Six Gun Justice

by David Cross

  He relaxed as best he could, leaning against the ropes that secured him to the tree, listening to the snatches of conversation he could overhear between Murdock and his men, trying to understand enough to figure out their plans. He had to get back to his horse and collect his spare pistol and rifle, if the gunman known as Dusty had not found his horse after he had thrown a gun on Jake. He doubted it. Dusty was so full of himself for having captured him that he had probably given little thought to Jake’s horse.

  The single action carbine was a newer model that had replaced the old cap and ball rifles he had carried through the war. It was a model he had bought in Fort Worth on his way home. It was much better than the cap and ball, because took a metal cartridge, and took less time to load than the cap and ball. He had practiced loading and firing it until he had become very adept with it. It also carried the same size shell as the new colt pistols that were now available. He wished he could have bought one before he had returned to Strawberry, but he had not been able to find one. Both weapons were a far cry from the old cap and ball models of the war.

  The extreme heat of the day had spent itself and the night brought a slightly cooler breeze, yet he could still feel the warmth in the wind that blew off the Sonora Desert that stretched south all the way into Mexico. It wafted up into the mountains cooling somewhat from the dropping temperature of the heights.

  He longed to be back in the cool air of the Mogollan Rim and away from the heavy heat of the last couple of days. He had crossed the desert country of Texas and New Mexico on his way home, baking as he moved across the hostile territory of the Comanches and Apaches, but the Sonora was a much more merciless cauldron of heat, that had killed many unsuspecting traveler and sucked the strength from any man who ventured there.

  Travelers who escaped the marauding Mescalero, Pima and Yuma that roamed through the Sonora, they still had to contend the relentless heat and lack of water. The latter had cost the life of many unwary and unknowledgeable travelers. There were many other dangers in the Sonora than the heat and the Indians. There were also poisonous snakes, lizards, pumas and tarantulas, just to mention a few. Danger lurked everywhere, waiting for the unwary to let down their guard. But aside from these dangers, there was something really beautiful about the desert that drew men to try and conquer the hardships and subdue the arid land.

  Jake had spent a very restless night, catching only catnaps as best he could. His fear of a posted guard had been realized, when Rance took the first watch, sitting on a rock nearby, his rifle across his lap. He could only hope the man would doze, or become lax in his guard.

  Jake let the ropes that bound him support his weight ignoring his discomfort as best he could, keeping vigil for any opportunity. Murdock and Rance watched him closely throughout the night, spelling each other at intervals, so there was no chance of escape.

  It was late that second evening, when they relaxed their vigil over him somewhat and he began working on the rope that bound him to the tree. It was much harder than working loose from the rawhide bindings, since it did not stretch, but he got enough slack to slip the top loop of the rope over his shoulders, then using the looseness of that loop, worked another of the loops over his shoulders. This would give him enough slack to move his arms up and push the rope over his head when the time came.

  Three of Murdock’s riders had ridden out shortly before noon of the second day, including the one he knew only as Dusty. They had been sent to Phoenix, Wickenburg and Prescott on a recruiting program, to recruit more hired guns, and were to meet back here in four days. Jake had to make his move before they returned. He was also hungry and thirsty, since Murdock had not given him food or water for the entire time he had been tied.

  From here they planned to move against the ranches along the rim country. If Jake had anything to say about it, there would be no one here to meet them when they returned. Without a head the body of the snake would die.

  He could still smell the evening meal Murdock and Rance had put together, and heard his stomach rumble in protest at its emptiness. Dusk was settling on the countryside for the second evening and everything was in dark shadows by the time he had worked himself free. His guardian had fallen asleep against the rock he had been sitting on the night before and he could hear his steady breathing.

  Now was the time for him to make good his escape. It was very likely that he wouldn’t get another chance as good as this one He twisted his body, jerking at the ropes, creating every bit of slack he could from the knots that had been tied. Rance had done his job well. There was very little slack to be found, but he managed to work the loops over his head and free himself.

  With some effort he was able to squirm around until he had the top loop of the rope worked over his shoulders. Then sliding slowly down slightly, he pushed these loops over his head, giving him a lot more slack with which to work his way out. With a final twist he lifted the final loops over his head and stood by the tree, rubbing the feeling back into his arms and legs. He stood very still for a long time, making sure Rance was still asleep against the rock.

  The night was very dark, and he could barely make out the sleeping man and the rock he rested against. He would have to move cautiously. It would not do to make a misstep, or kick a rock, or step on a dried twig.

  He moved silently into the surrounding brush, retracing the steps to the point where he had been waylaid by Dusty, and turned in the direction of his tethered horse. The appaloosa was standing patiently, munching at the leaves of a nearby acacia and stretching his long neck as far as he could against the restraining reins.

  Going directly to his saddlebags, Jake retrieved his spare six-gun, an old cap and ball revolver, checked the primers and loads and dropped it into his holster. He pulled his carbine from the boot and moved silently back in the direction of the camp, picking his way carefully. He approached from the side where Rance was sleeping and silently moved to the rock. Murdock were still asleep by the fire closer to the stream.

  He stepped from the surrounding foliage, placed his hand over Rance’s mouth and the barrel of the carbine in his left ear. Clamping down on his face so he would not cry a warning. He felt Rance jerk awake, struggling to bring the rifle up.

  “Don’t make any sudden moves,” Jake growled. “The shoe is on the other foot now hombre,” He whispered softly. “If you make a sound, you won’t make it to see the dawn.”

  “Killman! How did you get loose?” Rance gasped, fighting to catch his breath.

  “We’ll discuss that later. Just get up slowly, and leave your rifle on the ground.”

  Rance did as he was told, knowing that Killman would shoot without hesitation. He had seen the man use a gun and had no doubt that he would do exactly what he said. As he rose, he placed his hand on the rock for support, suddenly bulldozing into Jake, knocking him from his feet and causing him to lose the grip on his rifle. As he fell, Jake reached for his pistol, just as Rance grabbed for his rifle.

  There was a loud report, and a searing pain hit Jake in the side as he cleared leather with his pistol and fired in the general direction he knew Rance to be. He could see nothing in the darkness around him, but heard the groan and the thud as Rance’s body toppled forward. He clutched the sticky wetness of his left side, knowing the bullet had taken its toll. His eyes again became adjusted to the darkness and he could make out the form of the body lying not eight feet from him.

  More shots rang out in the night, but they twanged off the rocks and thudded into the trees around him. Murdock was firing at the general direction of the tree where Jake had been tied. He could see the flash of the muzzle, close to where the dying campfire was located. He returned fire, but he had the same disadvantage as his opponent. Neither could see what they were shooting at.

  “Murdock, give it up. You can’t see me, and you don’t have your foreman to back your play any more. He’s dead.”

  “My men will be coming back soon, and they’ll flush you out!” Murdock’s voice came from the dar
k. “We’ll see who surrenders then!

  “Sorry Murdock. That horse won’t work. I overheard enough of the conversation you and your men had to know they left on a recruiting trip. Now drop your guns on the ground and step out with your hands in the air.”

  Two more shots sounded the flash coming from a spot further from the camp. Jake fired in return, but heard nothing afterward. He moved as soon as he fired and lay on the ground listening, but no sound came to his ears. Cursing his luck, he crawled toward the last place he had seen the flashes of Murdock’s gun. When he reached the spot, he found nothing but the dark night.

  He staunched the blood from his wound with his kerchief and lay for a long time listening to the night, but could hear no sounds except the call of an owl in the distance. He had to get some food and water in him, or he would be in bad shape. He crawled to the stream, ever alert for any sound, and drank deeply of the cool water. He would have to wait until it was light. Stumbling around in the dark could be dangerous.

  Daylight was only an hour or so away. He settled down for the wait and rummaged around the outlaw camp in search of something to eat. He found the remains of some beans and bacon that was left in a tin plate, and scooped it out with his hands, eating hungrily. The food and the water revived him to some extent, and he spent the remainder of the time, washing the wound in his side and bandaging it as best he could.

  The dawn creeped over the land, giving enough light for him to see the surrounding area, but he did not see anything of Murdock. As the light increased, he searched the space near the camp and found a few drops of blood on one of the rocks. Evidently one of his slugs had found its mark, but how fatal the would Murdock was sporting, it must not have killed him.

  He followed the blood trail to where their horses had been tied, and found that one of them was missing. Cursing, he realized that Murdock had gotten away. He would have to pick up his trail and try to run him to ground. Luck wasn’t going his way. He had lost the man again.

  CHAPTER XI

  Hot Pursuit

  After checking the body of Murdock’s foreman to make sure he was dead, he spent the rest of what was left of the early morning dressing the wound in his side and getting a little shuteye near where his horse was tethered, while ignoring the grisly remains that lay just a few hundred feet from him. The next morning he was in the saddle and pointing the Appaloosa in the direction Murdock had taken ignoring the dead man. The carrion would take care of the remains, leaving only the small campsite and hoof prints to testify that anyone had passed this way.

  The trail was sparse, but he could now recognize the tracks of the man he chased. He had to run Murdock down and finish this fight. Maybe then the killing would stop and he could go back to being a rancher. He thought about Sarah and wondered how she was bearing up.

  He stopped off at the trading post in Black Canyon, washed his wound again at the spring before riding up to the trading post to replenish his supplies and listening to the gregarious owner regale him with tales of the old days, while he drank a couple of shots of cheap whisky to fortify himself.

  “Say stranger,” the owner of the trading post said in conversation. “Did you ever catch up with your friend? You know the one you was looking for when you rode through the other day.”

  “Nope,” he lied. “I guess he rode on out of the country. I couldn’t find hide or hair of him.”

  “Sorry you missed him. He was camped down at the spring for the one night with his sidekick. Oh well, he’ll drift back this way some day. Most of the cowboys can’t stay away from this country after they get a taste of it,” he chuckled.

  “Could be,” Jake said, dropping money on the counter for his supplies and meals. “He always wanted more than he could handle though. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets everything he has coming to him.”

  The whiskey gave him a fair amount of renewed vigor, and after downing a big breakfast of ham and eggs, fixed by the Indian woman, he felt much better, though the wound gave him a lot of pain. He paid for his supplies, picked them up with a grimace and left the owner standing on the front porch scratching his head.

  He was not anxious to face a lawman if one came nosing around, so he had held his counsel, having told the trader nothing of what had taken place. It was really between him and Murdock. But, there were plenty of good folk along the rim that would vouch for what had happened, if the law ever got around to checking out the killings that had taken place there..

  It was a little past noon by the time he rode out and picked up Murdock’s trail. It led toward Phoenix. He had no desire to follow the man into an area where there was a lawman, but he had to try. He would deal with the law when the time came, but the first item on the agenda, was to kill Murdock when he found him. He found the trail again where the main trail led through Black Canyon on its way south from Fort Flagstaff and the trail from the trading post met.

  They were headed straight for Phoenix. He had to catch up with Murdock before he could reach the town and blend in with the populace, or find a hole to crawl into. He did not want to spend a lot of time looking for his quarry, nor did he want to take the chance that Murdock could escape into the Sonora to the southwest. He kept his mount plodding through the night, hoping Murdock would stop some place for the night, and he would catch up to him.

  Just before first light, he caught sight of the twinkling lights of buildings and knew he had his work cut out for him. Murdock had reached town. It would now be luck that would help him find the man and put an end to this war.

  His first thought was to find a doctor and have his wound taken care of properly. He had lost a lot of blood and the long ride of the last day and night had not done him any good. He walked his horse slowly down the street, his eyes darting from side to side, praying for a glimpse of the man he sought. Near the far end of the dusty thoroughfare, he spotted a sign that denoted a doctor and headed for it. He had to get some attention for this wound, it was bleeding rather badly and he could feel the weakness it was bringing with it.

  Dismounting gingerly and with a grimace of pain, he walked through the small wooden gate and up to the door of the house that the doctor called his office. It was a clean place inside, with the smell of medicine and disinfectant prevalent as soon as he opened the door. There was no one in sight, but the small bell above the door summoned a plump white-headed man from some place in the back.

  “Are you the doctor? Jake asked.

  “Yes, and I can see you need some attention to that wound. Is it a gunshot?” his voice was gentle as he asked the question.

  Jake nodded and sat on the chair the doctor motioned him to, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it out of his trousers. He winced in pain, as the doctor pulled the kerchief from the wound and probed around with his fingers. Taking off his glasses, the doctor shook his head.

  “You’re luckier than most mister,” he said with a shake of his head. “A fraction of an inch more and you would have taken a hit through an intestine. That would have cost you your life young man, before you could have ridden two miles, not to mention a great deal of pain.”

  “Can you take care of it for me?” Jake asked.

  “Sure thing! Just have to take a couple of stitches in the front and the back, where the bullet went through and put a clean bandage on it and you should be as good as new in a couple of days. That is, if you don’t do something foolish and tear the stitches loose.”

  The doctor held out a bottle of laudanum and said, “Here, take a drink of this. It will deaden the pain some.”

  Shaking his head, Jake said, “No thanks Doc. I prefer to keep a clear head. Got a might of work to do.”

  “All right. It’s your funeral,” he mumbled and ran a long cotton swab dipped in some sort of disinfectant through the hole the bullet had made and pinched the skin of the wound closed with two fingers, and pierced the flesh to one side with a long sharp needle.

  Jake grimaced with pain, as he felt the thread being pulled through his flesh, but he c
lenched his teeth against it, holding his breath against any outcry. The sensation was of a searing hot iron being drawn across his side, but it brought renewed alertness to his mind, which had been sluggish from the loss of blood. Keeping his right arm held high took a tremendous will, and he could see the admiration in the doctor’s face when he looked up to see how his patient was faring.

  “I’ve treated a lot of wounds in my day, but I have to admit that you got more guts than most of my patients. Most of the cowboys that come in here pass out when I run the swab through the wound, and you never heard such yelling and cursing as they do,” he mumbled as he worked at sewing up the front and moved to the exit wound.

  “You have quite a few scars. Do you make your living with a gun?” the doctor asked absently.

  “Nope, just been a might unlucky.”

  The doctor looked up from his sewing, but said nothing. This was a man with a strong will and plenty of grit, he thought. One thing he was sure of; this taciturn man sitting on the chair before him was searching for someone, and it was not someone he would stop searching for until he killed him. He would not want to be on the receiving end of the hatred this man carried in his heart, nor the drive that made him hunt a man with such a vengeance.

  “I think that will about do it,” the doctor said with finality, as he pinned the tight bandage around his waist. “I suggest you get a couple of days rest, eat plenty of fruit and just take it easy.”

  “Sounds good Doc. I’ll do that. Just as soon as I take care of a little unfinished business.”

  “That will be two dollars,” the doctor said, shaking his head again.

  Jake paid the man and thanked him for his trouble, then turned to leave. He could no more bring himself to give up his hut at this stage of the game than he could fly. Murdock had caused him too much pain and misery for him to stop now. It was all or nothing. The law was not even in his list of options the way he thought. True he wanted justice, but he would let Judge Colt do the presiding for him.