The Hell Bent Kid

by Charles O Locke

  Just wanted you to know I did all I could.

  Amos Bradley.

  P.S. I am giving this sealed to possibly, as I said, a Boyd rider. Two weeks ago I would have been reluctant to do so. But now I feel differently. If they want to break the seal and read it I do not give a good god damn.

  10

  Lohman Turns South

  I looked back at the Bradleys. Could still see the pack mule and Amos on the horse, but not Juanita. Then I got sight of her riding ahead and her blue dress. They passed the ridge and went out of sight.

  Turning Blacky around, I rode a mile south then through the morning haze. I looked back after I had come up a rise, but could not see the Bradleys, but saw something else. A man was ambling his horse around the hill corner.

  I picked a pine screen and rode to a higher rise. The man had stopped his horse and was off tightening his cinches. He had a large powerful black stallion made heavier than Blacky. His saddle was Mex made heavy.

  I knew him right off. His name was Hal Carmody, a big powerful, expert cow wrangler on the Marcus order. He had been assistant foreman for the Boyds, but now had become, I heard, a kind of bodyguard to Old Man Boyd, riding some places with him. When he got on again, he held himself in the saddle like a man who sees everything and means business.

  Did not like having him on my trail. Wanted no truck with him. He was a crack shot and expert roper and knew the country, I could see.

  I walked Blacky from the off side of the rise and kept slogging. Walked the back trail to make sure he was not dogging to throw my attention from the road ahead. There might be people ahead waiting, for this is an old trick.

  Twice I took advantage of the hilly country, showing myself to him plain, seeing I was following a half-fresh trail of plenty of hoof marks. I would show myself, then ride left hard through a small canyon and watch him rush past. He was too anxious, and thought it would be easy.

  Up ahead he would stop, realize his mistake and then double back, but by that time I had left the canyon same way I came in and had rode hard sometimes two miles to the rear all under cover. Then I would wide-circle him to get on his front.

  Twice I did that. He was getting pretty sore.

  Then he changed his plan. For a long time I did not see him, because now he was keeping himself hid. But I would find a half-hid place, stand easy and wait for the wind and hear his horse. He had made a mistake using the stud stallion. There were a few wild horses in the region and the stallion smelled them. The stallion whinnered a good deal, which helped me.

  An hour after noon when the country got flatter for a while and tree-scarce, I saw him plain from seven miles off. Now he had another man with him. The new man I did not recognize. They exchanged horses and I saw Carmody mount again. I saw the other man lead the stallion back toward the hills and saw why.

  The stallion was limping. He may have struck a gopher hole. But Carmody was a smart man and must have had two reasons for changing mounts, the limp and the noise of the rutty horse.

  But now I knew two things. As Bradley said, they were getting the hunt organized big with relay horses. Also they had decided to ride me down, like wild horses are wore out.

  I was glad to see the stallion limping. It showed me I was right in thinking Carmody was too anxious, too confident and pushing reckless and hard.

  As night came down I struck a grab of trees, as I kept drifting east in my drive south, having seen the wagon-shaped hill Bradley told me about. I wanted to sheer off the Santa Fe trail somewhat at least. I found the natural cave where Bradley had told me gas was coming out of the ground.

  Rode Blacky up close to a hole where there was no gas I could smell. I dismounted but he backed and snorted. Then I pushed but he blew hard through his nose. Then I grabbed his ears and held his head down till all he could see was ground. Then he carne on in gently.

  He had only been afraid of bumping his head on the low mouth of the place. I tied him, hoping he would stay quiet.

  Then I came out of the place, cut back and climbed a tree. I waited what must have been two hours for Carmody. At first I heard his horse way west. Then he doubled back. Then he circled in the dark, trying to pick up my marks. Then he circled nearer me. I was getting nervous.

  He had a light with him, possibly a little oil lamp in a can with a shutter they call a dark lamp. He kept lighting it and examining the ground. But, though he passed within twenty-five yards of me, he had no luck. I had chose hard ground to walk Blacky on. An Indian with his patience might have tracked me but not Carmody. Once Carmody was so close I could hear him breathing.

  Then he put out the light. He went south and his sound died off. I led Blacky carefully for an hour. Did not dare to mount him, as he was skittery after being in the cave.

  We found a spring and kept near it till daylight. It was down to a trickle and drying fast. As the light got better, I heard a shot. A slug hit the dirt two yards behind. The next, fast one hit my head, face and ear from behind. I was half lying down at the time. Rolled fast behind a rock.

  Blacky stood and trembled. I threw my rifle to my rear when I rolled. Then shot at a smoke ball near a rock cleft right behind me.

  Carmody had his hat knocked off a few seconds later. But he had it on a stick. I counted shell and decided to let Carmody know what he faced. I watched carefully. From behind a rock I saw the dust sift down and knew he was there. The dust sifted down like flour out of a sackhole. Though I was bleeding pretty bad from the head, the blood came from the left ear, away from my sight-eye.

  Opposite where Carmody was hid was a sharp point of rock shooting up straight then curled over. From in front the rock sloped in to this point. I took a double aim, so as not to let the effort spoil the shot. I aimed slow and easy first and got the hang of it. Then I dropped rifle, lay back, then picked it up for a snapshot and hit the rock slope in the right place. That jagged rock did the work. I could hear Carmody yell first in surprise and then groan a little.

  The rock piece did the work. I could hear but not see him pulling himself up the slope under cover. Then I heard the saddle squeak and then his horse hoofs dying out.

  But I kept watch for a trick and nothing happened. I gave attention to my ear and face. I used the drying pool to see, as I came down. Carmody had sure spoiled my looks for life. Half the ear was torn off, as if somebody had started to sow-notch me and then had gone all the way. The flap was hanging on my cheek and had stuck there a little with the quick-dried blood. But still bleeding bad. I got an old shirt, soaked it, pressed and yelled out with the pain. But kept doing that, lying on my right side to let gravity help the blood dam up within.

  This finally stopped her. I had some water to drink, ate a little dry cornmeal and pushed south, watching for Carmody. When the flap of my ear kept flopping, I tied a shirt strip around my head. I made it secure by pulling my hat down tight.

  11

  Lohman Meets a Stranger

  The country here was harder riding. It was hilly in a low way, with small valleys and canyons cutting across. There was some water but mostly dry arroyos. The heat got bad.

  The second noon I found shade and took a long rest. I made corn cakes, ate somewhat, and the spring was pure luck. It was the best I had struck. That low mountain water was even better than the kind up near Clayton. It had a deep, clear pool about two yards across. There was not one dead thing in it.

  Grained Blacky and let him graze. Though he seemed fresh, he was still working on green stuff. I decided to grain him better just as soon as I got where I could buy some.

  It was fine under the hill pines and I hated to start again. Just as I got up on Blacky, something told me to scan around. I walked back to the scrub and rock to a little rise. I was well hid and had been for all the nooning.

  At first all I saw was an eagle dipping low. Then the dead sheep it was looking at. Then I heard horses walking. Two men came riding along, with one man walking. The walking man was the one I was looking for but I did not know that t
hen. All stopped by the dead sheep and talked awhile.

  Then the men on horses rode ahead to the spring I had just left. The man on foot went out of sight among rocks. I suppose he had his mount tied somewhere there.

  Then I was able to see one of the mounted men sure was Carmody. It seemed to me I saw him bulge in the middle, which I had not seen before. Also his shirt front was part open and I saw white there, not the white of skin. Was sure I had slashed him.

  The men were coming on far behind me, not knowing my whereabouts, I was more or less sure. The country was fair for cover and I had learned to use it. I saw them stop and examine a spring soon, though, where I had left some marks. I had tried not to.

  The higher stonier ground where I might have lost them was too tough. It was so either for man or horse. After dark did not dare to fire up, or even stop.

  Before the late night I got off Blacky and led him up a dry. Then started climbing.

  I tied Blacky and then pulled some poor feed out of the lower rocks, hobbled him short. Kept hold of his tie-rope.

  The dark was slow and thick and I had the melancholy. I had been used to having these doubts and worries for some time.

  I watched their fire among the pines, and knew they were eating well. I was sure the other man besides Carmody was a Boyd or the friend or relative of a Boyd. They probably figured I had made a fireless camp on ahead and here I was behind. If this can be done, it is the best way of all to handle a situation such as I was in.

  I figured her this way and knew I was right. The Boyds were sore and they were probably doing some fighting among themselves. The old man was sorest of all, and he had probably told his sons they were no account and to stay home and let his hired people fix me.

  Then Old Man Boyd’s hired people, I knew, were as feared of him as his sons. He had told them to act quick and get it over or worse would come. He had probably thrashed around and threatened a lot and these men, I felt, were operating with that fear behind them.

  No matter how they feared Boyd, however, they did not intend to get themselves shot. No job with the Boyds or anyone is worth that. So they were driving on in a blind kind of way, showing a lot of activity, piling up a lot to report back to Old Man Boyd.

  One thing I knew which was that I had this advantage strong: My father had often told me that a certain kind of Indian is hard to fight in bunches because he goes out to battle with the death-hope. He is willing or even anxious to die.

  Well, I was like those Indians at this time. I was not entirely anxious to die. But I was not afraid of dying because I did not much care. The way things had gone with me and my people made me that way. So I was not afraid of death and actually wondered if I would not be happier dead.

  I had not been foolishing with Bradley when I told him this. This gave me a great advantage but was no credit to me. I do not think I felt fear on the trip with one possible exception, maybe two. Once I was tarnally scared after the meet-up with the Boyd cattle. I admit that …

  Well, I saw another eagle, or maybe the same one, night-flying. This surprised me. I did not know they night-flew.

  When the moon was up it came out dim. I blanketed up a little and lay back against a slant rock. In the morning I scanned up ahead of me as quickly as possible. I climbed slowly up a shale slope. Now there were four horses with the two men, so I figured they must have had visitors in the night. The hunt was heating up. They meant business.

  One man was getting up the fire. I saw the one fix coffee for himself. Then, instead of calling the other, he spread his blankets and lay down. Then he sat up and began cleaning his gun. I decided at first to try to pass them and get distance ahead of them. But then decided it would be too risky. Besides, in looking for a “side door” off the trail, one side was country as open as a barn floor, the others were shale-slides mostly, too steep and tough. I would be taking a great chance of laming my horse.

  Even when I started to inch down the slope where I was for watching up ahead, the shale rattled. Also I cut my hand on sharp shale trying to stop my speed and the noise.

  About halfway down, I was coming down slow backwards, and there was a kink in the slope around a big rock corner. Still I was moving down backwards. Hand began to bleed bad, so stopped the far side of the rock corner and tied it up, still facing upslope. Heard a snicker, turned around. Around the rock corner, here was a little hogback going from where I stood to the rock wall. The hogback had steep sides. On the far end was a flat place that could be dropped from if a man stood at the edge of the rim above. On the hogback near this flat place was a man straddling the hogback, having slipped on me from the side. He had a knife and a gun, and my rifle was twenty yards down.

  He was not more than twenty feet maybe thirty from me. I could see him plain. Lot of hair on his face.

  He saw me look at my gun. He slicked out his knife and laid her flat on the palm of his hand. He smiled and looked at me with squint eyes. Every time I looked at my rifle, he’d pull his hand back. I had never seen knife throwing, was sort of curious about it and wished he would get it over with. I picked up a rock then. He put back his head and laughed. He put back the knife and I dropped the rock. He began edging to me, making it very slow. Then he came to where he could see my horse as well as my rifle, looking down.

  Then he spoke the first words. “Hold dere.” He looked at my horse. “Belong you?”

  It sounded French-like, so I said one word, “Bawbeen.”

  He jumped as if shot. He stared at me. I dug out Bradley’s note and threw it to him. He read it several times.

  Then he said: “Amos Bradley. All right. But you want to get Santa Rosa. Not all right. Down there is a couple who will shoot the guts out of you.”

  We both edged down to a safe place. I picked up my rifle. He motioned me to follow him, and we both started climbing again up an easy groove I had not seen before because of a twist in the rock. We got to a flat place. It was covered with bird manure, and obviously also had been used by Indian braves. They had been sent up there for high-lonesome.

  We crawled on our bellies up to the edge of the drop. The people down below had picked a bad place. We could of dropped a rock down on their heads. It was straight down. They were rolling up their bedrolls and getting their horses ready for a start. One was Carmody, the other a young man I did not know.

  Bawbeen patted his rifle and looked at me. He said “Which one I shoot? Take your pick.”

  I thought he was joking. But he whipped up the gun and shot Carmody through the right shoulder before I could speak.

  The minute it happened there was a ruckus down there. The horses jumped and pulled at their ties. Carmody yelled his head off. They must have taken an hour trying to figure where the shot came from, while Carmody got a bandage on. We stayed hidden all the time.

  Finally Carmody eased up on his horse and rode back north while the other man rode south. They both thought, of course, I had fired the shot. Bawbeen thought it was funny.

  12

  Mrs. Bawbeen Takes a Hand

  From the time I met Bawbeen I didn’t trust him. I may have done the man an injustice. I don’t know. I felt all the time I was with him, he might throw me all of a sudden. Even when they closed in, I could not be sure he had nothing to do with it. He was a quiet man—too quiet.

  All the while we watched the hullabaloo down below he never spoke. When the men lit out, he said: “You want hole up with me? Meet my wife?”

  I told him sure.

  We got down from the ridge. I picked up Blacky and watered him at the first spring we found. I had to pull him off for fear he would sicken himself. Bawbeen admired the horse. That was plain. He spoke of a trade and smiled.

  In a gulch he had two horses tied way below where the men had camped. He got on one and led the other, loaded with the biggest traps I had ever seen. They were for wolves and bears. His horse was a buck-kneed sorrel, and must have been a hard ride. He trotted and Bawbeen jounced but he did not seem to mind.


  We went up an arroyo for a ways, then hit the hill meadow where I had seen him talking to the men. A new sheep carcass was there now. It had been gutted by wolves or coyotes, some of it pretty maggoty.

  I would not of touched it, but Bawbeen swore a little while. Then he rough dressed it, cutting out some of the maggoty parts.

  We trailed back through the canyon, and traveled some miles till we came to a big shack. It was on a flat place with flat in front and a rise with jacks behind it and all the way down the ridge toward southwest. He had a small sheep corral, a shed or two and a broke-down wagon. He had about forty sheep. The shack was half sod, half wood, with flattened tin cans patching the roof. I heard screaming from a lean-to. Someone was in there pounding on the door.

  “My wife,” said Bawbeen. “I shut her up. She is sick of the wine.”

  All the time we were moving around, when the woman screamed Bawbeen did not seem to mind, simply repeated “She is sick of the wine.”

  Inside I never saw anything like that shack. There was hardly room to live, a dirty bed, a few pieces of furniture, the rest filled up with old harness, traps both good and broken, trap keys strung around, rusty pans with holes in, spiders, shovels, three saddles, two no good, two stoves besides the one he used, both broken, flea-bit wolf and horse hides and hides of other animals I didn’t know. In one corner was plaits and coils of wire and old rope. There was a good deal of small-cut dried beef hanging from the rafters.

  For a sink he had two wooden washtubs, one inside the other so the wore holes would not meet. Then he had bored a hole in the bottom to take the drain off. One thing, he had a good spring, plenty of water, good water.

  When it got dark he opened a can of beans and made coffee. I untied Blacky and led him up the rise in a well-hid place among the jacks. I kept the blanket and surcingle on him with the rifle in the loop. Bawbeen back at the house offered me the wine jug several times but I refused. At late dark he pulled up the fire and asked me to help him in with his wife. She was sound asleep behind the lean-to door. We carried her to bed. She never even moved, a good-looking woman with dark complexion.