Lonnie Gentry

by Peter Brandvold

  “I don’t care how close he is,” Chase snarled at his partner. “I don’t want the shot to scare the horses.”

  “Oh, good thinkin’,” Dempsey said with the same note of mockery.

  “Hey, you wanna do it?”

  “I would do it,” Dempsey said, “but we flipped for it, remember? You lost.”

  Lonnie’s heart turned another couple of somersaults as he looked around again and saw that even if he could bring himself to run—his boots felt as though they’d been filled with dry mud—he couldn’t see any sheltering tree within fifty yards. All that was out here were trees and the cabin that was way off across the clearing.

  Chase pressed the barrel of his pistol against the back of Lonnie’s head. “Come on, kid. Get movin’. You’re only drawin’ this out.”

  Lonnie climbed wearily to his feet. Sweat dripped under his arms. He heard his voice quiver as he said, “I’m gonna come back and haunt you two. I’m gonna come back and haunt you two until you get heart strokes and die like my pa died—in your beds! And then you’re both gonna take that long walk down them warm, stone steps until you’re in Hell shakin’ hands with the Devil!”

  That thought made Lonnie feel better.

  “I said get movin’!” Chase yelled.

  “No!” Lonnie spat through gritted teeth. He wheeled to face Chase and Dempsey. “If you’re gonna kill me, you’re gonna have to do it straight on and close up!” He balled his fists at his sides and leaned forward at the waist, his rage overwhelming him. “Come on, you yellow-livered coward!”

  “Why, you … !” Chase clicked the hammer of his Colt back and aimed the barrel at Lonnie’s forehead.

  The gun barked.

  The sudden explosion caused Lonnie to stumble straight back. His spurs raked the ground. He tripped and fell on his rump and found himself, apparently with his skull still intact, staring at Chase who’d given a yelp and twisted around as though a snake had bitten his leg.

  Chase’s revolver popped and flashed. The bullet slammed into the ground between the outlaw and Lonnie, and dust and grass blew up over Lonnie’s boots.

  “What in the—?”

  Another thundering crash cut Dempsey off.

  He yelped and threw away the pistol he’d drawn as though it were a hot skillet handle. He cursed and grabbed his right forearm.

  The report of what Lonnie now recognized as a rifle sounded again, knifing across the otherwise silent clearing. This shot took Chase down, howling and kicking. There was another flash in the forest to Lonnie’s left, and the bullet spanged off a rock to warm the air just off his own right cheek.

  The boy threw himself belly-down and buried his head in his arms as he thought, “Dupree!”

  The rifle crashed several more times, the shots spaced about two seconds apart, and a voice called, crisp and clear on the suddenly quiet air, “Lonnie!”

  Lonnie lifted his head slightly. He blinked. He could have sworn the voice had been a girl’s. Nah. His ears were ringing from fear and the clamor of the rifle.

  “Lonnie, I didn’t hit you, did I?”

  No, it was a girl’s voice, all right.

  Befuddled, Lonnie lowered his arms and raised his head higher. He looked off to where the gun had flashed in the dark mass of the trees, and he said uncertainly and not loudly, “I reckon I’ll be all right if you hold your fire … whoever you are.”

  “It’s Casey!”

  “Casey?”

  “Casey Stoveville. Stay where you are and keep your head down in case I have to start shooting again!”

  “All right,” Lonnie said, again uncertainly.

  Nearby, Chase and Dempsey were moaning and groaning.

  Dempsey shouted hoarsely, “Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Who in tarnation you think you’re shootin’ at, little girl?”

  There was another hiccupping cough and a rifle flash. The bullet plumed dust in front of Dempsey, who threw his head back on the ground, covered it with his arms, and cursed loudly.

  His angry screams echoed shrilly around the clearing.

  CHAPTER 23

  Lonnie looked toward where the shots had been fired, and he could see a pale-tan silhouette taking shape against the trees.

  The crunch of footsteps grew gradually louder. Just as gradually, the pale-tan silhouette took the shape of a short, slender person walking toward Lonnie and his two moaning, groaning assailants. The pale-tan shape became a tan canvas coat that hung to thighs clad in dark-blue denim trousers and calf-high boots.

  Casey Stoveville’s gold-blonde hair hung down from her man’s tan hat to spill across her shoulders. Her eyes caught the starlight beneath the brim of her hat, and glistened. The starlight winked off the barrel of the Winchester carbine she held in her hands, downward slanted, ready to raise in an instant again if needed.

  Dempsey spat and shouted, “Who you think you’re shootin’ at, you fool girl? Don’t you know it’s me—Dempsey and Chase, your pa’s deputies—out here?”

  The rifle belched and flashed again.

  Dempsey cursed again, shrilly, as the bullet blew dirt and rocks over him.

  “Who’re you calling a fool girl, you dung beetle?” Casey said as she stopped about ten feet from the two men writhing on the ground near Lonnie. “I heard all about your big plans for the stolen money through the jailhouse door.”

  “Hey, that’s my rifle!” Lonnie said, recognizing the carbine in the girl’s hands.

  “Thanks for letting me borrow it out of your saddle sheath,” Casey said. “It came in right handy. I would have requested help from some of the men in Arapaho Creek, but when I got to thinking about it, I could think of nary a one I could trust any more than I could trust my father’s deputies.”

  She glanced at Lonnie. “Are you all right?”

  Lonnie sat up and brushed his sleeve across his dirt-pelted face. “I’ll live.”

  “Pa taught me how to shoot but it’s been a while since I’ve had a practice session,” she said.

  “You did all right,” Lonnie said.

  “Sorry about your cheek.”

  “Like I said, I’ll live.”

  Casey took another step forward, aiming the carbine at Chase and Dempsey while saying to Lonnie, “Get their guns.” She raised her voice to the outlaws: “If either of you makes any sudden moves, I’m gonna cut loose with this Winchester again, and I’m close enough now to do some damage.”

  “You already shot us up, you fool girl!” This from Chase.

  “If I hear one more ‘fool girl’ out of either one of you, you’ll never say it again … or anything else.”

  The two deputies glanced at each other and didn’t say anything.

  Lonnie gained his feet. He walked cautiously over to Dempsey and Chase. Both of their revolvers were on the ground, glistening dully in the starlight. Lonnie picked them up, shoved one of the Colts behind his belt, and backed away from the men, cocking the second pistol and aiming it at the deputies.

  He was still breathing hard and sweating. His vision swam. He was giddy to be alive after hovering so close to death.

  He never wanted to get that close again.

  Dempsey and Chase didn’t look too badly hurt, despite their caterwauling. They looked as though Casey’s bullets had mostly grazed their arms and legs. They were hurting, but neither one looked as though death were imminent. Not that Lonnie cared about either one of the scalawags.

  Casey said, “Get up, both of you. Head on over to the horses.”

  “I don’t think I can get up,” Chase said. “You drilled a bullet through my thigh, you foo … I mean, Miss Casey.”

  Lonnie had to smile at that as he kept his pistol aimed at the pair.

  “Much better,” Casey said. “I like that. But if you can’t stand, I’m going to shoot you where you sit. So you best get to your feet any way you can, and haul your fool self over to your horse.”

  “If you got these two covered, I’ll fetch the mounts,” Lonnie said.

  “I
got ’em,” Casey said assuredly. “My horse is tied in the trees behind me.”

  Lonnie depressed the Colt’s hammer and headed back toward the trail. The horses were spread out a good ways apart, having spooked at the shooting. General Sherman was nearest Lonnie, so Lonnie swung up onto the General’s back and rode ahead to gather Chase and Dempsey’s horses.

  When he’d retrieved Casey’s chestnut filly from the trees behind her, he rode out to where Chase and Dempsey had gotten to their feet and stood with their hands up, heads down, like schoolboys who’d been caught turning frogs loose in the girls’ privy.

  “They probably have some handcuffs in their saddlebags,” Casey said.

  Lonnie swung down from the General’s back and rummaged around in Chase’s saddlebags. He’d just wrapped his hand around something that felt like metal, when Casey screamed.

  Lonnie whipped around.

  Dempsey had lunged at the girl. As the outlaw, who was two heads taller than Casey, and twice as wide, fought the girl for the rifle, the carbine exploded.

  Flames lapped skyward.

  Dempsey ripped the rifle out of the girl’s hands and clubbed her with the rifle’s rear stock. Casey groaned and fell hard, rolling once, dust rising around her. Meanwhile, Dempsey cocked the carbine and swung toward Lonnie.

  Lonnie had already drawn one of the two Colts he’d taken off the deputies. Without so much as thinking about it, he raised the weapon in both hands, clicked the hammer back, and aimed at Dempsey’s murky shadow.

  The pistol leaped and roared in Lonnie’s hand.

  Dempsey grunted and stepped straight back, his dark shadow hard to see against the line of black trees behind him. Dempsey lowered Casey’s carbine, and flames stabbed from the barrel as the outlaw triggered the weapon into the ground. Dust flew up around his ankles.

  Dempsey took another step back and dropped like a felled tree.

  Lonnie clicked the Colt’s hammer back and swung the pistol at Chase who had started to lunge toward Lonnie.

  “You want some o’ this?” the boy asked the deputy-turnedoutlaw.

  Chase jerked back, holding his hands up, palm out. He shook his head back and forth. “Nope, I sure don’t.”

  CHAPTER 24

  “I figured you probably didn’t,” Lonnie told Chase, grinning boldly. It felt good to be the one in control.

  Lonnie looked at Dempsey, who was writhing on the ground, spurs ringing as they scratched the gravelly turf.

  The spurs stopped ringing. Dempsey stopped writhing. Lonnie kept his pistol aimed at the fallen deputy. He rolled his eyes toward Casey, who was climbing to her feet with a grunt.

  “You all right?” he asked the girl.

  She was rubbing her right shoulder. “Yeah,” she said, staring awfully down at the unmoving Dempsey. “Is … is he dead?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you check? Don’t worry, I’ll cover you.” To Chase, Lonnie said, “My trigger finger itches somethin’ awful, so you best hold yourself real still. If you even think about tryin’ what your friend tried, you’ll end up like him.”

  “Kid,” Chase snarled, “you got no respect for your elders.”

  “Only them that deserve it. I’ve run into precious few o’ them.”

  Casey stood over Dempsey. “He looks dead to me,” the girl said, her voice quaking slightly. It was also a little higher pitched than before. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s dead. I don’t wanna touch him.”

  “That’s all right,” Lonnie said. “He looks dead to me, too.”

  Casey turned to Lonnie, her chest rising and falling sharply as she breathed. She swept her thick, blonde hair out of her face as she said, “Yep, you blew his lamp out, all right.”

  “Congratulations,” Chase said. “That’s your second lawman in two days.”

  “You wanna be my third?” Lonnie asked him, aiming the Colt at him.

  Chase took another fearful step back, shaking his head. “Nope, I sure don’t, kid.”

  Later, when they were riding back toward Arapaho Creek, Lonnie turned to Casey riding her chestnut filly beside him. “What’re we gonna do with this fella?” He canted his head toward Chase riding ahead of them.

  Casey had secured the deputy’s own handcuffs to the man’s wrists behind his back while Lonnie had held his carbine on him. Now the lawman-turned-outlaw rode slouched in his saddle, sullen and silent. He occasionally grunted from the pain of his injuries, and spat to one side in frustration, but that was the extent of Chase’s acting out.

  Casey said levelly, “Throw him in my father’s jail. Only place for such a polecat as that. First thing tomorrow, I’ll send a cable to the deputy United States marshal over in Camp Collins. He’ll probably ride over here and see to Chase and the bank loot himself.”

  The girl looked at Lonnie. “Sorry you had to do that. Kill Dempsey, I mean.”

  “It ain’t like he didn’t deserve it.” Lonnie didn’t feel as sick in his gut about shooting Dempsey as he had about the other deputy, Willie. Dempsey had been about to shoot Casey. Still, he knew he’d never forget these past couple of days as long as he lived.

  “Was he right?” Casey asked him, her voice hesitant. “About … you shooting Willie?”

  Lonnie couldn’t help feeling more than a little defensive. “I ain’t no cold-blooded killer Miss Casey, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Don’t get your neck in a hump,” she said, ducking under a pine branch that bowed low over the trail. They were gradually dropping down into the canyon in which Arapaho Creek lay. Lonnie could tell they were approaching the town from the smell of the privies and the barking of a dog. “I wasn’t beratin’ you about it. I just wanted to know.”

  “Shootin’ Willie wasn’t what I had in mind when I started the day yesterday. If I hadn’t shot him, I wouldn’t be here. And neither, probably, would Dempsey and Willie. Them two would likely be headin’ for Mexico about right now.”

  “I believe you.”

  Again, Lonnie looked at her riding to his left, her hair bouncing on her shoulders. So much had happened to him recently that he still hadn’t quite worked his mind around the presence of a girl he’d fancied from afar. When that happened, his tongue would likely tie itself into a tight knot.

  For the moment, however, he was too tired and hungry and anxious to be bashful around a pretty girl. “How come you’ve decided to believe me?” he asked her.

  “After I got to thinking about it, I realized you wouldn’t have come to town for any reason if you’d really been in with Shannon Dupree. I realized it after I left the saloon and started thinking it through. I went over to the jailhouse to talk to Chase and Dempsey, and I heard ’em talking through the door, discussing their plans. So I went home, saddled Miss Abigail here”—she patted the chestnut’s neck—“and waited for them to make their move.”

  Casey turned to Lonnie, and a smile caused her eyes to glitter in the light of the moon kiting over the tops of the pines lining both sides of the trail. “I’m right glad they didn’t decide to kill you in the jail. Otherwise, I reckon …”

  “I’d be dead.”

  “Something like that,” she said, gazing at him, her full, pink lips quirking a playful smile.

  “I’m obliged to you, Miss Casey,” he said.

  Now it was happening, darn it. Casey’s smile and that frank, humorous gaze through those pretty, hazel eyes were making his tongue start to thicken up, and he was having a hard time looking at her. He found it beguiling how her upper lip was a little thicker than her lower one, and how it curled up slightly, making it hard for him not to wonder what kissing her would be like, though he’d never kissed a girl before.

  Casey had a very small mole about two inches beneath her right eye, and Lonnie found that nearly as enticing and mysterious as her lips.

  “Well, I reckon you returned the favor back in the clearing,” the girl said, and Lonnie was relieved when she turned her head to stare forward along the trail.

  General Sherman
whickered and shook his head. Fear pricked the short hairs along the back of Lonnie’s neck. He hipped around in his saddle, staring along the pale ribbon of trail curving away behind him.

  “Did you hear something?” he asked Casey.

  She glanced behind. “I didn’t hear anything. What’d you hear?”

  “Not so much me as the General.”

  Casey stared along their back trail and then, apparently satisfied they were alone out here, she arched a brow at General Sherman. “That stallion of yours is probably admiring Miss Abigail.” She turned her head forward and said snootily, “Men.”

  Lonnie’s heart thudded. He liked this girl even more than he’d realized. He couldn’t let on, though. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t, but he couldn’t. Something about being smitten with her embarrassed him.

  Besides, she’d think he was tough, like a man, if he pretended he wasn’t interested. Wasn’t that how it worked?

  They rode on into the dark town, Chase in the lead. The outlaw sat sullenly in his saddle as Casey and Lonnie swung down from their horses in front of the dark, silent jailhouse. The stone building was pale in the moonlight.

  Casey cast wary looks at the building, and for a few seconds, Lonnie felt his blood turn cold. Was she thinking Dupree was waiting inside? But then he realized that this was a meaningful place for the girl, since her father had likely spent a lot of time here.

  It was her father’s ghost she was sensing. She was remembering only a few days back, when he was alive. Lonnie felt sorry for her. He knew how hard it was to lose someone, wishing they would come back so you could see them one more time. Losing someone was like a saddle gall, only it was inside your soul where you couldn’t put salve on it.

  The girl didn’t sob, however. Instead, she pulled her revolver out of her coat pocket, clicked the hammer back, and aimed it with both hands at Chase. “Climb down off of there, you owl hoot. Get inside.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Chase glowered at Casey. He glanced at Lonnie, who stayed back a ways. This was the girl’s territory. Lonnie would back her if she needed backing. He doubted she’d need it. She was a tough nut, and instead of pining for her father, she was trying to fill his boots.