The Alamosa Trail

by Ralph Compton

  Outside the saloon at that moment, Will Shardeen had just ridden into town. The outlaw dismounted, then tied his horse off at the hitching rack in front of the saloon. Tired, filthy, and dispirited, he showed the results of several days of hard riding.

  As Shardeeen stepped up onto the wooden porch in front of the saloon, he pulled a handful of change from his pocket. In the palm of his dirty hand, he counted forty-three cents. Barely the price of two drinks. It was fairly obvious that he was going to have to do something to get some more money, and he was going to have to do it very soon.

  The saloon wasn’t terribly busy inside. Two men, both teamsters, were standing at the bar. As they drank their beer, they engaged each other in an argument about the relative merits of mules versus draft horses. A card game was in progress at one table, while at another, a cowboy with no money tried to talk a soiled dove into taking him on credit. In the back of the room, Shardeen saw one man alone playing a game of solitaire. From the jerky awkwardness of his movements as he manipulated the cards, it was easy to see that he was drunk.

  Shardeen never entered any saloon without a careful appraisal of everyone present. He knew that there was paper out on him. In addition, he had made many enemies during his lifetime and he was well aware that at any bar, anywhere, one of these enemies might be waiting to strike.

  Deciding that the saloon was safe, he slapped a coin down on the bar. “Whiskey,” he said in a low, guttural grunt.

  Smiling a greeting at his new customer, the barkeep poured a glass, then brought it down to Shardeen. As he approached, the smile left his face, and he turned up his nose in disgust at encountering Shardeen’s fetid odor. Years of tending bar, however, had prepared him for such unpleasantness, and without uttering a disparaging word, he picked up the coin.

  “Who’s the drunk in the back of the room?” Shardeen asked.

  The thought had crossed Shardeen’s mind that the drunk might be someone he could lure out into the alley and relieve of any money he might be carrying.

  “That there is Clay Allison,” the barkeep replied, as he recorked the bottle.

  Shardeen reacted in surprise, and he looked again at the lone card player.

  “Clay Allison? Are you sure?”

  “I’ve known him for a long time,” the barkeep said. “That’s Clay Allison.”

  Shardeen lifted the glass to his lips. “I didn’t know he was a drunk.”

  “He don’t stay drunk all the time,” the barkeep replied. “But when he does get drunk, he is something to behold.” The bartender laughed. “Not long ago, the dentist pulled the wrong tooth, so Allison got even with him by pulling a few of the dentist’s teeth in return.”

  Shardeen laughed. “He pulled the dentist’s teeth? That’s a good one, all right.”

  “Yes, sir, folks round here got themselves a good laugh out of it. Only it ain’t worked out all that good for Allison. Turns out the dentist is suin’ Allison for ten thousand dollars. And most folks is thinkin’ that Doc Chidister is goin’ to get the money he’s goin’ after, seein’ as there’s no doubt that Allison really did pull them teeth.”

  “You say the dentist is suin’ Allison for ten thousand dollars? Has Allison got that kind of money?”

  “He’s got that and a lot more besides,” the barkeep answered.

  “I thought he was nothin’ more than a gunfighter. How’d he come by money like that?”

  “Ranchin’, I suppose,” the barkeep replied. “I hear tell he’s got him a herd of horses comin’ up from Mexico way. Five hundred head, they’re sayin’, and he aims to sell that herd to the army for fifty dollars a head.”

  “Fifty dollars a head? I ain’t none too good at cipherin’,” Shardeen said. “How much money would that be?”

  “Twenty-five thousand dollars,” the barkeep answered.

  Shardeen had never seen anything close to that much money. He wasn’t sure he could even imagine how much that was.

  He turned his back to the bar and looked again at Allison, studying him over the rim of his glass. So this was the famous gunman? Well, the famous gunfighter didn’t look like so much now.

  After a gunfight, when Shardeen was the only one standing, he was sometimes compared to Clay Allison. Some said he was nearly as fast as Allison, some said he was as fast. Others had hinted that he was even faster.

  For a long time now, Shardeen had wondered how he would stack up against the legend. He had always wanted to try the famous gunman, and he began thinking about it, contemplating a scenario in which he would come face-to-face with him while Allison was in his present condition. It would be an easy way to gain a reputation as the man who shot Clay Allison.

  On the other hand, if he did that, he might be killing the goose that laid the golden eggs. If Clay Allison was about to get twenty-five thousand dollars, Shardeen planned on finding some way to get his hands on all that money. He turned back to the bar with a small smile on his face. Maybe things were beginning to look up after all. Ordering another drink, Shardeen began thinking about what he would do with twenty-five thousand dollars.

  Even as he was thinking of the grand prize, he began to wonder how he was going to survive the next few days. He was going to have to find some money, somewhere, soon.

  At that moment, a young cowboy came into the saloon and stood just inside the door for a few seconds, looking around the room. Finally he saw what he was looking for. Clay Allison.

  “Mr. Allison,” the cowboy called, starting toward him.

  “Who’s the ranny?” Shardeen asked.

  “That’s Billy Proxmire,” the barkeep replied. “He’s one of Allison’s cowboys.”

  “What do you want, Billy?” Allison asked, not bothering to look up from his game of solitaire.

  “Mr. Allison, I expect you better come back out to the ranch,” Billy said. “There’s likely to be some trouble.”

  Allison stared hard at the young cowboy, trying to focus, though the fact that he had been drunk for the last twenty-four hours made any kind of concentration difficult. His eyes appeared to swim in their sockets.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Your brother-in-law is here.”

  “Jason Wilson? What’s that no-account son of a bitch want?”

  Billy cleared his throat. It was obvious that he was about to tell his boss something that Allison wasn’t going to want to hear.

  “Uh, Mr. Wilson says you are embarrassin’ the entire family by all your drinkin’ and car ryin’ on, and he plans to put a stop to it.”

  “Oh, he did, did he? And did he tell you just how he plans to do that?”

  Billy cleared his throat again. “Uh, yes, sir. He said he was going to beat some sense into you.”

  “Well, now, we’ll just see who is going to beat some sense into who,” Clay said, standing so quickly that he tipped his chair over. Angrily, he started toward the front door, but he was so drunk that he reeled as he went, falling into one table, lurching into another. “Get out of my way!” he shouted.

  “Mr. Allison, you want to take my horse?” Billy called after him.

  “Don’t need it,” Clay answered. “I drove the buckboard in.”

  “Yes, sir, I know you did. But I’d feel better if you’d take my horse back to the ranch. Or better yet, why don’t you let me drive you back?”

  Clay stopped at the front door and looked back toward Billy. A mocking snarl caused Clay’s lips to curl. “What are you trying to say, boy? That I can’t drive a buckboard?”

  “No, sir, I’m not saying that. I mean, I know you can,” Billy replied. “But you have had a few drinks and it might be easier on you if you would let me drive.”

  Clay belched. “The day I let a little pissant like you drive me around is the day I’ll hang up my spurs for good.”

  Shardeen had followed the entire exchange between Clay and Billy with interest. As the rancher and his anxious employee left the saloon, Shardeen moved to the front door to be able to follow them from th
ere.

  Shardeen had parked the buckboard in the wagon yard across the street and about halfway down the block. He was so drunk that he could barely walk, lurching down the street as he made his way toward the wagon yard, staggering from side to side.

  For a brief moment, Shardeen considered stepping out into the street and calling him out. He could kill Allison easily, and no one could accuse him of not facing the other man fair and square in the street. But as much as he wanted the reputation such an act would give him, he wanted the money more.

  When Clay Allison reached his buckboard, he stopped for a minute and began retching. After a few dry heaves, he threw up by the back wheel of the buckboard. Then, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he untied the team and climbed in.

  To Shardeen’s surprise, Clay didn’t sit down. Instead he stood just in front of the seat and steered the team out of the yard. Once they were clear of the yard, he picked up a whip and snapped it over their heads, urging them into a gallop.

  “No, Mr. Allison, sit down!” Billy called.

  Clay shot a glance toward Billy. “I don’t intend to let that no-account brother-in-law get away from me,” Clay shouted as the team galloped by, the buckboard swaying and bouncing behind the team.

  At the intersection of Main and Front, a boardwalk had been laid across the street to enable men and women to cross without soiling their trouser cuffs or skirt hems. The team leaped over the boards, but the front wheels of the buckboard hit it at an angle. Suddenly the wagon lurched violently, and Clay Allison was tossed off.

  “Mr. Allison!” Billy shouted in warning, running toward him.

  Clay flew through the air, flailing wildly with his hands. He hit the ground head-first.

  Shardeen watched as Billy ran toward his boss, but Clay Allison’s motionless form lay in a grotesquely twisted position in the muck and the mire of Front Street. It was obvious to everyone that he had broken his neck. Clay Allison, a man who had faced many a gunman in desperate fights, lay crumpled in the street, dead from a simple accident.

  Shardeen just smiled.

  Chapter 18

  The boys were in pretty high spirits. They were two weeks on the trail, heading back home. The horses, though only recently broken, were well under control. Jim was riding point, Gene had the left flank, Barry the right, while Frank brought up the rear.

  The women were helping as well, Jim having positioned them so that their mere presence would help keep the herd moving in the right direction. To do this, he put Brenda on the left and Marilou on the right. Katie was riding with him, and it was she who made the observation that her two daughters had changed places with each other, Marilou switching to the left while Brenda shifted to the right.

  “Why did they do that?” Jim asked. “They didn’t like where I put them?”

  “It’s not that they didn’t like where you put them—it’s that they had their own preference as to who you put them with,” Katie replied. “Mar ilou prefers Gene, while Brenda is partial to Barry.”

  Jim chuckled. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, you’ve been so busy getting the horses ready to drive back home that you haven’t been paying any attention to the budding romances.”

  “Oh, wait a minute. This isn’t good. If your daughters start pairing off with Gene and Barry, where does that leave Frank?”

  “Sorry I don’t have a third daughter,” Katie said. “But I guess Frank will just have to be on his own.”

  “Yeah, I suppose so,” Jim answered. “But he’s a mite older than the other two. If he and I sort of get left out of this, I reckon we’ll do all right.”

  “What makes you think you are being left out?” Katie asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jim. Are you completely blind to what’s going on around you? Do you think your seeing me bathing that day was an accident?”

  Jim paused for a moment before he answered. “I wasn’t sure it actually happened,” he finally said.

  “What?”

  “I thought maybe I dreamed it,” Jim explained.

  Katie laughed out loud. “Well, tell me this, Mr. Jim Robison. Did you think it was a pleasant dream? Or was it a nightmare?”

  “Oh, it was the best dream I ever had,” Jim replied. “Better than the best dream, since now I know it wasn’t a dream at all, that I really did see you nak—that is, I mean uh . . .” He paused, blushing in embarrassment.

  Katie laughed again and put her hand on Jim’s arm. “Maybe you’ll have that dream again sometime soon,” she suggested.

  Katie’s suggestive remarks, though welcomed by Jim, did make him uneasy, and he looked around quickly to make certain there was no one to overhear them.

  “What are you looking around for? Are you afraid someone might have ridden up here just to listen to what we were talking about?”

  “No, I, uh, was just wondering when Ortega would be getting back with our fresh supplies,” Jim lied.

  Ortega wasn’t coming back with supplies. He was in Chihuahua at that very moment, meeting with Capitán Eduardo Bustamante.

  “You say you know where the men who committed the murders in Escalon are,” Bustamante said.

  “Sí,” Ortega said. “There is a reward for them, is there not?”

  “A very large reward,” Bustamante answered. “But I am sure, Senor, that you are not providing the information only for the reward. You are doing it for the love of justice, are you not?”

  “Sí,” Ortega replied. “I am doing it for the love of justice and my country.”

  And the fact that, with the others dead, the herd of horses would be his, Ortega thought, though he dared not say the words aloud.

  “What do you think happened to Ortega?” Frank asked as they were ready to break camp the next morning.

  “I don’t know,” Jim replied. “He should’ve been back two or three days ago.”

  “Maybe the law got him,” Gene suggested.

  “Why would the law get Ortega?” Katie asked.

  “When we were coming down here, we found a dodger on him,” Jim said. “He claimed it was for someone else who was also named Hector Ortega. He said that was a very common name in these parts.”

  “But none of us believed him,” Barry said.

  “Yeah, we all figured it was him,” Gene added.

  “Jim, we’re going to need to know one way or the other if the law got him,” Frank said. “ ’Cause if he’s been caught, then we’re goin’ to have to get our own supplies. As it is, we don’t have enough to even make it back to the border, let alone all the way up to Colorado.”

  “I know,” Jim said.

  “If you’d like, I could ride on ahead, see what I can find out,” Frank suggested. “And if I can’t find him, I’ll buy the supplies myself.”

  Jim stroked his chin. “I don’t know, Frank. That could be a little risky,” he said. “I’m not that keen on the idea of one of us separatin’ from the others.”

  “Frank’s right about one thing. We’re going to have to have more supplies soon,” Katie said. “We are almost out of everything.”

  “It may be risky,” Frank said. “But I figure I’m as good a choice to take the chance as anyone. You might not have noticed, but our other two pards here have sorta fell in love. And I reckon you’re a mite interested in Miz Katie yourself. That leaves me as the only one unattached, so to speak.”

  “Frank, listen. We didn’t plan on nothin’ like this,” Gene started.

  But Frank chuckled, and held up his hand to interrupt him. “Don’t you boys be worryin’ none about me,” he said. “I’m fine with the idea. Truth to tell, I’m not ready to settle down with any one woman yet. I kinda like the sportin’ girls that you find in the saloons. Uh, no offense meant to you and your daughters, Miz Katie.”

  Katie laughed. “No offense taken, Frank.”

  “So what about it, Jim? Shall I go on ahead this morning and see what I can find out about Ortega? Or do you w
ant me to just forget about Ortega and get some supplies?”

  Jim sighed. “One of us should go on ahead and find out what’s going on,” he said. “But I think I’m the one who should go.”

  “Why you and not me?” Frank asked.

  “Because like it or not, I’ve taken on the role of leadin’ this band of ragtag cowboys,” Jim answered. “And I wouldn’t be much of a leader if I sent someone else out to do what I should do myself.”

  “Jim, you’re the leader, that’s true,” Katie said. “So don’t you think your job should be here, with us?”

  Jim shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he answered. “And you don’t, either. You just want me here because you’re worryin’ about me.”

  “Perhaps I am worrying about you. Is that so bad?” Katie asked.

  Jim smiled. “No, ma’am. I don’t reckon there’s anything at all bad about that. I sorta like someone worryin’ about me. But this is somethin’ I’ve got to do.”

  “But why . . . ?” Katie started.

  “Don’t try to stop him, Miz Katie,” Frank said. “I’d rather go myself, but I know what Jim is talking about. If he stayed back now and let me go, he’d never feel right about it—especially if anything happened to me.”

  “Frank understands,” Jim said. “I hope you do, too.”

  Katie nodded silently. Then she said, “Please promise me to be careful.”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Jim said. “I intend to be extra careful. I like the way things are turnin’ out between us.”

  It was late afternoon and Jim was several miles ahead of the trail outfit when the shot sounded. The crack of the rifle and the deadly whine of lead searing the air reached Jim’s ears simultaneously. Only luck saved him. He had hunched forward in the saddle for a moment to adjust his rump just as the shot was fired. The bullet whizzed right by where his head had been an instant before.