Range War in Whiskey Hill

by Charles G. West

  The two men with him were startled at first by the sudden appearance of the stone-faced woman with the rifle. While Tyler hesitated, they began to shuffle around, not certain what to do. It was plain to Tyler, however, that one move from one of them and he was the one who would receive a belly full of lead. “Hold on, boys, we don’t wanna do nothin’ crazy right now.” Holding his hand well away from his gun, he returned his attention to Burt, changing his tone considerably. “Listen, McCrae, we’ve been deputized by the sheriff to find Colt. You’d best tell your housekeeper to put that rifle down before somebody gets hurt.”

  A thin smile parted Burt’s lips as he replied, “Rena’s been with me for over twenty-five years and I ain’t never been able to order her to do anything. I ain’t never seen her aim a rifle at somethin’ unless she was of a mind to shoot it. If you take one step toward the house, I expect, she aims to shoot you.” He waited, watching Tyler’s nervous indecision, Drummond’s foreman wondering if he could pull his pistol before the stoic woman cut him down. “I already told you Colt ain’t here,” Burt said.

  Still Tyler hesitated, his frustration over the ridiculous situation turning rapidly to anger over being held at bay by an old woman. Rena’s hand was steady, the barrel of the rifle never wavering, the expressionless face of the woman as impassive as granite. Her resolute demeanor only served to infuriate him further until it became too much for his pride to contend with. In a moment of senseless defiance, he suddenly reached for his pistol. The stillness that had descended over the tense confrontation long moments before was ripped apart by the immediate bark of Rena’s rifle, causing Blanton, Jake, and Burt to jump, startled, and Tyler to double up in pain as the bullet tore into his stomach. Without hesitation, Rena calmly ejected the spent cartridge, and swung her rifle around to bear on the other two men.

  Both Jake and his partner, although stunned for a split second, reacted almost immediately. Seeing this, Burt hurled his ax at the closest man. The deadly missile narrowly missed hitting Jake, causing him to recoil—the ax flying by his face to land solidly against Blanton’s horse. The resulting blow on the horse’s withers caused the animal to buck and sidestep away, leaving neither man the opportunity to get off a steady shot. Rena’s second shot knocked Jake out of the saddle. In a panic now, Blanton did not discourage his horse’s desire to run. Lying low on the galloping animal’s neck, he retreated. Chasing after him on foot, Burt picked up his ax and flung it again in the fleeing man’s direction, the missile falling far short of its target. “Run, you bastard!” Burt yelled after him.

  His anger fully aroused by then, he returned to stand over the two wounded men lying before his front porch. Writhing in agony, Tyler moaned woefully, “That old witch shot me in the gut. I need a doctor. I’m bleedin’ bad.”

  Taking the rifle from Rena’s hand, Burt looked down at the suffering man. “I ain’t got no doctor, but I’ve got some medicine that’ll make you feel better.” He aimed the rifle at Tyler’s head and pulled the trigger. Without a pause, he stepped over the body and finished Jake as well.

  Watching the executions, her face still expressionless, Rena stood at the edge of the porch after the final shot was fired. “Will you be wantin’ your breakfast now?”

  “I reckon,” Burt replied.

  Chapter 7

  He led his horse down below the brow of the ridge and dropped the reins onto the ground, knowing that Buck would not wander. Then he climbed back to the ridgetop and looked out across the frosty prairie. He wondered what the new day would bring, unaware that by that time, Drummond’s men were already on the way.

  Led by Red Wiggins, the three riders made their way through the cottonwoods that lined the creek and rode up the rise toward the house. Confident that they well understood Drummond’s intentions, they planned to spend little time in negotiations. Looking foremost for Colt, they were determined to rub out his brother and lay waste to the ranch house and outbuildings as well.

  Vance McCrae paused midway between the barn and the house when a movement beyond the creek caught his eye. Squinting against the sun still climbing up the eastern ridges, he focused on the rise behind the cottonwoods, realizing then what had attracted his attention. There were three riders approaching the creek at a brisk walk. Although they were still too far away to identify, he had a feeling he knew who they were. “Sammy,” he called to his son, who was coming from the chicken house behind the barn, “go in the house.” While his son did as he was told, Vance turned to stare out again toward the creek. He feared the moment he had dreaded had finally come. It was poor timing for him, since Bill and Tom had already left to round up some strays on the south range. There was no one but him to defend his home. The riders had almost reached the creek now. He turned and followed his son into the house.

  “What is it, Vance?” Susan asked when her husband walked straight to the mantel and took his rifle down from the pegs above it.

  “I don’t know,” Vance replied. “There’s three men I don’t recognize ridin’ up in the yard. You and Sammy better go in the pantry and close the door till I see what they want.” He tried to keep his voice calm, but could not disguise his apprehension.

  Susan’s face immediately paled with anxiety, the discussion of the prior night’s meeting still fresh in her mind. Within seconds, however, her face flushed in anger. “I told you,” she cried. “They’ve come looking for Colt. He’s brought those killers down on us. I told you this was going to happen.”

  Vance stiffened as his fingers fumbled with the cartridges for his rifle. He gave his wife a forlorn glance. “I ain’t got time for this now, Susan. Take Sammy and hide in the pantry.” Though possessing little stomach for it, Vance was determined to defend his home and protect his family. Rifle in hand, he went to the front door and stood in the open doorway, waiting. In a few minutes, the three pulled up before the house.

  Seeing Vance standing in the doorway, Red demanded, “Where’s your brother?”

  “My brother ain’t here,” Vance answered. “What’s your business here?”

  “What’s my business here?” Red slurred sarcastically. “I’ll tell you what my business is. My business is to clean out all the lilly-livered bastards like you and your brother squattin’ on Rocking-D range.” Without warning, he drew his pistol and started shooting.

  Taken by surprise, Vance was just able to duck inside the door as several .44 slugs ripped into the door frame, sending splinters flying. Taking the cue from their partner, Red’s friends drew their weapons and joined in the barrage, their bullets splintering the wooden door. Vance hit the floor and rolled away from the door. Susan screamed in alarm at the sudden eruption of gunfire, but Vance was too occupied to hear her. He crawled to a window and knocked the shutter aside with his rifle barrel.

  Outside, Red swore when he missed the opportunity to kill Vance before he ducked inside. “Look out!” he yelled when he saw the shutter open, but one of the other two was not quick enough to escape the rifle blast that knocked him out of the saddle. Red and the other man immediately concentrated their fire on the window, causing Vance to flatten himself on the floor while lead flew over his head in a deadly hail-storm. Confident that Vance was effectively pinned down for the moment, the two intruders made a hasty retreat to the barn for cover.

  Once safely inside the barn, they jumped from their saddles, drawing their rifles as they dismounted. “Nate!” Red ordered. “Keep him busy at that window. I’m gonna sneak around behind the house. He’s all by hisself in there. He can’t watch front and back.” Nate acknowledged with a nod of his head and took a position by the barn door. He began to spray the window with rifle shot while Red slipped out the back of the barn.

  Making a wide circle around the corral, Red came up behind the house to the kitchen door. He paused there to listen until he heard Vance’s rifle firing from the front room. Confident that Vance was totally occupied with Nate, he cautiously pushed the door open and peered inside. There was no one to be seen. He slip
ped quietly past the door, his rifle ready, and tip-toed across the kitchen floor, heading for the parlor where he could hear Vance reloading. Almost to the door between the kitchen and parlor, he hesitated when he heard a rustling sound. His attention was immediately jerked toward the pantry door. It took a second to register, but then a thin grin spread slowly across his whiskered face as he remembered that he had heard that Vance had a pretty young wife. I’ll be back for you in a minute, sweetheart, he thought. Soon as I take care of your husband.

  With thoughts now of mixing in a little pleasure with business, Red inched up to the parlor door and cautiously peered past the door frame. There lying prone before the front window, Vance hurriedly fed cartridges into his rifle’s magazine, unaware of the danger behind him. Red grinned broadly. It was too easy. He raised his rifle and pumped a bullet into the unsuspecting man’s back. Vance grunted and lay still.

  Mindful of being hit by one of his partner’s bullets, Red opened the front door a crack and yelled out, “Come on in, Nate! He’s done for!” He waited only a second longer until he saw Nate coming from the barn, and then he went straight to the pantry. Standing to one side in case the lady might be holding a gun, he slowly opened the pantry door. When he was not greeted with buckshot, he pulled the door fully open and peered in. “Lookee here, lookee here.” He smirked softly as he leered at his discovery. “By God, they wasn’t lying. You’re a pretty little thing.” The terrified woman huddled in the corner, clutching her young son tightly to her. “Come on outta there, missy, so’s I can get a better look at you.” He reached out to her.

  “Get away from me!” she screamed. “Vance! Vance!” she called out desperately.

  “Ain’t no use in callin’ for him,” Red said. “He ain’t gonna be able to help you.” He grabbed Sammy by the arm. “Come on, boy,” he said as he dragged the reluctant youngster from his mother’s clutches.

  Fearing the worst, she screamed out for her husband again, and tried to push by the frightening intruder blocking her pantry door. Red easily caught her, imprisoning her roughly with one arm, chuckling at her frantic efforts to escape. “I told you, Vance can’t do you no good right now.” He thrust his face nose to nose with hers and sneered. “But I can. I expect ol’ Nate can, too,” he added when his partner came in the door. “Can’t you, Nate?” he tossed at the grinning gunman now openly leering at the terrified woman. “Course, Nate’s gonna have to be satisfied with seconds after me and you have our little go-round.”

  “How come you get her first?” Nate asked. “I say we flip for it. That’s the fair thing to do.”

  “My ass,” Red responded. “I get her first ’cause I caught her. Here, take this young’un.” He shoved the struggling boy toward Nate, so he could use both hands to subdue the child’s mother. “Let’s go to your bedroom, darlin’,” he teased as he dragged her toward the hallway.

  Fighting helplessly against her abductor, Susan caught a glimpse of her husband lying facedown by the front window and cried out to him as Red pulled her down the hall. Her struggling hopeless, she nevertheless continued to try to break free, the horror of what awaited her clearly pictured in her mind. Her outcry upon seeing Vance lying there caused Red to glance in that direction also. Thinking that he saw a slight motion in the body, he called back to Nate in the kitchen, “Nate, put another bullet in that son of a bitch. Make sure he’s dead.”

  Upon hearing Red’s instructions, Susan cried out, “No!” But it was too late. Before she was dragged through her bedroom door, she heard the shot. The impact of the sound on her frantic brain was enough to almost render her unconscious, and left her hanging in a state of mental confusion. Her will to fight was paralyzed in a fearful stupor, causing her to abandon all hope.

  Sensing a sudden relaxation of his victim, Red looked down into eyes wide and glazed with fear, and chuckled, pleased that she had given up her resistance. He threw her roughly on the bed and stood leering over her while he unbuckled his belt and let his trousers drop around his boots. Unbuttoning his dingy underwear, he hesitated when he detected a change in her eyes as if she had seen a ghost. Sensing something wrong, he turned to look back at the door. At first, he was not sure if what he saw was real or not. The apparition standing in the bedroom door was almost as tall as the door frame, and the morning sun rising over the corral shone through the open front door to illuminate the figure, casting a fiery shield around him. In a dreadful moment of realization, Red reached for his pistol, forgetting that his gun belt lay gathered around his boots. His death cry was like the bellow of a bull elk as Colt hammered him with three shots, cranked out in quick succession from the Winchester, the bullets thudding against his chest with the hollow sound of a drum. He was dead before he collapsed to the floor.

  Colt walked into the room, grabbed Red’s corpse by one foot, and dragged it from in front of the bed. “It’s all over now, Susan,” he said. “You’re all right.” He could see that she was still in a state of shock, but she had not been physically harmed. “I’ve got to see about Vance.” He turned and left the room, leaving her to gather her wits. Seeing Sammy standing wide-eyed and confused in the hall, he said, “Go to your mama, boy.” He took him by the arm and gently started him toward the bedroom.

  Kneeling beside his brother, Colt was not sure if Vance was dead or alive, but as he started to turn him over on his side, Vance’s eyes fluttered open. “Colt?” he whispered painfully.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” Colt replied. “I thought you had gone under for a minute there.”

  “I’m shot bad,” Vance forced, his voice weak and hoarse. “I ain’t sure I’m gonna make it.”

  “You’re gonna make it. It ain’t as bad as you think.” He lied. It looked real bad. A single gunshot wound in the back, but there was blood all over the floor. He wasn’t sure what he should do, but it was obvious that he had to stop the bleeding before his brother bled out completely. Looking around him, he searched for something to use as bandage. Seeing nothing in the parlor, he hurried back to the bedroom to find Susan sitting on the side of the bed, holding Sammy in her arms. “I need you to help me with Vance,” he told her as he grabbed a sheet and ripped it from the bed.

  “Vance?” she replied, bewildered, thinking her husband dead.

  “Yeah,” Colt answered impatiently. “He’s hurt bad, and I need your help, so pull yourself together and get up from there.”

  Jolted from her stupor, she got to her feet and followed him out of the room. Her brain was swirling now with confusing thoughts. He had said that Vance was still alive. The shot she had heard before was not her husband’s fatal shot, but was fired by Colt instead. The very man she had tried so hard to turn Vance against had saved both their lives. It was too much for her to handle at this point, so she tried to concentrate on tending to her husband.

  As she followed Colt back to the parlor, they heard the sound of horses approaching the house at a gallop. Turning to Susan, Colt ordered, “Get that shirt off of him, and wrap this sheet around him.” Picking up his rifle again, he hurried to the front door in time to see Vance’s two ranch hands approaching.

  “We heard the shootin’!” Bill Wilkes exclaimed when he and Tom pulled their horses up before the porch. They both stared down at the corpse lying in the dust by the front steps. “Is ever’body all right?”

  “Vance has been shot,” Colt said, then wasted no time in giving them instructions. “Hitch up the buckboard. I want you to take Vance and Susan and the young’un over to Uncle Burt’s. It’ll be safer for everybody to stay in one place. I’m goin’ into town to get the doctor.”

  After seeing the aftermath of the executions that took place inside the house, Tom and Bill were both visibly shaken, but still committed to the cause. “Tom can take Vance over to Burt’s place,” Bill volunteered. “I’ll stay here and clean up this mess.” There was the matter of what to do with three bodies and three horses.

  “I’ll help you load ’em on their horses, and I’ll leave ’em at the sheri
ff’s office,” Colt decided. “Drummond can take care of ’em from there.”

  It was past noon when Colt turned the buckskin up the narrow lane that led to Dr. Henry Taylor’s house after leaving the three horses and their grim cargo tied to the hitching rail in front of the jail. No one had come out to question him when he left the bodies, although there were several people on the street who stopped to gape at the grave rider as he passed. He figured that J.D. was probably eating his noon meal at the Whiskey Hill Kitchen. It’ll give him something to help digest his dinner, he thought.

  “Ma’am,” Colt acknowledged respectfully when greeted at the door by the doctor’s wife, indifferent to the disapproving scowl on the woman’s face. “I need to see the doctor.”

  “The doctor’s having his dinner right now,” Mrs. Taylor replied. “You’ll have to come back later.”

  “No, ma’am, I need to see him now. My brother’s been bad hurt, gunshot wound, and Dr. Taylor needs to see him right away.”

  “I’m sorry, but—” Mrs. Taylor started before being interrupted by her husband.

  “What is it, Marjorie?” Dr. Taylor asked as he came from the hallway.

  “My brother’s been shot,” Colt said. “It looks bad, and he needs a doctor right away.”

  “Well, where is he? Bring him in,” Taylor replied.

  “He’s at my uncle Burt’s place. He looked too bad hurt to haul him all the way to town.”

  “Hell,” Taylor replied, “if you want him treated, you’ll have to bring him here. I’m not going to ride out in the middle of that shooting war between you and Drummond’s folks.” He took a step back, expecting that to be the end of it.

  Colt didn’t reply at once as he calmly studied the doctor’s face. When he spoke, it was without emotion, stating a simple fact that he knew to be true. “You’ll have to go to Vance. I don’t think you understand. You ain’t got no choice in the matter, so if you’ll get your bag, we’ll get started.”