by David Cross
“Sorry about the gun Sarah, but these are bad times. I think I should keep it close at hand.”
Wrinkling her brow, she asked, “How long do you think this will go on? I worry about you every time you leave the ranch; worry that one of Murdock’s men will gun you, like before.”
“Don’t worry honey. I’m a little more careful after that last little mishap.”
She shrugged, placed a steak on his plate, letting him know that she would still worry, no matter what he said. The steak was delicious, and he had not realized he was so hungry, so he gave his attention to devouring the whole thing, in short order.
CHAPTER V
The Nightriders
As the night progressed, Jake lay on the bed next to his wife, his every nerve attuned to the sounds that reached him through the slightly open window. He could not sleep, except in short cat naps. He lay next to Sarah, hearing her breathing in the darkened room, trying not to stir too much, in case she might awaken.
He could see the stars through the window of the bedroom, and hear the calls of the night birds, and an occasional howl of a coyote, taking to the moon. Near midnight, he heard what sounded like horses, but he couldn’t be sure. He rose quickly from the bed, took his boots into the other room. Slipping quietly into his clothes, he picked up the Spencer, and stepped through the back door into the night.
There was a good moon, and he could see maybe fifty feet in front of him, but everything appeared as shadows. He circled the house, and came up behind the corral, his eyes searching the night for any sign of men or horses, but there was nothing to see in the darkness, but the pines, but something was out of place. The night birds were no longer talking, and even the crickets had hushed there chirping, giving warning that someone or something was in prowling nearby.
Then came the clatter of the cans he had set up, and the stumbling curse of a man. He looked in the direction from whence came the sound, straining to see through limited light the moon shed through the trees. There was group of six men creeping forward, and another just rising from the ground where he had fallen over the wire, trying to free himself from the offending wire as he rose, the clatter of the cans setting up more of a din than before.
“Tank, damnit, be quiet!” whispered a voice from the right. “Do you think they man is deaf? You make any more noise, and they will hear us in Strawberry!”
“Can’t help it,” came the response. “I got tangled in some infernal wire, some darn fool left out here.”
“Shush! Keep your mouth shut!” whispered the same first voice.
Jake lay perfectly still at one corner of the corral, watching the six men advance, searching the surrounding area for other men. When he was satisfied that these were all of them, he lined his sights on the leader and fired the Spencer, the boom shattering the still night. The shot hit the man, throwing him backward a few feet, and his second shot picked off the second man, as he tried to break to his right. He steadily picked off a third as he dodged for one of the tall pines.
He waited for them to show themselves again, knowing the futility of trying to pick them off from behind the trees. He quickly changed his position, as a fusillade of bullets tore into the earth he had just vacated. He crawled to the farther corner of the corral, settling himself to wait them out.
The man called Tank, had found himself a large tree and was plastered to it, on the far side. He kept his sight on the tree, waiting for him to lean out for a shot at the opposite corner of the corral. He didn’t have long to wait. The man leaned out for a shot and Jake squeezed the trigger, feeling the big Spencer buck against his shoulder, and watched the man known as Tank topple from behind the tree, without a sound.
Rolling quickly to his left, he crawled toward the front corner of the front porch and lined his sights on one of the other trees where another of the attacker was hiding. A few shots had chewed into the ground at the last place he had been, but there were less guns firing now.
He knew Sarah had been awakened, and was probably at one fo the windows, trying to acquire a target. Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard the report of his military rifle, then a yelp of pain, as the bullet struck one of the men. She hadn’t killed him, but she sure as hell put one in him, he grinned.
He only had two men left to deal with, and one of them was now wounded, though how badly he wasn’t sure. He kept his sights on the same tree as before, but the man was smart enough to know that he didn’t miss what he was shooting at, so he glued himself to the tree.
“Tank? Link? Tex? Any of you hit,” the voice came from the tree he was aiming at.
When no answer came, the man became nervous, and peeped out from behind the tree. A shot hit the tree inches from his face, spraying bark into his face, as he jerked his head back. He called again, and when the only answer was a groan from a tree to his left, he didn’t bother asking how everyone was any more.
A few minutes passed, then came the voice again. “Killman! You done killed my men. How about facing me like a man. Anyone can shott from ambush.”
“What would you call the little party you had in store for me,” he growled at into the night. “Seems to me you started this party hombre.”
There was a long silence, then, “I always heard you was a fair man. Why don’t you meet me in the open?”
“I think not. I’ll give you a chance to live though. Just throw out your gun, and you can ride out of here.”
There was another long silence, then, “You got a deal. Here comes my rifle. Don’t shoot!”
When he saw the rifle sail from behind the tree, and a pistol follow, Jake yelled at Sarah not to shoot. He watched as the man stepped from behind the tree. He was tall, almost to the point of emaciation, but Jake recognized him as Murdock’s foreman, and a man to reckon with. He walked slowly forward, his hands held above his shoulders, and stopped a few feet from Jake.
“Guess you won this round,” he growled at Jake, a bitterness tingeing his voice.
“If you’re smart,” Jake said, “you’ll make sure there isn’t another round for you. Just get on your horse, and ride out of this country. I won’t be so lenient the next time.”
The man nodded, but Jake knew he would not take the advice. This one was a real hard case. His sense of pride wouldn’t let him walk away. He would not give in until one of them was dead. He walked him back to his horse, and watched him mount.
“Tell Murdock I’ll be coming for him in the morning,” he said softly, as the puncher reined his horse around, and took the trail out of town to the north toward the Circle M.
He watched the man until he was out of sight, thinking how foolish some people could be. This was not the rider’s fight; this was just a job for him. Yet he would stand and fight, probably lose his life, along with some of the others, and maybe Jake would even lose his life as well. At there was a reason—at least to his mind—for him to fight. He was fighting for his home, his right to the land, and for his Sarah. The last thought brought some guilt to him, because he knew Sarah would pull stakes and ride out, if it suited him.
Jake followed Sarah into the house, and closed the door. He could tell she was scared. He could see her shoulders quivering, as she held the rifle close against her breasts. He gently took the rifle from her, and set it alongside the Spencer, near the front door, and turned her toward him, folding his big arms around her.
She began to cry then, letting out the tension that had built within her during the gunfight. For a few minutes, she rested her head against his broad chest, the wet tears soaking the front of his shirt. He stood holding her, soothing her, and letting the tears wash away her fear, and anger.
“It will end tomorrow,” he whispered.
She jerked away from him suddenly, saying bitterly, “And what if you are the one that doesn’t come back? What if they kill you? Do you think you are God; that you cannot die?” she yelled at him. “How do you think I will feel then, with no husband and back where I was a few months back? I want you Jake.
I don’t want a corpse!”
“Nothing will happen to me,” he said, knowing in his heart and mind that this was not something he could predict.
Her smile was twisted, not a pretty thing to see, holding scorn, anger, and fear in it. He could not blame her. He had come home, promised her he would never leave her again, never go off to fight a war, and here he was, in the thick of things again. True, he was not leaving her, going to a far part of the country, abandoning her to the wilds of this beautiful Mogollon Rim country, but it could be worse for her if he was killed. What would she do then, without him there to protect her?
He tried to soothe her fears, but he wasn’t sure he could tell her in all honesty that everything would turn out all right. He tried to hold her again, but she slapped his hands away, backing away from his questing arms. He could not force her to let him hold her; he could only stand dejected, wishing she would try to understand.
“Sarah, nothing will happen to me. I will come home afterward and we can both laugh about this.”
“Laugh!” Sarah exploded. “How can you laugh at death? What is so funny about killing a man, or getting yourself killed? Are you mad, Jake Killman? There’s nothing funny about all this killing, and I don’t want to have to nurse you back to health again like I did when they ambushed you.”
“There won’t be any more ambushes after tomorrow. I will meet Murdock on his own ground, and put a stop to it.
“And what if he shoots you Jake Killman? Have you thought of that? You are the most exasperating man I have ever known!”
“The ambush tonight didn’t succeed. Neither will any of the others they try to set up,” he growled.
“So you say,” she sniffled, tears still flowing from her pretty eyes.
Jake kept his own council, not pursuing the argument, knowing there could be no winner in it. She was hurting, but she was not in the mood to be comforted. He went into the bedroom, placed his pants on a chair near the bed, and lay down. Sarah was soon there beside him, snuggling close to him, holding him tightly. He grinned into the darkened room. Things would work themselves out, he thought.
He left the next morning for Strawberry, leaving a quiet and brooding Sarah behind. He was half way to the settlement, when a shot sent his hat sailing. He dove from the saddle, pulling the Spencer from its boot as he left the appaloosa, and rolled to the nearest tree. He scanned the pines for any sign of his attacker, but saw no one.
He lay behind the large pine, searching for some movement. A little more than a hundred yards away, he finally spotted a slight movement from the branches of a manzanita. He kept his eyes glued to that spot, waiting for his adversary to show himself. After a good ten minutes, he grew restless, and placed a shell in the breach of the Spencer. Pulling it to his shoulder, he peered across the sight, adjusted the rear sight to where he wanted it, and shot into the middle of the Manzanita bush. Small branches flew from it, and a yelp of pain.
He smiled, knowing he had scored a hit. His enemy had picked a sorry bulwark to set his ambush, and now he was in a world of hurt. He wasn’t sure what part of the man the bullet from the big Spencer had hit, but any place would cause a great amount of pain, and damage.
“Hold it mister! You done blowed my leg near off with that buffalo gun! Don’t shoot. I’m coming out, a voice yelled from the manzanita.
“Throw out your rifle and hand gun first, or the next round will take another toll,” Jake yelled back.
He watched as the rifle sailed from the ambusher’s position, followed by a pistol. He stood cautiously beside the pine, the rifle re-loaded and ready for action, jus in case the attacker had another gun, watching as the man crawled from his hiding place, dragging a bloody, mangled leg behind him. He had tied off the leg above the wound with his neckerchief, but he was sill losing a lost of blood, and Jake knew he would not last long with only the little help he could give him. All he could do would be to make the man as comfortable as possible and wait for the end.
“You got a mean looking wound there, hombre,” Jake said, as he walked up to the man.
“Yeah! I can’t seem to stop the bleeding!” he said in fear. “You got to help me Killman. You’re the only one can get me to Strawberry. The vet there will fix me up!” His last words were almost in panic, as he tried to tighten the tourniquet around his upper thigh.
Jake realized it was the man he had let walk away from the saloon. He also knew that he only had minutes to live. There was nothing he could do, even if he was so inclined. He stooped close to the man, and asked, “Why didn’t you leave when you had the chance?”
“You know I couldn’t do that. No man can ever say Rance Waite ran from a fight, or left a job undone.”
“No,” Jake mused. “No one can say that. That’s not much to say about a man when you plant him. You’d never make it to town Waite. My bullet opened a main artery. You’re pumping blood like a geyser. You don’t have much time left, so why don’t you tell me what Murdock has planned for me.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been to the ranch for two days. Had me a score to settle with you. You made me and my pard look bad in the saloon, so I had in mind to get back at you.”
Jake nodded his head, understanding the chagrin the man must have felt, having to tuck tail and run from a showdown. It must have eaten at him for the last day or so, and sent him on this death trail. He was a hard looking man, and the thought of what Jake had told him about dying had not seemed to faze him at all. He grimaced a couple of times, growing weaker by the second, until he passed out. He would never open his eyes again. The blood was now slowing, as though the body had drained dry, and had no more of the precious liquid left.
Jake dragged him behind the bush he had hidden behind, and picked up the rifle and pistol he had thrown. He took one last look at the gunman, feeling a small twinge of pitty for him. He had not been especially antagonistic in the saloon, but he was a back shooter, and Jake had no truck with people who shot from ambush, or from behind. He retraced his steps to the appaloosa, tied the rifle he had picked up on the saddle, shoved the Spencer in its sheath, and mounted, lifting the app into a canter.
He stopped at the mercantile for some shells for his carbine, the Spencer, and his Colt dragoon, and then stepped across to the saloon for a drink. Mike was just opening when Jake walked through the batwings. He poured a jigger of his best, without being asked and shoved it in front of Jake.
“You look as though you had a rough night. What happened?”
“I had some visitors last night at my place, then on top of that, the ranny that was here in the saloon, tried to dry gulch me on my way in for som ammunition. You could say it’s been a rather interesting start for the day,” Jake grinned.
Stoler made a low whistle, leaned on the bar and asked, “So what do you do now? Seems like the time to go for the sheriff. Things are reaching a heated state.”
I don’t think the sheriff wants to take a hand in something this far out. Besides, I don’t want to give Murdock the idea that I’m running scared. I think it’s best to settle things here in our own country.”
“He’s got a lot more guns than you got lives, Jake. Better to get some help, before one of those hired guns kills you.”
“After today, the hired guns will be deserting Murdock like rats from a ship. I will pick Sarah up, and get her to Jose’s place, then go after Murdock and his gun hands,” he said, touching the brim of his hat in a farewell, and pushed through the doors of the saloon.
He turned his mare toward home, feeling more at ease than he had felt for the last week or two. Now that the showdown was at hand, it was amazing how relaxed he felt. His eyes never lingered long in one spot. He was wary that another ambusher could be lurking among the pines, and he wasn’t going to be caught short.
He tied his horse at the rail in front, and called to Sarah that he was home. There was no answer, so he mounted the steps to the porch and pushed open the front door. The front room was a shambles, with a lamp broken on the flo
or, the oil having leaked onto the wooden floor. One curtain was ripped from its hanger, a chair was overturned, and Jake knew instantly the struggle had involved his beloved wife. He cursed himself for a fool, and quickly rushed through the rest of the house, knowing it was hopeless. Murdock had taken Sarah hostage.
Running back to his horse, he swung into the saddle, and spurred his horse in the direction of the Circle M. He had no clear idea what he would do when he reached the ranch. He didn’t even know for sure that Murdock was the perpetrator of the kidnapping, even though he was the only one who would benefit from it. His anger drained away as he rode, leaving him with the cold, calculating mind of a killer.
By the time he had reached the fork that led to the Circle M, he began to calculate what his chances were, and what he could do to throw the balance of power in his favor. If the Circle M riders were not in evidence at the ranch, he would ride in and have it out with Murdock. If they were there, he would have to lay back and follow anyone who left the ranch, until he found where Sarah was being held. He inwardly chastised himself for leaving her in such a situation. He should have insisted that she accompany him to Strawberry, and taken her on to the Pine Tree, where she would have the protection of Catano.
What was done was done. Now it was up to him to set things right, and get his Sarah back. He was livid with anger at Murdock that he would stoop so low as taking a helpless woman from her home. He should have known she was in danger, should have known that Murdock was the type of skunk that would stop at nothing to get his land. Hadn’t he tried to have him murdered? Hadn’t he scared his wife off the ranch, and tried to take it over as soon as she had left?
He stopped his horse on a small knoll, just a few hundred yards from the ranch, and hidden by the trees from the trail. With the spy glass, he looked the ranch over carefully, and found the blacksmith was still in attendance, going about his job, as he did every day, and one ranch had was pitching hay to some horses that were in the corral. Other than that, the place looked deserted. None of the gun hands seemed to be around, unless they were in hiding some place, which he doubted.
