One Man, One Gun

by Matt Chisholm

  He was brought back to reality by the soft whinny of a horse.

  In one movement, he took his feet from the water, scooped up the rifle ad got into cover.

  A voice came —

  “Fast, sonny, but not fast enough.”

  Shaken, he came out of cover and said: “Mr. Harrison!”

  Prescott Harrison stepped from cover, just the same as when Jody had last seen him. Then why should he not? Though it seemed to be a century so much had happened, in fact it was no more than a few days. The broad shoulders still strained the faded blue hickory shirt and the greasy hunting The shirt red-gold beard still swept to his waist, the eyes watched Jody with skeptical amusement.

  “How be you, boy?” he demanded, holding out his hand.

  For a moment, Jody regarded him with no little suspicion, the attack by the Utes fresh in his mind. But he took the hand in his and felt the bear grip.

  Harrison eyed him and said: “Boy, you look like you been in the wars. An’ then some.”

  Jody said: “Your friends jumped me.”

  “Thought as much. There was a kinda embarrassment back in camps when they rid in bringin’ a few dead ’uns with ’em. Me bein’ white like. There was some considerable talk again me. Could even of gotten to shootin’ trouble. Wa-al, that ain’t my notion of the way to proceed. No, sir. I ain’t in thisyer vale o’ tears to git shot at nor to git to shootin’ nobody. Comes of bein’ of a religious frama mind, I reckon.”

  That was the first Jody had ever heard of him being of a religious frame of mind, but he let it ride.

  “So you lit out?” he said.

  “Reckon. Kinda leave ’em cool off a mite.” His eyes touched Jody’s supplies and lit up. “Food, by God. Boy, I’m purely famished. Feed a poor ole man before he jest passes out on you.”

  Jody fed him and they talked. When he was through eating, Harrison loaded and fired his pipe and puffed with some contentment. Jody told him all that had happened to him.

  When he finished, Harrison chuckled with delight.

  “Wa-al,” he declared, “this Englishman sure do sound somethin’ special. Now, I purely do have to meet up with sech an ornery sonovabitch. He sure do take the biscuit an’ no mistake. Youn’me best do some thinkin’, son.”

  “Now, look, Mr. Prescott,” said Jody, “you ain’t in this a-tall.”

  The bearded man looked at him in astonishment.

  “Ain’t we kin?” he said.

  “You know we ain’t kin,” Jody protested.

  “I don’t know no sech thing,” said Harrison. “I’ll have you know a Storm from Texas was my cousin in a manner of speakin’ through my aunty marryin’ one. Wa-al, maybe they didn’t ezackly git around to takin’ the oath in front of a preacher man, but the hell, they lived together for a hell of a long time.”

  Jody thought he was lying, but he had too much respect for the man’s prowess in battle to say so out loud. Beside that, he had need of every ally he could lay his hands on. Maybe Harrison had his reasons and maybe he didn’t, but here he was and Jody was going to make use of him.

  Harrison picked his nose thoughtfully and said: “We have to look at this thing and see what we have, son. There’s this hyer Wilder. He has your money an’ your girl an’ we have to part him from both. There’s friend Rolf an’ it sure do sound like he’s aimin’ to shoot you on sight. Then there’s your hosses. My, you’re purely in a fix, boy.” He chuckled with delight at the fix he perceived his young friend was in. “I ain’t had so much fun in years. No, sir.” He ruminated, hawking and spitting with great vigor as he thought, picking his nose and surveying the result with fascination. Finally, he said: “Minds me of the time I raided the Crows with the Blackfoot. My, that was some performance. All right, I’ll make my boast. Ten days, give or take a day either way, you’ll have your hosses, your money, your girl an’ your bull. All dishonest.”

  Jody was hot.

  “I ain’t a-goin’ thievin’,” he said.

  Harrison looked at him in astonishment.

  “Thievin’,” he said. “Now, that’s a right ugly word. I call it initiative, the redistribution of wealth. How do you think Rolf made his pile. Relieving other men of their possessions. It’s all comparative, my young friend. Now, you’re lookin’ at me like I was the most evil man on earth. I ain’t so. I’m a man of conscience. My word’s good, I never betrayed a friend and I never welched. That’ll be enough to git along with. Hell, what more can you ask of a man. You’n’me’s raidin’ this hyer Rolf like he ain’t never been raided before. I’ll wager my bottom dollar if we don’t find somebody inside his camp to give us assistance and succor. Howsomever, first things first. You git some sleep an’ I’ll go tend to my hoss. You look plumb tuckered out.”

  Troubled, but at the same time considerably comforted, Jody took the blankets that Harrison brought him and curled up in a sheltered spot and fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  He awoke refreshed and found that he had slept the day through. The day was already sinking behind the hills. He sat up and looked around — there was no sign of Harrison. Jody rose, looked around for the man’s horse, found where it had been tied, but it was gone. Harrison had taken off. Jody stood undecided, wondering whether their meeting had been nothing more than talk and Harrison had simply ridden on.

  He washed up in the creek, fed himself and, after dark fell, sat and waited, giving the man the benefit of the doubt. He thought about Honoria, his family back on Three Creeks and the horrible predicament in which found himself. His spirits were at their lowest ebb when he heard the sound of an approaching horse.

  Jody crept forward with his rifle in his hands and found to his relief that it was Harrison. The man dismounted and declared: “Made contact with the enemy.” He off-saddled, hobbled his horse and put it out on grass. Jody was all agog to hear what had happened.

  Harrison refused food, for, he said, he had been fed well at Rolf’s place. That Miss Manuela was sure a fine woman. Wasted on a white-livered bastard like Rolf. She ought to be making some man a fine wife right this minute. Jody gathered that man could be Prescott Harrison. And that little lady, Honoria, Harrison went on, why, he could just see why Jody’s pants was all aflame for her. Was he a few years younger, he’d be fighting Jody for her himself. Yessir, she was sure worth getting stirred up over.

  What, Jody demanded impatiently, had Harrison accomplished?

  He’d spied out the land. Always find out just what you’re up against before you hit an enemy, Harrison declared. He’d done that. He’d found that taking a daughter and a prize-bull from Rolf was something of a tall order. It positively towered. But, no never mind. The difficulties before them made the proposition even more tempting. He reckoned he hadn’t had so much fun in years.

  He’d had a right intimate talk with Wilder. Hell, that Englishman was sure a smooth liar. But greedy. And greediness was his weak point. Always find your enemy’s weak point. While Rolf was vain and ambitious, Wilder was greedy and lazy. He had propositioned Wilder and the man had bitten. They planned to milk Rolf of some of his ill-gotten gains. The whys and wherefores of the scheme were neither here nor there. Harrison had seen Wilder’s treacherous little mind ticking. He planned to go along with Harrison, use him and then discard him, going off with the full prize himself. Harrison laughed till his sides ached.

  Another thing he’d learned, that Wilder had Jody’s money belt around his waist under his shirt night and day. Jody didn’t enquire how Harrison knew this, but he didn’t doubt that it was true.

  “I fixed it,” Harrison said “so’s you meet up with this polecat. Kinda make it easy for you to beat the livin’ daylights outa him, pay him what you owe him and take back your money.”

  Jody was all attention.

  “When?” he asked.

  “Tonight.”

  “Where?”

  “Two–three miles from here.”

  “I don’t have a horse.”

  “We ride d
ouble. You ride back on your own.”

  Jody didn’t ask questions. He was beginning to accept the fact that if Harrison said a thing was so, it was so.

  “When do we go?” he asked.

  “Right now.”

  Jody doubted he had the strength to knock the skin off a rice pudding, but his Storm dander was up and the thought of having Wilder’s hateful face in front of him for no other purpose than smashing a fist into it was more than he could resist. He packed his gear and was ready to move out. Harrison caught up his horse, saddled up and they mounted.

  They rode picking their way through the hills without hurrying. As they rode, Jody said: “So we get my money back. That leaves the horses, Honoria and the bull.”

  “The lady’s up to you,” said Harrison. “The bull will kinda stray. Maybe when you git him to home his brand’ll be a little bitty blotched. Too bad.”

  “I don’t like it,” Jody said.

  “You don’t have no sense of adventure, boy,” said Harrison. “All right, I’ll think up somethin’ maybe a little smarter. I jest hate to hand over good money to a bastard like Rolf.”

  They reached a beautiful valley, flooded in cold moonlight, found some rocks and settled down among them. Harrison was in high good humor and hummed cheerfully to himself. Jody pricked his ears for the sound of a horse. He had begun to think that it would never come when he heard the clink of a shoe on stone.

  Even before he could make out the dim lines of the man and the horse, he knew that the horse was Blue, just from the way he moved. He started up in excitement. Harrison’s strong hand held him back.

  “I’ll make the first move,” he said. “Be still.”

  Harrison stood up and rifle in the crook of his arm, he strode into the moonlight and hailed the rider. Jody heard Wilder’s voice —

  “Why, hello there, old chap.”

  The Englishman dismounted as the squawman approached him. Jody watched from the rocks. He saw the two men shake and then talk together in low tones. He couldn’t catch a word. The minutes passed and his suspicions were just starting to be roused when suddenly Harrison lifted his rifle and struck the Englishman on the head with the butt. Wilder let out a low cry and pitched forward onto his face.

  With a shouted curse, Jody burst from the rocks and ran toward Harrison.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” he demanded.

  Harrison turned to him with a wide smile.

  “I don’t never do nothin’ without a purpose,” he said. “I reckoned if you was to try an’ whup this hyer varmint with your sore shoulder an’ all, the fight wouldn’t be fair. So I even matters up a mite.”

  He laid down his rifle, ripped up the Englishman’s shirt and removed the money-belt there. He handed it to Jody and said: “With the compliments of Prescott Harrison, son.”

  Confused, Jody pulled up his borrowed shirt and strapped the belt around his own waist. By the time he had adjusted his dress, as they say, the Englishman was starting to stir. He pulled himself slowly to a sitting position and looked slowly up at Jody.

  “Why,” he said, cool as you please, which did him great credit after being hit on the head with a rifle butt, “if it isn’t the Western hero himself.” His hand went automatically to his waist and he found at once that the money-belt was gone. His facial expression underwent a violent but no more than momentary change. For a brief second, stark fury showed there and then he was calm again. With a smile, he said: “It looks as if Henry Carrington Wilder were fully exposed. Ah, well, one cannot always be victorious.” He rose rather groggily to his feet. “Well, my dear rough simple cowboy, what do you intend to do now, aided as you are by your wild friend’s rifle?” Jody was curious.

  “Are you really an English lord?” he asked.

  “God bless you, no,” said Wilder with disarming frankness. “I’m the only son of a butcher of Wapping, London. I’ve conned more people than you’ve had hot dinners with the nobleman lark. I have found that everybody, and you democratic Americans more than anybody, is a snob. Smart old Rolf fell for it hook, line and sinker.”

  “Fair’s fair,” Harrison said, greatly amused with the Englishman. “You can fight for the belt and for the hand of Rolf’s daughter. Winner take all.”

  Wilder was all business.

  “What’re the weapons?” he demanded.

  “Hands,” said Harrison.

  “Excellent,” said Wilder, “but after the knock on the head I’m hardly in a condition to give of my best.”

  “Storm’s wounded,” Harrison told him.

  Wilder grinned.

  “So he is,” he said and rubbed his hands together with delight. “How do I know if I beat him that you won’t gain the advantage with that formidable-looking rifle?”

  “You have my word.”

  “I don’t usually rely on words,” Wilder declared, “but in this case, I suppose that I have no alternative. Very well, let us commence.”

  Jody had never felt less like a fight in his life, but he could see no way out it. Under normal circumstances, he didn’t doubt he would gain a quick and bloody victory over the Englishman, he had learned to use boot and thumb with the best, though he would have preferred knife or gun after the Texas fashion. So he squared up and watched the Englishman do the same.

  “No rules,” said Harrison. “Jest git to fightin’ and keep a-goin’ till the other feller cain’t move.”

  They nodded grimly and circled. Harrison stood back.

  There was no sound in the still moonlight except for the sound of their feet shuffling in the dust.

  Jody charged, intent on grounding his opponent by sheer weight and strength. To his amazement, a very hard fist caught him on the nose. He felt the blood spurt at once. He saw bright lights and his brain felt as if it had been shattered. He rocked back on his heels and was hit hard in the belly. He sagged a little and that accursed fist once more pulverized his face. He back-pedaled out of it, feeling in a confused kind of a way that he had been cheated.

  He heard Harrison yell encouragement and found that his sight wasn’t too good. He was still looking for Wilder when he received a blow high on the temple and another under the heart. To his further amazement, he found himself lying on his back. Before he could gain his hands and knees, he was kicked twice in the ribs. He knew that he was badly hurt.

  He heard Wilder say: “The back streets of Wapping are an excellent training ground for this kind of thing, old chap. I’d advise you to throw the towel in before I cut you to ribbons.”

  The voice was so cool and confident that it hardened Jody’s will wondrously. He was kicked in the belly as he reached his hands and knees and when he finally gained his feet that hard fist caught him in the region of the mouth. He felt as if he had lost every tooth in his head and that his mouth was mashed to pulp. He grabbed clumsily at Wilder as the fellow danced lightly into the attack again, managed to grip an arm and hauled the fellow toward him. He drove his head into the Englishman’s face and released him. Wilder went down and Jody tried to jump on him with both feet. He failed because Wilder rolled clear and came to his feet with an agile bound. The Englishman jumped in and rained blows on Jody, but Jody had the impression that Wilder had been slowed slightly. He managed to catch him by the hair and drove a knee into his groin. Wilder reeled away, holding himself and softly whispering: “Oh, my God.”

  Jody put his head down and charged. But Wilder was no longer there. He might well have gone ahead clear to New Mexico if he hadn’t tripped on a rock and measured his length in the dust. Luckily, Wilder didn’t use his feet this time and Jody was on his own feet to meet the attack that followed. He received a blow to the belly, another to the heart and a third in his face. He reeled back from the onslaught and wondered how much more he could take, He managed, however, to gain a grip on a wrist, fell backward and hurled Wilder over his head. Jody landed on his shoulders and his wounded shoulder was a tearing mass of agony. He cried out in pain, rolled over on his face and saw that Wi
lder had taken the fall badly. He was wandering slowly about on hands and knees groaning softly to himself.

  When the Englishman gained his feet, Jody hit him in the throat with the edge of his hand. Wilder went down again, choking. Swaying, Jody watched him flounder. He knew that this was the chance to use the boot, but somehow he didn’t have the strength in him to do so.

  When at last Wilder rose to his feet, his face showed chalk white in the moonlight. There was a desperate look in his eyes. At least the flippancy had been knocked out of him. However, he still managed to look deadly.

  He came in cautiously this time, edging into the attack and darting two quick lefts to Jody’s face, both of which were avoided, and brought over a right that was totally unexpected. Jody received it on his wounded shoulder and nearly fainted from the resultant pain. As he stood there, stopped dead, the Englishman cut him again with a left and brought over the lethal right once more. Jody went down. He knew that he was near the end.

  The Englishman was in pretty poor shape himself. He stood wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand and surveying Jody in a bewildered kind of way.

  Jody thought of Honoria, the bull and the fact that he was a Storm. It all added up to the realization that he couldn’t take a beating from this fancy-talking sonovabitch.

  He climbed slowly to his feet.

  Wilder tried a laugh that almost came off.

  “Admit you’re beaten,” he said. “Hand me over the money and we’ll call it a day.”

  Jody walked up to him on legs that couldn’t decide whether they were made of lead or wet paper.