Confessions of a Gunfighter (The Landon Saga Book 1)

by Tell Cotten

  “You can’t figure on that,” he replied patiently. “In fact, I can almost guarantee you that it will happen again, sooner or later.”

  “Just who are you, anyway?” I asked, suddenly very curious. “You look like a cow-puncher, but you sure don’t talk like one.”

  “My name’s Kinrich. Ben Kinrich.”

  He studied me closely, to see if I recognized the name.

  I recognized the name, all right.

  Soon as he said it I coughed violently. Coffee spewed out of my nose and mouth, and I dropped my plate.

  Chapter fourteen

  Ben Kinrich was a household name, but for all the wrong reasons.

  He was the legendary leader of a band of outlaws, and they robbed pay rolls, trains, banks, and stole horses all throughout the west.

  It was also known that Kinrich did feel some sympathy for the South, and after the war he mainly just wreaked havoc on Northerners and Unionists. But still, Northerners and Southerners alike were real scared of him.

  And here I was, having breakfast with him.

  Kinrich watched my coughing fit with a wry smile.

  “I take it you’ve heard of me,” he said.

  “I’ve heard of you,” I said between coughs.

  “And I’m sure what you’ve heard ain’t been so good,” he added.

  “You could say that,” I managed to say.

  “Well, I reckon most what you’ve heard is probably true,” Kinrich admitted. “But take my word for it, Button; it ain’t as bad as it sounds.”

  He cleared his throat and continued.

  “You see, things are just different out here. Back east there are laws made for people to live and abide by, but now that the Texas Rangers have been broke up there ain’t much law out west except for in the bigger towns, and them’s mainly just Yankees anyway. Instead, out west men make up their own rules, and it’s up to them, and only them, to enforce ’em.”

  I thought about that and looked up at him.

  “Is that what Tom Benson did, making up his own rules when he sabotaged our wagon?”

  Kinrich frowned in thought, and then smiled wickedly.

  “You could say so, I reckon. Course, his mistake was that he didn’t enforce his rules good enough. You did.”

  He went back to smiling that boyish smile, and it made me warm back up to him a little.

  “But don’t you kill innocent folks?” I wanted to know.

  “It happens, but it’s rare. And, when something does happen it’s usually those good for nothing Yankees anyway. But I do go out of my way not to kill good folks, and that’s the truth, Button. Robbing folks is one thing, but you kill the wrong feller and their kinfolk will hunt you from here to Mexico.”

  It took a minute for it all to sink in.

  “If you’re really Ben Kinrich,” I said after a bit, “then where’s all your men?”

  “After each job we split up and lay low for a while,” Kinrich explained. “I always pick the next job in advance, and before we split up I tell the boys when and where to meet up again.”

  “And you really want me to ride with you?” I asked. “Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Kinrich replied as he rubbed his stubbled chin. “I reckon I just like the looks of you. And besides, if you don’t come with me you won’t last much longer. You’ll either starve or Injuns will get you.”

  He had a point, but I was still hesitant to go with him.

  Kinrich helped me make up my mind.

  “Tell you what, Button. I’m heading to a little valley that nobody knows about but me. I have a little shack there that I usually hide out in when I’m between jobs, and I’m going there now to stay put for four months. You can stay with me there, and by the time I have to leave you should know enough to get along on your own. Now, how does that sound?”

  I really had no choice.

  “Sounds good,” I replied.

  “Good!” Kinrich said, and he flashed me a grin.

  Now that everything was settled, Kinrich poured himself another cup of coffee and leaned back. His face was real thoughtful looking.

  “There’s one thing you told me that doesn’t add up right,” he said.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “How many wagons did you say was in that wagon train?”

  I told him.

  “It doesn’t seem right,” he frowned. “Here lately Injuns have been attacking everything they’ve been seeing. Many wagons as you said, those Injuns have to know about ’em. I wonder what’s been keeping ’em from attacking.”

  “You’re asking the wrong feller,” I shrugged.

  “See anything peculiar about that wagon train?” Kinrich wanted to know.

  I thought on that.

  “There was a wagon that stayed off by themselves all the time,” I finally replied. “Three men, and a feller named Jones was the leader. Pa didn’t like the looks of ’em.”

  “Jones his first name or last name?” Kinrich asked.

  “Don’t know. That’s just what Pa called him.”

  “Hmm,” Kinrich said thoughtfully. “I’ll bet it’s his last name.”

  “Could be,” I said.

  “Button, let me tell you a little secret,” Kinrich leaned forward. “Never trust a man that’s named ‘Mr. Smith’ or ‘Mr. Jones.’”

  “I’ll remember that,” I nodded.

  After that we didn’t talk. Kinrich just sat there, and he looked to be deep in thought as he finished his cup of coffee.

  “Tell you what, Button,” Kinrich finally said. “I think I know what this Mr. Jones is up to. Before we go to my valley, let’s take us a little detour.”

  “I don’t think I should go back to that wagon train,” I replied nervously. “They want to hang me, remember?”

  “You’ll be fine,” Kinrich waved a hand at me. “You’re with me now.”

  I wasn’t so sure, but Kinrich had made up his mind. He doused out the fire with the leftover coffee and stood.

  We packed up camp. After that we saddled our horses, and it was then that Kinrich noticed my ivory handled Colt.

  “Say there! For a youngster you sure are carrying a mighty fancy pistol,” he said, and his eyes were lit up.

  “You ain’t the first person that’s said that,” I smiled weakly.

  “I can see why,” Kinrich said.

  He asked to see it, so I handed it over.

  Kinrich studied my six-shooter long and hard, and when he finally gave it back I could tell that he was a mite envious of it.

  I told Kinrich about Slim missing a shoe, and luckily he had an extra shoe with him. He tacked it on, and then we rode out, with Kinrich leading the way.

  Chapter fifteen

  With Kinrich being wounded we had to ride slow, and it took us four days to catch up with the wagons.

  I found out real quick that Ben Kinrich was a very peculiar man. His moods changed like the wind. One minute he’d be laughing and joking, and the next he’d be dark and gloomy.

  The first night we made camp Kinrich rummaged through his pack, and then he walked over to me.

  “Here’s some extra bedding you can use,” he handed me some blankets. “I don’t mind sharing my bed from time to time, but I’d rather it not become a habit.”

  “These’ll do just fine,” I said with a sheepish grin.

  I was worried what would happen when we caught up with the wagons, but to my relief we didn’t ride up to them. Instead, we sat a-horseback on a ridge and watched them from a-far.

  They were strung out in a long line, and Kinrich counted out loud.

  “Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two-,” Kinrich paused and shot me an amused look. “One wagon short, Button. Want to make a bet which wagon’s gone?”

  “The Jones’ wagon?”

  “I’d bet my boots on it.”

  Kinrich kicked up his horse, and we left the ridge. We rode in behind the wagons, and Kinrich pulled up when we reached the wagon tracks.

  “W
e’ll backtrack these tracks and find where they peeled off,” Kinrich said.

  He took off in a slow trot, and I followed.

  “I hope we don’t lose those tracks like I did,” I said.

  “We won’t.”

  “What if the wind blows?” I asked.

  “Won’t make much difference,” Kinrich replied. “You can follow a wagon track for months after they’ve been made. You just didn’t know what you were doing.”

  His remark stung, but I shrugged and got over it. At the time he was a better tracker than I was, so he would know better.

  Kinrich kept up the pace until midday, and then he pulled up abruptly.

  I wasn’t paying attention, and I almost ran into him.

  “Lookie there,” he pointed at the ground.

  I squinted as I looked down.

  “I don’t see anything,” I finally said.

  Kinrich sighed and shook his head. He dismounted, squatted on his heels, and pointed it out to me.

  A wagon had left the wagon train, going south.

  Kinrich climbed back on his horse.

  “Now, why would anybody leave the safety of a wagon train when they’re in the middle of Injun country?” He asked.

  I got the feeling that he really wasn’t talking to me, so I kept silent.

  We fell in with the wagon tracks. We rode slower, and Kinrich’s head moved constantly as he scanned the country out in front of us.

  “Always look ahead when you’re traveling, Button,” he told me. “Look for sudden movements, or for things that just don’t look right.”

  I nodded.

  “And never top out on a hill where Injuns can see you from a long ways off. Instead, always stick to the low ground.”

  I nodded again.

  “Make it a habit, and before long you won’t even think about it. You’ll just do it natural like.”

  After that Kinrich didn’t say much. He was being real careful, and every once in a while he would pull up and take a long look around.

  I couldn’t figure out what he was looking for.

  Finally, I asked him, “You expecting somebody?”

  “Nope.”

  I waited for him to explain, but he never did.

  We made camp that night in a deep draw. Kinrich didn’t want the light of a fire, so after we tended to our horses we sat there in the dark and chewed on some jerky that Kinrich had.

  “Judging from the tracks, we should catch ’em tomorrow,” Kinrich told me.

  I was still confused as to what was going on, so I tried to make some sense of the situation.

  “Why are we tracking them down?” I asked.

  For a long time Kinrich didn’t answer. I started to wonder if he’d heard me, but finally he looked up.

  “Think back, Button, to when your Pa was killed. Were those Injuns shooting arrows or bullets?”

  I thought back.

  “Well, there was a lot of shooting going on. You think they had rifles?”

  “More’n likely,” Kinrich said, and his voice sounded angry. “More and more Injuns keep showing up with rifles, raiding and killing us Southern folks.”

  “How do they get the rifles?”

  “Comancheros.”

  “Comancheros?” I asked.

  “Yep. They trade rifles, knifes, and whiskey to the Injuns,” Kinrich explained.

  “And you think Mr. Jones is a Comanchero?”

  “I do,” Kinrich replied with a curt nod. “I figure that’s why those Injuns haven’t attacked the wagon train.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said as I thought it over. “But how does this concern us?”

  Kinrich’s voice hardened.

  “There ain’t anything lower than trading rifles to the Injuns, Button. Every last one of ’em should be dragged to the nearest tree and hung.”

  “Most folks feel the same way ’bout bank robbers,” I added.

  Kinrich frowned, but didn’t reply.

  Chapter sixteen

  We found them the next day.

  It was midafternoon. Kinrich and I were sitting a-horseback up on a ridge, and we were well hidden in some trees.

  Below us, about a quarter of a mile, was the Jones’ wagon. They were camped beside a stream, and they looked to be in no hurry to go anywhere.

  Kinrich sat there for a good hour. He never said a word, and his face was thoughtful as he studied the land before us.

  I started to get restless, but I knew not to say anything.

  “Nice layout,” Kinrich finally said. “See that big bunch of cottonwood trees on the other side of the wagon?”

  I looked and nodded.

  “After it gets dark, we could sneak right up to ’em if’n we were quiet enough.”

  “Specially if they sleep as hard as you do,” I said.

  Kinrich’s face stiffened.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was just joking,” I said.

  “Weren’t funny.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence, and then Kinrich turned his horse and led out.

  “Come on. Let’s circle in behind ’em before dark.”

  I kicked up Slim and followed after him.

  Kinrich didn’t say a word until after it had gotten dark, and by then we had circled in behind them. We pulled up in a low spot that was surrounded by trees, and Kinrich dismounted slowly and rubbed his shoulder gingerly.

  “You all right?” I asked worriedly.

  “I’m fine,” Kinrich replied, and added sharply, “And keep your voice down. Voice travels far on a clear night like this, and we ain’t too far from ’em.”

  “Sorry,” I lowered my voice.

  Kinrich pulled out his six-shooter and made sure it was loaded right.

  “Stay here, Button. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  “Can’t I come with you?” I spoke quickly.

  Kinrich holstered his six-shooter and shot me an odd look.

  “Don’t you want to stay here where it’s safe?”

  “I’d rather come with you,” I replied.

  Kinrich frowned as he thought on that, and then he shrugged.

  “Come along then. But make sure and tie your horse good and tight. We don’t want him wandering off.”

  I tied Slim to a tree and followed after Kinrich.

  “Walk slow and quiet now,” he told me.

  I nodded, and we crept from tree to tree.

  I was nervous. My heart beat wildly, and my arms were shaking.

  It seemed like forever, but finally we could make out the wagon. It was directly in front of us, and their horses were off to the right.

  I noticed that one of the horses was still saddled. I looked at Kinrich and pointed, and he nodded when he saw it.

  From the campfire a man suddenly stood, and Kinrich and I melted to the ground.

  The man had his back to us, and he turned and walked over to the horse. He mounted up and looked at the other two men.

  The moon was shining just right, and I got a good look at him.

  It was Mr. Jones.

  “I’m riding out to meet ’em,” we could hear him say. “I should be back later tonight or tomorrow.”

  His two companions nodded, and Mr. Jones kicked up his horse and rode out.

  “Was that Jones?” Kinrich asked in a whisper.

  I didn’t trust my voice to be soft, so I just nodded.

  I could see the disappointment in Kinrich’s face.

  After that we stayed still while Kinrich studied the layout.

  The two men never left the fire. They were eating supper, and they were also drinking something from a bottle.

  “Button, I ain’t expecting much outta you,” Kinrich said. “When the shooting starts you jump behind that log up ahead and keep your head down.”

  I was scared and nervous, but I still managed to nod.

  “All right, then; let’s go.”

  Kinrich stood abruptly and walked toward the fire.

  His sudden mo
vements surprised me, but I recovered and scrambled after him.

  Kinrich made no effort to conceal himself. He walked boldly and straightforward, and when we were about forty yards away they heard us coming.

  They stood and saw us. They were both surprised, but they recovered quickly. They spread out and stood there as they waited for us.

  Kinrich didn’t stop walking until we were only thirty or so feet from them. I was behind Kinrich and off to the right.

  “It’s the kid that killed Tom Benson!” One of them said, and then they studied Kinrich. “Who are you?”

  “Ben Kinrich,” he replied.

  “Ben Kinrich!” They exclaimed, and they glanced at each other. “What do you want?”

  “Came over here to ask you a question,” Kinrich explained.

  Kinrich stood poised and ready, and his gun hand hung down by his side.

  “What question?” They asked.

  “Wanted to know if you boys were selling rifles to the Injuns,” Kinrich replied.

  “Why do you care?”

  Kinrich smiled wryly.

  “If you are, then I’m going to stop you.”

  Neither one said a word. They glanced at each other and looked back at Kinrich.

  Kinrich smiled calmly. As for me, I was a nervous wreck.

  It happened suddenly. They both went for their guns, as did Kinrich.

  Kinrich seemed to be in no hurry, yet with lightening speed he palmed his six-shooter. He fired two shots into each man, and all the while he had a calm expression on his face.

  The first man Kinrich shot never even cleared leather, and the second man was just bringing his six-shooter up when Kinrich shot him.

  Just like that it was over.

  Kinrich just stood there, and a wild, almost insane look came over his face. But it passed quickly, and he reloaded his six-shooter and turned to me.

  “I told you to dive behind that log,” he said sternly.

  I tried to speak, but couldn’t. I coughed and tried again.

  “Didn’t have time,” I said.

  “Hmm,” Kinrich said as he studied me. “What were you planning on doing with that?”

  He nodded towards my hand.

  I looked down, and was surprised to find my six-shooter in my hand.