War Rider

by Tony Masero

  Len was firing an empty revolver, his fingers desperately clicking the hammer on spent shell casings as Chad loomed over him. Then the big man began to totter, like a high tree felled in the forest he dropped slowly forward. The body gathering speed as it came to land, face down at Len’s feet with a thump that resounded on the bare boards. As he tumbled, Chad’s outstretched arm flew out and sunk the machete into the wall next to Len’s head, the blade quivering there as it left the dead man’s hand.

  “Lord!” said Ly in disbelief, coming into the room, his pistol held high before him. “You nailed Chad. My God! He’s heart shot. I never thought I’d see the day anyone would drop that great ox.”

  “I.... I...” stuttered Len, staring at the machete blade next to him and then the ragged bloody hole in the middle of Chad’s back where the .45 slug had exited. The empty pistol dropped forgotten from his hand as the two men gaped down at the dead man, both of them equally awestruck.

  Ly recovered first, his sore shoulder reminding him of the task in hand. “You’d best get yourself down them stairs. Heaven help you now, bud. Once Tyrone gets to hear about this, your life won’t be worth a plugged nickel.” He waved his pistol and backed out in front of Len into the corridor. “Come on,” he said. “I ain’t about to tell you twice.”

  Tentatively, Len stepped over the body and followed Ly out of the room.

  “Holy hell!” broadcasted Ly, as he ushered Len back into the kitchen. “This damned greenhorn dropped Chad. Plumb through the pump, neat as day.’

  Tyrone looked spitefully across at Len, the damp cloth still held to his burning face. “He did that?” he asked in sullen disbelief.

  “Sure as I’m standing here,” said Ly.

  They were interrupted as Cole Sester, pulled a struggling Charlie Bob through the door, dragging the young man by his head of hair.

  “Caught him jumping off the roof,” Cole explained dourly.

  “Why, Charlie Bob,” sneered Tyrone cynically. “You thinking on leaving us already. I thought we was buddies.”

  “Not no more,” answered a red faced Charlie Bob. “Not since you tried to lay that killing on me.”

  “Why,” wheedled Tyrone slyly. “Weren’t no more than a little funning with you.”

  “All the way to the hangman’s noose,” spat Charlie Bob in disgust. “Some kind of joke.”

  They were seated at the kitchen table. Loup, supporting a sagging Ma Best with a whimpering Petey on her lap. Len and Charlie Bob standing behind, the nervous tension evident in their drawn faces.

  Tyrone pointed a finger, “Now, we’re all going to take a little ride up to the slaughter house just down the road a piece. I don’t want no trouble from you, you understand? Anybody plays up and the woman and kid get it first.”

  His leaden eyes rotated the room taking them all in with a baleful warning stare.

  “On your feet,” he said. “Manuel, go bring up the buckboard. Cole you get the horses. Ly, you cover the rear. We all clear?”

  “Got you,” answered Ly and the rest nodded affirmation.

  As they trooped out, Tyrone caught Len by the arm and held him back, pushing his face close, he snarled into Len’s ear. “You probably ain’t going to make it through this, you realize that don’t you?”

  With a sudden show of fortitude, Len pulled his arm away. “You shouldn’t have messed with my boy, Tyrone. And I ain’t afraid because even if you lay me down, Ahlen will come finish it with you soon enough.”

  Tyrone grinned broadly. “I don’t think so, your tin-starred friend has got his hands full up at the jailhouse right now, he won’t be going anywhere.” Then, rubbing his burnt cheek resentfully, Tyrone’s face dropped back into its usual deadpan picture of malevolence. “Now, move along,” he said, prodding Len forcefully forward with his pistol.

  They moved out in single file, heading onto the back porch veranda. Manuel was waiting for them at the front gate, sitting up on the driving seat of a buckboard, whilst Cole was mounted up and held their collected ponies beside him.

  As the group trudged around the side of the building, a rifle shot came from the corral behind them. Ly Bedstone, swaggering at the rear, half turned in confused consternation. He looked curiously over towards the corral, where a bruised and battered Pa Best leant over a lower rail, the Winchester he had taken from Loup’s saddle rig still smoking in his hand.

  As the rest of the group ducked low and were hustled on by Tyrone, Ly stood in vague bemusement as he looked down at the expanding stain on his side. His fingers dabbed at the blood and slowly recognition began to percolate through his stunned brain.

  “I’m hit,” he mumbled. “Lord! I’m hit.”

  Pa’s next shot made sure of it and Ly dropped in a heap as the bullet took him in the upper right chest and tumbled down through his body, tearing the soft tissue of his insides apart in an instant.

  Pa angled his rifle towards Tyrone’s back but the agile gunman had positioned himself behind Ma who was struggling to carry Petey. The old man held off firing, deciding it was too dangerous to shoot. Shaking his head bitterly, he cranked a new shell under the pin and crept cautiously alongside the corral posts heading over towards the edge of the corral to try and find a clear shot at the others in the street.

  Both Cole and Manuel had their guns out at sound of the firing and as Pa came into sight around the edge of the corral, they let loose a volley of shots in his direction. The corral posts splintered and burst around the old man as the shells struck and Pa dropped to the ground.

  Glancing behind them, the scurrying Ma cried out in alarm as Pa vanished from view. The group, herded on by Tyrone had turned the corner of the house and was making their way towards the front porch whilst Manuel and Cole emptied their guns in the direction of Pa’s position.

  The two gunmen were busily reloading when the thud of approaching hoof beats came racing down the road towards them. In a flurry of dust, Ahlen and Keb appeared, pounding down the track with Annie in the rear a few lengths behind. Without hesitation, Ahlen kicked free of his stirrups and launched himself from the back of his pony and leapt up onto the empty bed of the buckboard. His weight carried him forward in a running tumble and he barreled into Manuel standing in the seat well. The two men flew off the buckboard and hit the ground in a dusty tangle.

  Keb carried on past the wagon, dropping the reins he twisted in the saddle and fanning his pistol, let fly as he came level with Cole. Cole threw up his arms and his skeletal body rocked under the impact of the well-placed shots. He gazed skywards for a moment before dropping his head to his chest and sliding from the saddle.

  Ahlen held Manuel by the throat and had lifted him up bodily in his left hand, until the Mexican’s feet dangled free of the ground. They were covered from view by a cloud of a raised dust and in the midst of it, the Mexican squirmed helplessly, his fingers reaching out in desperation, grappling for Ahlen’s eyes. Ahlen slapped the hands aside and whirled around, slamming Manuel hard up against the buckboard’s panel side.

  “Now,” he said grimly, ignoring the pain in his gripping hand. “Let’s see how you make out against a man instead of a woman.”

  The Mexican wriggled in the strong grip his scarred face working into a livid grimace of anger and fear.

  Ahlen squeezed, his large hand encompassing the man’s neck as he pressed him back against the woodwork. Manuel choked and gasped for air, his eyes going round and starting from his head as the pressure increased. His boots scrabbled, struggling to get a foothold as his fists flapped out beating at Ahlen’s body in desperation.

  “Ain’t so easy, is it?” snarled Ahlen, ignoring the feeble blows and squeezing harder.

  Annie screamed and Ahlen turned to see that Tyrone was up on the porch, one hand around Ma’s waist whilst the other held a gun to her head. Len had grabbed hold of Petey and he and Charlie Bob where hurrying away, heading around the corner to a safer side of the building.

  Ahlen turned back to the purple-faced Mexican, he
raised his bunched right fist, drew it back and slammed it into the gunman’s forehead. The Mexican’s head bounced off the woodwork behind and his eyes glazed over as Ahlen dropped him unconscious to the ground.

  Keb drew up his pony on the far side of the buckboard, his arm outstretched with the pistol leveled at Tyrone. “You done there, Ahlen? I can take this one.”

  “No!” said Ahlen, without turning. “You might hit Ma.”

  “I won’t,” said Keb grimly.

  “Leave it,” snarled Ahlen. “It’s too risky.”

  “Your call,” said Keb, lowering his weapon.

  “Back off!” bawled Tyrone from the porch. “All of you, back off. Or this old lady gets one in the head.”

  He began to move down the porch steps, keeping his body tight behind Ma, the pistol pressing into her grey hair.

  “Now you just let me pass,” growled Tyrone. “There’ll be no harm done, you just let me make my way out of here.”

  “Best not do anything rash,” warned Ahlen.

  “You don’t and I won’t,” answered Tyrone.

  “Where’s your boss at?” asked Ahlen. “I’d have thought Ty couldn’t have missed out on this.”

  “He’ll be waiting on us,” said Tyrone, as he shuffled forward behind Ma, looking at Ahlen over her shoulder. “I guess he’ll be ‘specially waiting on you, Ahlen. To say he’s mad at you would be putting it mildly.”

  The front door to the house opened slowly behind him. Pa stepped quietly out onto the porch, the Winchester held tight to his shoulder as he aimed. His hand was steady and Ahlen could see the gleam of concentration in his father’s eyes.

  “You sure you want to do this, Tyrone?” asked Ahlen, moving to one side, away from his father’s line of fire.

  “I’m sure,” Tyrone answered confidently, a smile beginning to flicker on his lips. “Why don’t you just fetch me up one of those pony’s there and I’ll be on my way.”

  Pa fired the rifle and his shot took Tyrone in the back of the head. Tyrone’s head exploded, his features vanishing in a gory cloud of crimson and Ahlen quickly rushed forward to catch Ma as the gunman fell forward.

  Ma looked down at the body, a hand pressed to her chest. “Oh Lord!” she gasped. “Oh, my dear Lord!” Her shoulder was soaked in Tyrone’s blood and Ahlen quickly covered it with his hand as he pulled his mother to him.

  “You’re alright now, ma,” he said. “Pa saw to it for you.”

  Ma Best turned to look at her husband, still standing on the porch. Pa sagged in relief when he saw she was safe, he dropped the Winchester from his hand and stood there silently shaking his head.

  “Pretty nice shooting for a peaceable sort of fellow,” said Ahlen, directing an admiring grin at his father.

  Ma tore herself away and ran to her husband and took him in her arms.

  “You are one ferocious old man, do you know that?” she said, kissing him fiercely.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “So where is he?” asked Ahlen, as the survivor’s grouped around him at the gate.

  “Do you mean, Ty?” asked Keb.

  “Who else?”

  Keb shrugged looking around at the scattered bodies lying in the road and on the front path. “No idea, remember, I’ve been in prison.”

  “I’m going to find him. This thing has to be finished.”

  “They were taking us up to the slaughter house,” said Len. “Maybe there.”

  “Can’t you just leave it?” asked Annie, little Petey clasped tightly in her arms. “He’s on his own now, there’s not much he can do, is there?”

  “Why don’t you ask him over there?” interrupted Charlie Bob, jerking a thumb at the disarmed and disconsolate Manuel, the only survivor of the gang, who now stood to one side, still a little stunned from Ahlen’s attack.

  Ahlen nodded. “Don’t worry, I will. And he’s not alone, Annie. There’s a parcel of irritated cowpokes out there with a restless and hungry herd waiting to get onto the island. My guess is they’ll go to any lengths to bring those cows across.”

  “They’ll have to rebuild the road,” said Len.

  Ahlen shook his head, “No, that’ll wait. Ty will see they clear us out of the way first. Once he hears that Deeds failed in town, he’ll bring the men in on ahead of the cattle and make sure we’re not a problem. It isn’t over yet,” He turned to Loup. “Will you go round up Jodie? He should be told about Pres.”

  “Sure, he was due to go see his ma,” answered Loup. “I’ll take one of these ponies. These guys won’t be needing them anymore.”

  “Right,” said Ahlen. “Let’s get these bodies into the buckboard, I’ll take them on into the undertakers.” He turned to the recovered Manuel, who hovered by the buckboard looking at his fallen comrades with a crestfallen glower. “So talk. D’you know where Ty is at?”

  The Mexican shuffled uncomfortably and rubbed his sore throat, looking at Ahlen from under lowered brows.

  “I don’ know. He speak with Tyrone, they are the bosses. What should I know?”

  “Get up in the wagon,” ordered Ahlen in disgust. “Help them load your buddies on board.”

  “I don’ like this,” whined Manuel. “This touching dead people, is not good. Is bad luck.”

  “You do it,” snapped Ahlen. “Or you’ll be joining them over at the undertakers.”

  Manuel’s shoulders slumped and, crossing himself with religious fervor against perceived ill luck, he climbed up and prepared to handle the first cadaver handed to him.

  When the wagon was loaded with its grim cargo, Ahlen turned to see that Keb was standing on the porch with his parents, gratefully shaking Pa’s hand and thanking him for the fine work he had done on his new leg. As Ahlen waited on him, Annie came over, a thumb sucking Petey still held tightly in her arms.

  “You’re not going to do anything crazy, are you?” she asked.

  Ahlen put an arm around both her and the boy and drew them near. “I’m going to marry you, is that crazy enough?”

  She smiled. “Probably.”

  “No,” he reassured. “I won’t do anything crazy. There’s been enough ‘crazy’ for one day.”

  “Well, you hurry back, you hear?”

  “Giving me orders already. Is that how it’s going to be?”

  “You betcha.”

  Ahlen laughed and lifted her chin and kissed her on the lips. “Take care of Petey,” he said. “This little one must be upset after all of this.’

  “Don’t worry, I will,” she smiled up at him. “I love you, Ahlen Best,” she whispered.

  “You betcha,” he grinned back at her as he climbed up into the buckboard seat. “Come on, Keb!” he called urgently. “Let’s get going. We’ll see if Ty is waiting on us at his saloon.”

  Keb waved in answer and with a farewell to the old folks, stomped down the path to the buckboard.

  “You are one fractious and impatient lawman,” he said, clambering up and levering his leg over the side. “Do you know that?”

  “So they keep telling me.”

  Ahlen slapped the reins down and urged the team on, heading down the trail towards Mistake.

  The cowboys were already there, that much was obvious as they approached the edge of town. The corrals were busy with cow ponies, their saddles and bridles left hanging over the rails.

  “How many do you reckon?” asked Ahlen as they drove past.

  Keb made a quick calculation, “Maybe twenty going by the saddles.”

  “They’ll be liquoring up at The Rolling Dice is my bet. Free drinks, courtesy of Ty Fellows. He’ll be keeping them close by him I’ll bet.”

  “Probably,” agreed Keb. “What you aiming to do?”

  “Get these bodies laid out and Manuel there put in a cell. Then I’ll figure on it.”

  “If you’re aiming to head down to the saloon, those are mean odds, Ahlen.”

  “It’s okay, Keb. I ain’t asking you. This is my fight.”

  “Now don’t you go getting all
uppity, Ahlen Best,” complained Keb. “I never said nothing about pulling out. Nothing at all.”

  “I ain’t uppity,” answered Ahlen. “I’m obliged for all you’ve done, really I am, and I couldn’t expect more. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Damn it, man,” grumbled Keb. “Alright, you can give me a pesky star. I never started a fight I couldn’t finish and that’s the Lord’s truth.”

  Ahlen pulled up outside the undertakers and turned to face Keb with a smile on his face. “Glad to have you, Keb. Even though you’ve probably signed your own death warrant. Okay, you’re deputized. Take this Mexican mongrel down to the jailhouse while I get the undertaker seen to. I’ll join you directly.”

  Jodie and Loup were both waiting alongside Keb when Ahlen reached the jailhouse and he drew a deep breath when he saw how few his troops were.

  “Sorry I missed it all,” apologized Jodie, with a wry expression of regret on his face.

  “No big deal,” said Ahlen. “It’s gotten worse. There’s a bunch of ornery cowpokes over at the saloon with Ty that we have to deal with.”

  “I heard,” said Jodie with a nod in Keb’s direction. The Negro sat in the office chair, his guitar in his lap as he strummed a few chords.

  “What you doing, playing that thing now?” asked Ahlen with some irritation in his voice.

  “Eases my mind,” answered Keb, looking at the ceiling and blandly sliding through a chord sequence.

  Ahlen noticed the star pinned to the gunman’s lapel. “I see you took me at my word then,” he said pointing at the tin.

  Keb looked down at the star and let off his playing, he polished the metal idly with his sleeve. “Sure,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Makes me feel real proud to be serving the righteous cause of law and order.”

  “Bet that’s a first,” joked Loup.

  “You got that right,” agreed Keb. “Now, we going to do something or just set around here praising my upright new station in society?”

  “You put the Mexican away?” asked Ahlen.