the dove might have run away from Black’s Cut. Maybe she meant to rob the widow for getaway money.”

  “Yeah, that’s about the size of it,” said Dawson with a shadow of curiousness crossing his brow. “So . . . the widow is all right, then. That’s the main thing.” He wanted to get Caldwell alone and ask what was going on. He already had a pretty good idea that it involved Peru and the widow.

  “Who’s that?” Peru asked, gesturing with a nod toward the edge of town, where Shaw sat slumped in his saddle eating some dried apples from the bag.

  “He’s the mad gunman, also from Black’s Cut. Nobody knows his name. He escaped Giddis Black’s jail. He also shot Giddis Black in the street. Might have killed him.”

  “Broke jail and killed a man, eh?” Peru said.

  “Easy, Deputy,” Caldwell cautioned him, seeing Peru’s gun hand poise at his holster. “Anybody escapes Giddis Black’s jail deserves a reward.”

  Looking at Peru, then at Caldwell, noting the badge on his chest, Dawson asked, “Sheriff, can I speak to you inside?” He stepped down from his horse before Caldwell answered.

  Caldwell said, “Sure thing.” Then to Peru he said calmly, “We’ll be right inside.”

  Peru only nodded, and turned his gaze out toward the mad gunman, who sat atop his horse eating steadily.

  Inside the sheriff’s office, Dawson asked in a lowered voice, “What’s going on? Is there something between the widow and Peru?”

  “First, you tell me, is there something between the widow and you?” said Caldwell. “I don’t want trouble for her. The woman has been through enough.”

  “Yes, there is something between us, or there was, when I left her place to get on to Black’s Cut,” said Dawson, searching Caldwell’s eyes. “Now your turn,” he said firmly.

  “You mean when I asked you to stop by and look in on her?” Caldwell seemed surprised.

  “Yes,” said Dawson. “Now what about Peru?”

  Caldwell considered the matter for a moment. “Dawson, I’m sorry,” he said at length, his expression telling Dawson everything. “She and Peru feel they saved each other’s life. If you could only see the way they—”

  Dawson turned away, angrily slamming his fist down on the battered oak desk. “Of all the rotten . . .” His words trailed.

  “No trouble, Dawson, please,” said Caldwell.

  Dawson took a deep breath and collected himself. “No trouble. You’ve got my word.” He considered it and said quietly, “One day earlier, it would have been her and me, instead of her and Peru.” After a moment, he sighed, accepting his loss. “But then, who would want a woman that he only won by being one day earlier than the next man?”

  Caldwell patted his back in condolence. “That’s the way to look at it,” he said, although he didn’t quite understand what Dawson meant. “What’s easily won is easily lost, I’ve always heard.”

  Dawson gave him a look but let it go. “Does Madeline know he thinks he’s the one who killed Shaw?” he asked.

  “No, but maybe it will never come up. Since he pinned on a badge he hasn’t said much about killing Shaw.”

  “That’s good,” said Dawson.

  “Besides, since you left here there’s been four other men who claimed they killed Shaw,” he said.

  They stopped talking when the door opened and Madeline Mercer stepped inside. “Oh, Cray, darling, it is you. I saw you ride in, from my hotel window.” Then it dawned on her what she’d done, and she knew from the look on his face that he knew as well. She went forward into his arms, but not in a way that he would have expected. Her greeting told him everything.

  “Hello, Madeline,” Dawson said, holding her in the same subdued manner in which she had presented herself to him.

  “Where is Peru?” Caldwell asked, stepping over and looking out the window.

  “He’s down the street talking to some thin bearded gentleman,” said Madeline, her tearful eyes never leaving Dawson’s. “I slipped in while he’s away. Cray, I—”

  “Shhh,” said Dawson quietly, stopping her. He and Caldwell gave one another a look. Caldwell excused himself and stepped outside. “Madeline,” said Dawson before she could speak again, “I came here to tell you good-bye. I’m headed off on a long journey. . . . I didn’t want you waiting for me.”

  As he spoke it dawned on him that this conversation had awaited them at some point in their future, even if she hadn’t taken up with Peru. Dawson knew he could not have played this hand so cool and painlessly, not if he’d loved her as deeply as he’d imagined. This was not him in love with this woman. This was only him wanting to be in love with her.

  “Oh, I see.” Madeline stiffened a bit and stepped back. “Well, it is most civil of you to come tell me. It proves you are the gentleman I knew you to be.” She searched his eyes, seeing something there that she could not fathom. “If—if that is why you came here, then I bid you farewell and wish you the very best.”

  “Thank you, Madeline, for everything,” said Dawson, seeing a look of relief in her eyes.

  Chapter 26

  When Madeline left the sheriff’s office, Caldwell and Dawson stood in silence until finally Caldwell said,

  “That was a noble thing for you to do, Dawson. You could have put her in a bad spot, caused her and Peru a lot of misery.”

  “It came to me while we were talking,” Dawson replied quietly. “Had I been as serious about the widow Mercer as I thought I was, I wouldn’t have ridden off from her to find a gold mine I’d never seen, that I bought from a man I barely knew.”

  “Good point,” said Caldwell. “So, with that done, I expect you and our friend the mad gunman will be leaving Crabtown?”

  “Spoken like a true lawman,” Dawson said. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re already gone. But to tell you the truth—”

  His words stopped short as three rifle shots exploded from the edge of town. “Giddis Black’s men?” Caldwell asked, already turning toward the door.

  “That would be my first guess,” said Dawson, right behind him.

  Caldwell swung the door open and allowed Dawson to leave first, asking him, “How many?”

  “A bunch,” said Dawson. He crossed the boardwalk, grabbed his reins, and in a second had turned his horse in a flurry of dust and raced away toward Shaw and Peru.

  More rifle shots exploded in the distance, coming from the large number of riders who had spread abreast at the sight of Shaw. Townsfolk fled in every direction, taking cover wherever they could. Dawson spotted Shaw and Peru at the edge of town, lying flat on the ground. Shaw had slapped his horse’s rump and sent it racing away, out of danger.

  “The deputy’s hit!” Shaw called out, looking back long enough to see Dawson leap from his saddle, Winchester in hand, and slap his horse on the rump. Rifle shots whistled past them; pistol shots kicked up dirt thirty yards away, still out of range but getting closer as the riders bore down toward the edge of town.

  “How bad?” Dawson dropped to one knee and returned rifle fire, causing the riders to spread wider. The heavy fire waned as one of their men flew backward from his saddle and rolled away in the dirt. Back to his feet, Dawson ran forward and slid in beside Shaw.

  “I’m all right,” Peru shouted, blood spreading on the front of his shirt. His left arm hung limp in the dirt.

  “Shoulder wound,” said Shaw. “Clipped his collar bone and took a chunk of meat off.”

  “Stuff this in it,” said Dawson, jerking the bandanna from around his neck and tossing it to Shaw.

  “I’m all right, damn it!” Peru insisted. Shaw poked the bandanna into the bullet hole causing the bleeding to slow down, but not stop.

  Dawson fired three more rifle shots in quick succession and said, “Let’s go!”

  The two dragged Peru to his feet and began running with him between them, back toward the sheriff’s office. Runnin
g to meet them, Caldwell fired shot after shot from a Spencer rifle, taking another rider from his horse and causing the rest to duck down in their saddles. “Dawson, there’s over a dozen men out there!” he shouted as Dawson and Shaw passed him, hurrying along with Peru.

  “Then shoot some of them, Sheriff!” Dawson shouted in return.

  By the time the four of them had gotten to the boardwalk out in front of the sheriff’s office, the riders stopped firing and slowed their horses at the edge of town. At the head of the riders, Hyde Landry stood in his stirrups with a raised hand and fanned the ten riders out in both directions. Behind him sat Clifford Ritchie and Giddis Junior, both of their rifles still smoking. “Circle this shit-hole!” Landry bellowed. Toward the sheriff’s office he called out, seeing the four slip inside the door and close it, “Nobody leaves here, Sheriff! Not before you hand over the mad gunman!” He paused, listened for a moment, then shouted, “Do you hear me?”

  Caldwell looked out the window, but didn’t answer as he stuck fresh rounds into his Spencer rifle. “How is he?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “He’ll be all right,” said Dawson. “But we need to get him to the doctor.”

  “Out the back door,” said Caldwell. “Do it quick before they circle us.”

  Before anyone could make a move, the front door flew open. Madeline Mercer ran in and shrieked, “Oh, Madden! Are you all right?” She pushed Shaw aside, not recognizing him, as she threw herself down to Peru, who sat slumped in the desk chair.

  “Take him to the doctor’s, Widow Mercer,” Caldwell called out.

  “Can you help me get there, Madeline?” Peru asked, taking her hand in his.

  “Yes, of course, come along,” Madeline said, helping him to his feet. On their way to the rear door, she gave Dawson and Shaw a quick glance. Her eyes lingered on Shaw, doing a quick double take. Recognition flickered on her face for a second, but then she seemed to lose it.