Abilene Gun Down

by Jory Sherman

  “Amory told me to tell you that he gave your mother some money down in Waco, because she said you’d never take blood money.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. He told her he was going to offer you a bounty for Colter. Your ma said you wouldn’t take it, so he gave her some, but she made him swear that it had nothing to do with Colter.”

  “That’s my ma,” Jed said, with a grin wide on his face. “She’s got sand.”

  “More than that,” Galoot said. “I’d say she’s got plenty of character.”

  “She tried to give me and Dan some of that character. My pa sure didn’t have any.”

  “You miss your pa?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think about him much. Just wonder about him, now and again. If he’s still alive.

  What he’s doing.”

  “Maybe you’ll meet up with him one day.”

  “I doubt it. I don’t believe he ever thinks of us.”

  “He might surprise you. Blood can run pretty thick.”

  “Not his,” Jed said, a bitterness edging his voice. “Look, Galoot, I don’t want to talk about that bastard no more.”

  Galoot was lighting his pipe. He raised both hands in surrender and touched the match to the tobacco. It caught fire and he pulled on the pipe, drawing smoke through it into his mouth.

  “It’s been an interesting night,” Galoot said, leaning back against the sod wall.

  “Tomorrow, I’m going into town. I can’t wait no longer.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m tired of hiding out.”

  “You can’t face Colter and his men all by yourself. That would be suicide.”

  “What is this here? Life? I feel like a rat in a tunnel.”

  “You’re safe here, Jed. And Amory’s going to help you get out of your predicament. Just sit tight. That’s my advice.”

  “I have the feeling that Colter’s going to get away. With all this going on, with Amory and that U.S. marshal, Garner. He’s going to get wind of it and light a shuck.”

  “So, let him do it. Let the government handle Silas Colter.”

  “You know, all that business about Quantrill and his Raiders, and Lawrence. None of those men have been brought to justice. Have they?”

  “Well, no.”

  “So, Colter has been getting away with murder ever since the Civil War. And the sheriff here is crooked. I just don’t trust the law anymore.”

  “Well, that’s the way a lot of folks out west feel, you know. The law isn’t always evenhanded, Jed. And, that old gal Justice, she’s blind as a bat. But you can’t take the law into your own hands. Not by your own self any-ways.”

  Jed felt his anger rising. Galoot was right, of course. But that didn’t make his situation any less frustrating. He could just see Colter slipping away again, leaving Junction City and covering his tracks. Leaving to steal and kill again. And again.

  “Colter thinks he beat me, Galoot. He thinks he can get by with murder. It’s about time somebody stood up to that bastard and gave him what for. He needs to have the boots put to him and horsewhipped while he’s riding out of town on a rail.”

  “Hell, they ain’t tarred and feathered nobody in a long time, Jed. As for horsewhipping him, you got to get through Burns and Norton and Jellico, maybe Sheriff Robinson, to boot, if you’re planning on dealing out any justice to Silas Colter. They’s grave markers all over Kansas and Texas where Colter has been.”

  “I know, and it galls me. Anyway, I’m going into town. I’ve got a beard now and I won’t draw attention to myself. I just want to walk down that street and look in that storefront and see the bastard.”

  “You’re plumb crazy, Jed. Maybe you got cabin fever from bein’ here with me so long.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, at least you’ll sleep on it. Maybe you’ll feel different in the morning.”

  “Give me a pull of that whiskey, Galoot. Maybe I can get some sleep. I’m so wound up right now, thinkin’ about Colter, I don’t think I could catch ten winks, much less forty.”

  Galoot dug the bottle out of a box of foodstuffs, and handed it to Jed. Jed pulled the cork and upended it.

  “Easy now,” Galoot said.

  Jed handed the bottle back to Galoot.

  “That’s enough,” he said. “I’m ready to hit the bedroll.”

  “Sleep tight,” Galoot said, and continued to smoke his pipe. He took a swig of whiskey as he looked at Jed lying on his bedroll, his eyes closed.

  Jed did not go to sleep right away. He lay there, thinking of Colter and what he had done to his brother, Dan. He thought about taking the law into his own hands, a law that had failed him and Dan. He thought about justice, too, and it all became raveled up in his dreams that night, and he dreamed he was running away from all of it and heading into a deeper darkness, a darkness fraught with peril.

  And somewhere, far away in the dream, he heard the women calling his name. One was his mother, the other was a girl named Felicia Stevens. They both sounded lost and their cries tore at him, tore at his heart like the talons of some prehistoric bird flapping at his chest with its terrible wings.

  CHAPTER

  22

  JED CARRIED WITH HIM THE TATTERED SHREDS OF HIS dreams, fragments of images that were disturbing as he ventured away from Robber’s Roost. Galoot followed him on foot so that he could erase the tracks of the night before as well as Jubal’s hoofprints.

  “I still think you’re a damned fool to go into town,” Galoot said. “I sure as hell won’t go to your funeral.”

  “Neither will I,” Jed quipped, trying to erase some of the dread he felt.

  “If you stay there, go to Norma’s boardinghouse. It’s a log house near Simpson’s livery. Mrs. Wilkins sets a fine table and won’t wag her tongue ’bout you bein’ there.”

  “Thanks. Is that where your uncle stays?” Jed asked.

  “Lots of folks stay there. That’s where Amory stayed.”

  “So, your uncle does stay there?”

  “When the time comes, if you live long enough, Jed Brand, I’ll tell you my real name. And my uncle’s as well. If you start askin’ a lot of questions at Norma’s, she’ll throw you out on your ear, most likely.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, you old galoot.”

  “Pshaw. Get on, will ye? I got tracks to sweep away.”

  Brand rode a roundabout way back into town, finally encountering small log houses and soddies that seemed to have been just stuck there on the edge, along the creek that flowed from the river that coursed through part of town. He felt edgy about sneaking in this way, as if he had done something wrong.

  Jed knew what he had to do first, and he headed for Simpson’s livery. Wilbur would know what was going on as much as anyone, and he felt he could trust him. It was quiet. There were few people on the street when Jed rode to the edge of town and rode Jubal up to the rear of the livery barn. Both the back and the front doors were open wide and he could see the entire length of the barn when he approached.

  Wilbur stepped out of a stall as Jed sat his horse, looking for any signs of movement within.

  “That you, Jed?”

  “Wilbur.”

  “You growed a right bushy beard, I reckon. Recognized that horse before I did you.”

  Jed dismounted and led Jubal inside, through the liquid shadows bleeding from inside the stables.

  “You might not want me to put that horse up,” Simpson said.

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Them three fellers come in here not ten minutes ago and saddled up, rode right into town like they knew where they was a-goin’.”

  “Who? Colter?”

  “Yep, and them two hardcases, Burns and Norton. And, they were packin’ iron like a gun drummer.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Been a lot of people lookin’ around since I last saw you. Askin’ questions. The sheriff, for one. A hardcase name of Jellico, for another.”

>   “You didn’t tell them anything.”

  Simpson held up his arms like a seagull’s bent wings.

  “I didn’t know nothin’.”

  “You’re a good man, Wilbur. Anything else?”

  “There’s a new flyer out on you.”

  “Offering a bigger reward?”

  “Wait here. I’ll fetch it. It was brung to me by a friend of your’n, a man named Talbot. Ethan. I seen him around.”

  “Was he lookin’ for me, too?”

  “He said if I was to see you, to tell you thanks.”

  Jed smiled.

  Simpson went into the tack room. Jubal raked his front foot on the ground, pawing impatiently. Jed knew he smelled oats and corn and wondered why he was still under saddle instead of in a stall stocked with fodder. Simpson returned a few seconds later, carrying a flyer in his hand. He handed it to Jed.

  “They got a beard on your face now,” Simpson said. “Still don’t look like you much. But this’un’s a closer resemblance.”

  Jed scanned the flyer, reading it before concentrating on the sketch of his visage. The reward had gone up to three hundred dollars, but the charges against him now included the murder of Perry Boggs. He was relieved. At least Ethan hadn’t been arrested and charged.

  The sketch of his face was better than the first one, but his beard had grown longer. The drawing just made him look as if he hadn’t shaved in two or three days. He handed the flyer back to Simpson.

  “They didn’t waste any time, did they?” Jed said.

  “Took ’em about three weeks or so to get those flyers out. By the way, your friend Talbot told me something else. He said if I was to see you to tell you to watch out for Sorel Jellico. He said he’s stalkin’ you like a cat, all over town.”

  “Do you know Jellico?”

  “I know him when I see him. He’s been here, too.

  He’s been all over. At the hotel, the sheriff’s office, in and out of town. The man’s a blood sniffer.”

  Jed wasn’t surprised. He was only surprised that Jellico hadn’t found him yet. He must not know about Robber’s Roost, he thought. Or else he had seen no fresh tracks around it and never ventured into the area where the old sod houses were.

  Sooner or later, though, he knew he would have to face Jellico. That was why he had been practicing his fast draw day and night while he was staying with Galoot. Galoot had approved, but only after he told Jed to file off the front blade sight from his pistol. He had to admit that his draw was a lot smoother now. There were no protrusions to hang the pistol up in the holster. Even though the sight hadn’t hindered him, he could tell that without it, the pistol just fairly leaped into his hands once he snatched it by the butt.

  “I guess I’d better skeedaddle,” Jed said. “But I wonder if I could get a hatful of grain for Jubal here. He might need it in case we get chased out of town.”

  “Sure thing,” Simpson said.

  He started toward the sacks of grain stored next to the tack room, along with pails and nosebags. He was just reaching for a nosebag when shots erupted down the street. Simpson froze. Jed quickly led Jubal to the nearest post and wrapped the reins around it. Then he raced to the front of the stables. He heard Simpson’s pounding feet just behind him.

  More gunshots. Then they heard shouts. Jed and Wilbur looked down the street. They saw horses turning and rearing. Someone on horseback was firing a pistol.

  “That’s the damned bank,” Simpson said.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m dead sure.”

  Jed stared down the street. Someone screamed. A man, from the pitch and tone of it, and there was more shooting. Then the man on horseback, who had been firing his pistol, wheeled his horse. He was joined by two other men. They were headed at a gallop straight toward the livery.

  “You know who that is?” Simpson said.

  “No. Who is it?”

  “That’s your man Colter and his two waddies, ridin’ straight for us, hell-bent for leather.”

  Jed watched the riders, but they veered off, turned down a side street, leaving the main street empty.

  “They’re gone,” Jed said.

  “I saw ’em. They’re ridin’ here the back way. They’ll pass by at the rear of my livery.” Simpson was excited.

  “I’ve got to stop them,” Jed said.

  “You can’t go up against three of ’em.”

  “I don’t care about those hardcases. Just Colter.”

  Jed started toward the other end of the stables. He had not gone ten yards before two men appeared in the sunlit frame of the opening at the rear of the livery.

  “You hold it right there, Brand,” one of the men said.

  “I’m arresting you for murder in the name of the law.”

  The man who spoke was standing several yards in front of the other man who was in shadow.

  “Who are you?” Jed asked.

  “Sheriff Clifton Robinson. You drop that gun belt and walk towards me, Brand.”

  “Go to hell,” Jed said.

  Jed drew his pistol.

  Simpson’s mouth opened and his jaw dropped as he saw the quickness of Jed’s draw.

  Jed’s big Colt cleared the leather. He thumbed back the hammer before the pistol was out of its holster. His actions were purely reflexive, born of constant practice until they were almost instinctive. He didn’t think. He acted. He bent into a crouch and pointed the barrel of his pistol straight at the sheriff.

  The sheriff fired at the same moment that Jed squeezed the trigger on his .44. Jed’s pistol bucked in his hand. Fire-orange flame belched from the muzzle of his Colt and a cloud of thick white smoke billowed out, blocking his view. He heard the hornet whine of a bullet sizzle close to his ear and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Simpson throw himself facedown into the straw and dirt on the floor of the stables. The sheriff’s bullet whined off a metal object on the other side of the street, leaving a soft scream in the air as it caromed off in another direction.

  Jed ran to his left, out of the line of fire so he could see if he had hit his target, the sheriff. The smoke from his pistol drifted away and he saw the sheriff down on his knees, clutching his chest. Blood spurted from a punctured lung and he made wheezing sounds in his throat.

  “You ain’t out of here yet, Brand,” the other man said, stepping forward in a gunfighter’s crouch.

  Jed gasped aloud.

  The man facing him was Sorel Jellico and he had already drawn his pistol.

  Jed cocked the single action Colt and threw himself headlong into the scattered straw and horse dung just as a loud explosion filled the barn with its lethal roar.

  CHAPTER

  23

  JED STRUCK THE GROUND AND PLOWED THROUGH straw. His elbows took the shock and he managed to keep his gun hand from striking the earth. After Jellico’s pistol roared and spat lead at him, he heard the hiss of the bullet as it sped just over his head. Had he been standing, he would have taken the bullet square in his gut.

  He tried to fix on Jellico, but the man was out of his crouch and bounding to cover, just inside the livery barn. Jed fired a shot at him, then rolled to his left, and crawled inside an open stall. He panted from the exertion and pulled himself up into a sitting position. He put the pistol on half-cock, spun the cylinder to the empty hulls, and used the rod to eject them. He stuffed two fresh cartridges from his gun belt into the empty chambers, and pressed the hammer into full-cock.

  “You got three hunnert dollars riding on your head, Brand,” Jellico called out. “I aim to collect it.”

  Jed said nothing. He was breathing hard, so loud he thought that surely Jellico would know where he was. He listened for any sound of movement from that end of the barn. He peered out through the cracks and saw Simpson still lying where he had thrown himself. Then Simpson started to crawl toward the stall where Jed was hiding.

  “Simpson, you sonofabitch,” Jellico yelled, “don’t you move another inch or I’ll blow a hole right through your h
ead.”

  Wilbur stopped crawling. He turned his head toward Brand and Jed saw the fear in his eyes. They glistened with a wet light such as he had seen in frightened horses and cows. The look sent a shiver up Jed’s spine.

  Jed heard a gurgling sound that turned into a harsh rattle. When he peered through the slats of the stall in the direction of the sound, he saw Sheriff Robinson, still kneeling there, his body shaking with his death throes. Then, to his horror, the sheriff fell over on his side with a dull thud that echoed through the barn.

  “Looks like you might have another hunnert or two on your head for that one, Brand,” Jellico taunted.

  Jed was beginning to get a picture in his mind about the killer he faced. From what he’d heard about him in Lawrence, with Quantrill’s Raiders and what he was saying, the man must be unspeakably cruel. He sounded as if he enjoyed killing other men, even watching other men die. Again, Jed said nothing. He was not going to give Jellico anything to feed on. Not yet.

  Jed heard the hoofbeats pounding close to the back entrance of the livery. Seconds later, three riders reined up, their faces covered with bandannas. He leaned out of the stall to get a better look, but not far enough to give Jellico a target.

  “Sorel, let’s go. Time’s a wastin’. What in hell are you doin’ in there? And where’s Cliff?”

  “You go on, Silas,” Jellico said. “I’ll catch up with you. Cliff’s dead.”

  “I know that horse there,” Colter said. “Sorel, is Brand in there?”

  “He sure as hell is. It won’t take me long to put his lamp out.”

  “Sonofabitch,” Colter said.

  Then, more hoofbeats.

  “We got to light a shuck. Sorel, here’s some of the cash. You know where to meet us.”

  Then Jed saw one of the riders throw a money pouch into the barn. It skidded a foot or two and landed near Jubal, who shifted his weight and moved his rear end, spooking at the strange object.

  “Brand, you ain’t got much time. I can take you in alive. If you come out with your hands up and no weapon, I’ll spare your life.”

  Jed would have laughed if he hadn’t been shaking so hard with fear.