Six-Gun Serenade: A Porter Rockwell Adventure (Dark Trails Saga Book 0)

by David J. West

  Reynolds had blasted Kenny Ferguson twice dead center—he spun around from the Navy Colt’s impact and went face down on the floorboards. Reynolds next two shots hit Alex in the forearm and chest.

  Alex Ferguson dropped his gun and peered at his chest. There was a hole ruining his good Sunday shirt. He stared in shock at the hole, then a red river poured forth like a dam burst, drenching his clothes.

  Lily screamed as the Deertick and Smiling Jack slammed Alex Ferguson to the ground.

  Paiute Pete was still grinning.

  Reynolds looked to Pete, saying, “Obliged for the help.”

  Paiute Pete shrugged. “You had ’em.”

  “No problem,” muttered Smiling Jack, as he dusted himself off.

  “Aw shoot. T’weren’t much help Reynolds. You already kilt him too,” said the Deertick.

  “Both Ferguson boys are dead?” asked Spooner, adjusting his glasses. He looked over the bodies. “We can verify your predicament with the sheriff, Reynolds, but someone has got to tell the widow Ferguson and you know.”

  Reynolds was puzzled. “You know, what?”

  Spooner gestured like he was saying grace. “You know, deliver her their bodies. So she can give ‘em a proper burial and all. She’ll want them on their own property.”

  “All right. Who will go with me?”

  The silence inside the Pontoon Saloon was deafening.

  “Don’t everybody all volunteer at once,” cried Reynolds. “I’ve done every man here a dozen favors, pulled everyone’s collective hind end from the fire and this is the help I get?”

  “I did tackle Alex,” offered the Deertick.

  “He was already dead.”

  “He was still standing.”

  Reynolds chewed his beard. “The last thing I want to do is take that crotchety old widow her dead sons. Somebody?”

  “Here’s that fifteen dollars I owe ya,” said the Deertick.

  Reynolds reluctantly took the offered bills. “Anybody?”

  Spooner broke in, “I’m sorry, but you are the one who used up her sons. Ain’t nobody else gonna want to go up that canyon and give that witch the bad news. She might get mad and put the ‘Come Hither’ on ya.”

  Reynolds looked at Spooner and the rest of them. “Are you all afraid of that old woman putting a curse on you?”

  They all looked away.

  “You pack of hypocrites,” snarled Reynolds. “Least help me get ‘em loaded on the wagon.”

  ***

  Dusk was coming on fast and Reynolds gauged that he wasn’t quite halfway to the Ferguson homestead when rain threatened in the distance. The way the trees whipped in the wind Reynolds worried it could be a powerful storm. And circumstances what they were it wouldn’t do to ask shelter at an angry widows. Especially one that most folks said was a witch.

  He snapped the reins urging his horses on. The mesquite grew thick along the Muddy River and late spring growth already concealed the desert floor, at least for another month until the sun would blast it all away.

  Lightning flashed overhead and Saul Reynolds glanced uneasily at his cargo. He had covered the two dead men before setting out but the wind and bumping along in the wagon had uncovered them. He stopped a moment just as the first few fat raindrops fell and made their faces gleam unwholesome like in the moonlight.

  “Dumb sons a bitches didn’t have to go and make me do it,” he muttered.

  Rain fell harder now and he pondered turning his wagon around, when he saw a light up ahead shining through the mesquite and gloom. It bobbed to and fro and seemed like a lantern that a man might be carrying on a quick unsteady horse. He waited a moment to see whom it might be when just as it was about to come around the thicket it winked out.

  Puzzled he waited a moment longer sure that it would reappear and when it didn’t after a good long pause, he whipped the reins and cautiously went toward the final place it had been seen.

  The rain had turned the trail into a thoroughly muddy track and there was no sign of anyone having been on the trail. Surely prints would have been left but there were none.

  Reynolds was skittish now, he had some few enemies but to know that he would be out in the storm and at this lonely place seemed to be stretching his luck mighty thin. He guessed that someone had narrowly avoided the rain and turned back around and headed the other way, but who could be on this road but old Widow Ferguson herself? That didn’t seem a likely answer either but Reynolds kept an eye out for trouble as he continued down the muddy track.

  A quarter mile on up the canyon and he could see a dim light from the Ferguson’s cabin. No wonder no one wanted to go along with him, the storm, the bad news and the wrath of the old woman to come.

  Reynolds braced himself for hearing the worst from the old crone and whipped the reins to get it over with a little quicker.

  As he pulled into the yard he called out to let her know it was he and not her sons. A dog barked but there was no other reply. He called again louder but still no sound but the dogs inane yapping.

  The lamplight shone from the drawn window so Reynolds stepped cautious as could be and peered inside.

  Face down on the hard-packed dirt floor was the old woman.

  Reynolds went inside, ignoring the small barking dog. He felt for a pulse but the old woman was as dead as her sons. She was still warm enough that Reynolds couldn’t help but wonder at her passing being at almost the same time as her brood.

  “The sheriff is never gonna believe this,” he grumbled.

  Not knowing what else to do, he pulled the Ferguson boys out of the wagon, and left them all lying with their mother lying upon the bed. He fed the dog and then began the long wet trek back to Rioville.

  Coming back down the canyon he again saw the strange light bouncing through the mesquite and junipers near the spot he had seen it before. It made no sense. Who would be out here in a storm like this? He should have seen anyone who passed along the trail, but there weren’t any tracks. The light bounced along in the same vicinity until it vanished once again. He watched in the rain until he was sure there was no one there, and whipped the reins on his tired wet horses and went home to get some much needed rest.

  ***

  By morning, Reynolds explained to the Sheriff Roberts several times over what happened and was asked had ride back out to the Ferguson place and show him and Mortician Williams the bodies of the Ferguson family. This time Spooner went along too. They let the sheriff and mortician linger behind them in the morticians wagon a spell as they rode ahead some little ways to talk.

  I’m a little sore at you, Spoon.”

  “What for?”

  “When you pointed out those cards on the floor, that almost didn’t give me enough time to get the Ferguson’s. They almost got me.”

  “I’m sorry pal.”

  “And on top of that, I wasn’t cheating! Those were someone else’s cards!”

  “Aw yeah, about that . . .”

  Reynolds spun in his saddle and smacked Spooner in the arm. “You son of a bitch! I nearly got killed for your cheating! And on top of that, you made me kill the Ferguson’s!”

  “There a problem up there?” called the sheriff.

  “No,” answered Reynolds. “Just finding out some friends aren’t as good as they’re supposed to be.”

  Spooner gave a friendly grin, saying, “Aww don’t be like that, Saul. I’ll more than make things up to you. You’ll see.”

  Reynolds grunted at that. “Something else about last night. I saw some weird lights, right around this stretch of mesquite.” He pointed to the clump of large mesquite bushes near a bend in the road. The Muddy River curved here too, it was a strange spot that for a moment was closed off from the rest of the world.

  “Oh?” asked Spooner lazily.

  “It was strange. They moved right around this spot, but I never saw nobody.”

  Spooner perked up. “So you’re telling me that you saw lights, bouncing around the brush and trees right here last nig
ht? Twice?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Well that makes a lot of sense now that I think of it,” said Spooner.

  “You getting smart with me?”

  “No, no. Talk had been going around for a spell that them Ferguson boys had robbed a rich Mexican somewhere down toward Las Vegas and that they brought the gold back up here and hid it until they were sure that they were in the clear.”

  “Don’t seem likely they would have the patience for waiting. Especially if they must have bragged about it enough for you to have heard about it They’ve been near poor as church mice the last few months too.”

  “Well that’s good cover ain’t it?”

  “Maybe, but why out here by the river?”

  “Simple, they couldn’t have it on their property, but close by so’s they could still keep an eye on it. Yes, sir, you saw the Money Light and it must be right near this bend in the road.”

  Reynolds scowled. “Naw. They weren’t smart enough to keep their mouths shut if they had any real amount of loot.”

  “Weren’t smart enough,” corrected Spooner. “But their Momma was and she had them keeping quiet all this time. Now that she’s gone and the Money Light is shining, we got to go and find that treasure.”

  “Money Light huh? What makes a Money Light?”

  “Why cursed treasure that’s what,” answered Spooner, incredulous. “Lots of gold, I’m sure.”

  “Cursed treasure? Why would I want cursed treasure?”

  “Why because it’s still treasure of course! Ya damn fool.”

  Reynolds gave Spooner a dark look for calling him a fool, and Spooner eased back in his saddle with his hands up saying, “I’m sorry. I take it all back.”

  “How come I’m the only one that’s seen it?”

  “I reckon because you’re the only one that’s passed by the hiding spot at night since they up and died.”

  “They didn’t up and die, I shot ‘em.”

  “True enough, but still they are a haunting this spot causing that Money Light and we need to get that treasure afore anyone else see’s it.”

  Saul Reynolds rubbed his jaw and pondered a long moment as the sheriff and mortician caught up to them.

  “Are we almost there yet?” asked the mortician.

  “Yup, almost there,” answered Reynolds.

  “Say this isn’t gonna take too long is it?” asked Spooner. “I’ve got things to do.”

  “Why you got somewhere to be all of a sudden?” asked the sheriff, pointedly.

  “No, no, just I ain’t looking forward to seeing their dead bodies is all.”

  The sheriff grunted at that.

  Rounding the bend and climbing up the low hill, Reynolds wagon tracks from the night before were plain in the road leaving big ruts that were starting to bake dry in the morning sun. The weathered cabin sat at the top of the hill looking like a squared skull against the red hills beyond.

  Inside the dog still yapped. The sheriff looked at Reynolds. “You left the dog in there?” he asked.

  “Yeah, what was I gonna do with it?”

  The sheriff frowned but dismounted and went inside the cabin. He was only inside a moment before he ducked back outside quickly and drew his gun. “Throw down your six-gun, Reynolds.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I can plainly see what you did here last night and you won’t get away with it. You’ve been bullying around these parts for too long and I’ve had enough.”

  “What are you talking about?” snarled Reynolds, though he did as the sheriff asked, taking off his gun belt and handing it to the mortician. “Spooner, what’s he on about?”

  Spooner shrugged but dismounted and went inside the cabin. When he came back out his face was pale. “Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

  “About what? I told you everything, ya drunk.”

  Peering inside the mortician looked back at Reynolds and said gravely, “You have a lot to atone for.”

  Reynold dismounted and walked toward the cabin with his hands raised to ease the sheriff who allowed him to pass by slowly and look inside again himself.

  Inside the cabin had been torn apart. Sections of the dirt floor had even been dug up and the hearth bricks were ripped out. The bodies which Reynolds had left respectfully on the bed, were now tossed one atop the other on the ground and old Mother Ferguson had multiple bullet wounds.

  “She wasn’t like that last night when I left!” protested Reynolds.

  “A body only bleeds like that when it’s still warm,” argued the sheriff. “I’ve heard all the rumors. Did you tear apart the cabin looking for their rumored treasure?”

  “All right, look sheriff, I told you she was still warm, but I sure didn’t do any desecrating like that. Tell ‘em Spooner, I’ve done a lot of things in my time but I ain’t never disrespected a corpse. And I didn’t tear apart their cabin looking for any damned treasure. I only heard about that from Spooner just a few minutes ago.”

  Spooner backed away with his hands raised again, “Leave me out of this one.”

  Sheriff Roberts continued, “I think everyone in the valley had heard about it. Just admit it.”

  “Honest, I had nothing to do with this business. I was just trying to return the boys to their mother.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” answered Spooner. “Did she try to throw down on you first?”

  “No! She was already dead!”

  The sheriff spoke sarcastically, “So your story is someone did this after you were here last night. In the middle of a thunder storm?”

  “Yes.”

  “Seems mighty unlikely,” said the mortician.

  “Well, I was seeing some strange lights last night, there must have been someone else around and about,” said Reynolds.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

  “Shut up,” said Spooner. “Don’t tell ‘em nothing more til you get to a courthouse.”

  “Quiet you,” insisted the sheriff. “What about these lights?”

  “They were queer. Bobbing up and down, close to the river down by that thick patch of mesquite. I thought it was a man with a lantern but I never saw nobody. Spooner here thinks I saw a Money Light.”

  Spooner broke in, “Were you drunk? Angry with her?”

  “I didn’t do it!”

  “I’m not gonna tell you again, Spooner,” said the sheriff with a stern look. “Go on,” he said to Reynolds.

  “I don’t have anything else to tell you, I saw weird lights before making it to the cabin and after. Someone else must have been out here. Maybe the man that the Ferguson’s robbed for all I know, back to get his revenge and gold back.”

  The sheriff had a look of doubt, and a masked smirk behind his stoic face. Reynolds wondered if he was the butt-end of a horrible joke.

  Sheriff Robert’s said, “That’s mighty interesting, but it doesn’t explain why there aren’t any other tracks in the mud out here. There’s only your wagon tracks. And I’m inclined to think you had a grudge with the Ferguson’s.”

  Reynolds propped his hat back on his head, hoping someone would say they knew this was all just a terrible misunderstanding, but the other three men just looked at him cold. Frustrated, Reynolds raised his voice, “I’m telling you the truth sheriff, you can’t take it or not, but I did not desecrate those bodies and I did not tear up their homestead looking for some rumored treasure.”

  The mortician audibly tisked at Reynolds before he broke in to the sheriff, “I ought to look at them a bit more and see if I can find any other clues.”

  The sheriff nodded. “I’m sorry Saul, but until we can know for sure you’re the prime suspect.”

  Reynolds cursed, then said, “If I had done anything like that to the old woman, I wouldn’t have told you to come out here and look in on them would I?”

  The sheriff furrowed his brow at that. “Maybe not. Lessen you thought it would help you get away with it.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” proteste
d Reynolds. “I’m trying to do the right thing and it only bites me in the butt.”

  Spooner nodded his head in an agreeable fashion. “That’s right, sheriff. In the butt.”

  “Quiet you. You shouldn’t a tried to keep this Money Light business to yourself,” snapped the sheriff.

  The mortician stuck his head out the door and frowned at Reynolds saying, “These bullet holes are from a 45 colt, just like Mr. Reynolds carries.”

  “You mean the boys? Sure, I admit I killed them. They threw down first though. Everyone witnessed that down at the Pontoon Saloon.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “And the old woman?”

  “Check his gun belt,” said Spooner. “You’ll see he’s telling the truth.”

  “How many bullets left in your gun belt, Reynolds?” asked the sheriff.

  Reynolds shrugged.

  The mortician picked up the gun belt and silently counted. “Looks like you’re missing just the right amount.”

  “This ain’t right. I’m being set out to dry,” said Reynolds. “Damnit Spooner, tell him I didn’t even know about that stolen gold or what a Money Light is.”

  Spooner shrugged at him, looked at the sheriff and said, “He’s a good lad, take it easy on him, will ya?”

  Reynolds clenched his fists.

  “You best make this easy on yourself,” said the sheriff. “Don’t resist.”

  “I’m innocent of any wrongdoing here.”

  The sheriff said, “Turn around and let me put the irons on you.”

  Reynolds looked to his horse just a few steps away but the sheriff had his gun out in a flash. “Running only tells me you’re guilty. Hands behind your back, son.”

  Reynolds complied saying, “I ain’t guilty, but I sure ain’t pleased at the way this all looks.”

  The mortician sniffed again as he wiped at his spectacles. “Ain’t guilty sure isn’t innocent.”

  Reynolds sneered at him. “You old buzzard, thinking you can judge me?”

  “Easy,” said the sheriff. “You’re only making things worse with that kind of talk.”

  “Don’t you worry, Saul. I’m gonna find you the best lawyer I can,” said Spooner.

  “I don’t think I want any more of your help today, friend,” said Reynolds.