Texas Trails 1

by Patrick E. Andrews

  They turned in that direction and galloped into uneven ground that was dangerous for riding. Having nothing to lose, they twisted and turned in the saddle as the horses dodged the shadowy obstacles of vegetation and ground swells. But at least it forced the more wary chasers to slow down their pace.

  Suddenly a lone rider appeared on the horizon. He reined to a halt as Rawley and Chaw closed in on him. Both hoped it would be one of the cowpokes who might be a vanguard of others on their way into town for the hanging. When they drew up beside him and halted, they saw it was Tim Hawkins.

  “What’re you doing outta jail, Pierson?” Tim asked.

  Rawley quickly realized that the young man wasn’t in on his planned murder in a phoney jail break. “We got a gang o’ them raiders on our asses,” he said, drawing his Colt. “Now you make a decision whether to help or not. And you do it now!”

  “And Sims is in with ’em,” Chaw added.

  “So is Big Ed MacWilliams,” Tim said. He glanced outward. “They’re coming closer, boys. There’s a draw over that way. Get into it and stay down.”

  “How do we know you won’t turn us over to ’em?” Chaw asked.

  “I just got the facts figgered out myself, Chaw! “ Tim exclaimed hotly. “They killed my pa. Now get to that draw!”

  Forced to trust Tim Hawkins, Rawley and Chaw did as he instructed. They found a natural cut in the earth no more than a yard deep. But the sagebrush growing along its edge gave them cover in the moonlight.

  The pursuers, led by Hank Delong and Joe Black, drew up in front of Tim Hawkins. Joe stood in his stirrups and looked around while Hank asked, “Have you seen Pierson and that old galoot pard o’ his come this way?”

  “What’d Pierson do? Break outta jail?” Tim asked, trying to put a tone of surprise in his voice.

  “Sure did,” Joe Black said interjecting. “And prob’ly killed Sims too.”

  “Well?” Hank asked. “You seen ’em or not?”

  “Yeah. I seen ’em, all right,” Tim answered. He pointed toward the north. “They was headed for Rattlesnake Arroyo where the cattle camp is.”

  “Goddamn, boys!” Joe Black exclaimed. “If they meet up with them cowboys, our game is up. We gotta catch ’em and do it quick!”

  The half-dozen riders lurched back into a gallop, leaving Tim alone on the prairie. He watched them go, then shouted out, “They’re all gone. Come on back up.”

  Rawley and Chaw came out of the draw. Chaw came straight to the point. “What’s your game, kid?”

  “I’m gonna set things straight,” Tim said. “I didn’t know that Big Ed was part o’ the raiders gang.”

  “You found that out?” Rawley asked.

  “Yeah. That means he had a hand in killing my pa,” Tim said. “I thought about it, and got so riled I couldn’t stand it. I finally calmed down enough to get myself ready for a showdown.”

  “Back off, kid,” Chaw said coldly.

  “You’re good with your fists, but you ain’t no gunfighter yet,” Rawley cautioned him. “You better join up with us if you want to bring this thing to a head.”

  Tim was thoughtful for a moment. “You’re right. Anyhow, like I said, I figgered out Big Ed and them bushwhackers have been working for his old pal Witherspoon. I went to the ranchers and told ’em ever’thing. Even about lying at your trial, Pierson.”

  “They didn’t believe you, did they?”

  Tim shook his head. “They called me a damn liar. They said I was trying to cover up. They’re convinced you really gunned them boys down and the judge sentenced you legal to hang. But they’re planning on coming in later to let you loose anyhow.”

  “We can’t wait around for ’em to show up,” Rawley said. “We wouldn’t last a minute if more of Big Ed’s boys come around.”

  “Let’s get the hell outta Texas,” Chaw said. “There ain’t no way that judge and prosecutor is gonna swear out warrants on us. They’ll be happy as hell to be done with this whole thing.”

  “That’s the easy way,” Rawley said. “I got Nancy to take care of. I ain’t leaving her.”

  “Then if you ain’t leaving, you’re gonna have to fight,” Chaw said. “And you’ll need help. From what Tim says, you can’t count on the ranchers for a while. And you ain’t got a while, old pal. Maybe Jim Pauley and Duane Wheeler will sneak away early and come into town/’

  Rawley shook his head. “We can’t count on that. But there’s one sure thing we can do. If we get rid o’ Big Ed and Witherspoon we’ll win the range war. They’re the ones paying the freight on this Diablos affair.”

  “You’re right,” Chaw agreed. “And it’ll be easy for us to take them two.”

  “It’ll be more’n them,” Tim cautioned them. “The whole gang didn’t chase you. There’s ’bout three or four more of ’em that stayed in town,” He took a deep breath. “I reckon I was loco to figger on riding into Duncan alone. So I’m going in with you.”

  “I ain’t seen you in much action,” Rawley said. “You was usually in town playing cards and drinking when the raiders hit.”

  “Yeah,” Chaw said. “Do you think you can lend a fair hand in a shootout?”

  Tim nodded. “I won’t back down one way or the other. I’m Zeb Hawkins’ son.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” Rawley said. “How’re we gonna do it, Rawley?” Chaw asked.

  “We’ll go directly back, but circle around and come in from the opposite end o’ town,” Rawley said. “Then we go to the Deep River and do what’s got to be did.”

  “It ain’t gonna be that easy,” Tim said. “Big Ed’s got his town boys on guard. They’ll see us.”

  “Then it’s gotta be fast,” Rawley said. “If they hold us up, these jaspers that was chasing us will come back and then we’ll really be in deep shit.”

  “Big Ed won’t go down easy,” Tim said. “He’s handy with a gun too. I seen him gun down a crazed cowboy when the feller was all likkered up and shooting up the saloon.”

  “This job seems to get tougher all the time,” Rawley said.

  “Let’s get it did!” Chaw urged him.

  “I’m doing this for Nancy and Tim is doing it for the Circle H Bar,” Rawley said. “You got nothing to gain here, Chaw. Nobody expects you to stick around. You oughta head on off to Delbert’s place in New Mexico where we was going in the first place.”

  “And you oughta shut your damn mouth and ride,” Chaw said. “Let’s go, boys.” Without waiting, the old man spurred his horse into action and began a fast ride back toward Duncan.

  Whipping their reins, Rawley Pierson and Tim Hawkins followed after him.

  Twenty-Two

  The moon lit up Duncan, Texas, as Rawley Pierson crept through the sagebrush just outside the town limits. In spite of the brightness, the shadows cast by the buildings still offered a good deal of cover and concealment.

  Rawley glanced to his right, and could see Chaw advancing alongside about twenty yards way. Tim Hawkins was situated similarly on the left. Signaling at them now and then to keep the alignment correct, Rawley led them up to the small business district, then turned and made his way past the back of the stores. At this point he emitted a low whistle and gestured to his companions. The pair closed up on him at that point, and they all slowly moved through the shadows with their six-guns at the ready.

  “Hold it!” Rawley hissed. “There’s a light in the Deep River Saloon.”

  Tim nodded. “Yeah. It looks like Big Ed and his boys have decided to stay up for the night’s events.”

  “This is gonna make it a tad harder to get ’em, ain’t it,” Chaw commented.

  “I suppose it would. I reckon we can’t sneak up on ’em very easy now. But that adds to the fun,” Rawley said with raw humor. “Particular when you keep in mind that they’re wide awake and armed.”

  “Well, sleeping or awake, we ain’t gonna get ’em by standing around and jawing out here,” the older man said.

  Tim said, “There’s a storeroom in t
he back of the Deep River. It’s where they keep beer barrels and crates o’ whiskey bottles.”

  “In that case, I think we’re better off going through the rear of the saloon,” Rawley said. “They’ll all be in the barroom and we can throw down on ’em there.”

  “Yeah,” Tim agreed nervously. “They’re probably just sitting around playing cards or drinking.”

  Rawley again took the lead as the trio approached the rear of the Deep River. When they reached it, he checked the back door and found it unlocked. After he eased it open, Rawley, Chaw, and Tim stepped inside, walking gingerly into a storeroom that was exactly as Tim had described it.

  “This is too easy,” Chaw whispered. He chuckled softly. “We’ll have this thing wrapped up and tied with a perty red bow in about another fifteen minutes.”

  “Get ready,” Rawley said. “On my word, we’ll—”

  The door opened and Roy Patton, the bartender, stepped inside. He’d gone no more than three steps toward the barrel of beer he was after when he spotted the intruders.

  “Big Ed!” he shouted, turning and rushing out. “Pierson and Tim Hawkins is in there with the old fart.”

  “Old fart?” Chaw yelled out in stunned indignation. Before he could make any more comments, shooting broke out in the main room and the slugs crashed through the thin plank wall, flying around Rawley and his friends.

  They instinctively returned fire as they backed out of the building. But when they reached the alley, more shots came their way from two of Big Ed’s men who had run around side of the saloon. A retreat in the opposite direction was cut off by the sudden appearance of three more pistoleros who had scrambled to cover that area.

  Rawley and Chaw instinctively turned toward the lesser number and kicked out several shots in the pistoleros’ direction. One of the men crumpled to the ground while the other beat a hasty withdrawal back around the building. This time it was Chaw ahead of his friends as they rushed past the place and continued down to the blacksmith shop.

  “Is there a back door?” Chaw asked looking at the unfamiliar building.

  “I don’t think so,” Tim called out from the rear.

  “Then where do you want one?” Chaw asked. He slammed against the building with his boot, trying to break into the frame wall.

  “Don’t be loco, Chaw!” Rawley shouted. Now he went to the front and found the large doors there. There was only a hasp holding them shut. Rawley yanked it open and the three went inside. They came to a panting halt, standing close together in the darkness of the building.

  “Well, now, ain’t we accomplished a lot?” Chaw mused. “We had a chance to be on our way free and clear to New Mexico, but we come back here so’s we could get cornered in a blacksmith shop.”

  “That was part of my clever plan,” Rawley said, grinning as he reloaded his pistol.

  “You planned this?” Chaw inquired.

  “Well, not the whole thing,” Rawley allowed. “Just the part about coming into town.”

  Tim didn’t appreciate the older ones’ banter while they all faced death. He peered out between a crack in the boards. “Do you reckon they know where we are?” he asked.

  A volley of shots exploded from outside, smacking into the building.

  “Does that answer your question?” Chaw inquired.

  “Maybe we’re better off in here,” Tim suggested.

  Rawley wasn’t so optimistic. “I don’t think so. All this shooting is gonna wake up the townfolks. They’ll be joining in on the side o’ Big Ed and his boys. Don’t forget that they figger I’m a cold-blooded killer.”

  “Yeah,” Chaw said. “Thanks to Tim here.”

  “Let’s not go into that,” Rawley said. “We could be facing a small army in another quarter or half hour.”

  “Well, this is a hell of a mess we’re in, ain’t it?” Tim complained.

  More shots crashed into the building as if to emphasize his statement.

  “We’re gonna have to act fast, boys,” Rawley said.

  “What’ve you got in mind?” Chaw asked.

  “If you want to kill a rattlesnake, you chop off his head, don’t you?” Rawley said. “And that’s what I intend to do.”

  “You’re gonna get Big Ed and forget the rest o’ these bushwhackers for the time being?”

  “I sure as hell am. He’ll be back in the saloon,” Rawley said. “I want you boys to set up a hell of a lot of shooting to make them jaspers out there duck their heads and be a little more nervous and respectful. While they’re blinking their eyes, I’ll go out that window yonder and make my way in the shadows up the alley.”

  “Gun down Big Ed outright, Rawley,” Chaw urged him. “He’s a sneaky sonofabitch.”

  “I’ll do what looks best at the time,” Rawley said. “Now start shooting, boys.”

  Chaw and Tim each eased up to one of the windows. Chaw licked his lips once and said, “Now!”

  Their two six-guns spit fire and lead as Rawley took advantage of the distraction to slip through a side window. He dropped down to the ground and rapidly crawled around the blacksmith shop to the back. Then, staying in the shadows, he got to his feet and hurried down the alley.

  After going a few yards, Rawley halted and waited. A flurry of firing broke out back where Chaw and Tim still held out, but it died down. The knowledge that there wasn’t much time to waste spurred Rawley back into action. He hurried past the general store, and tensed up as he neared the saloon.

  A gunman suddenly appeared from the darkness between the buildings and swung his carbine hard at Rawley. The blow hit him on the shoulder, although it was really meant for his head.

  The attack was a glancing strike, but it was on his recently injured shoulder. Rawley’s right arm went numb, and he dropped his pistol as he stumbled and went to his knees. But he managed to regain his feet and turn to see the man take another swing at him with the carbine. The hired gun had evidently been in the midst of reloading when Rawley passed his hiding place. Rawley ducked again as the heavy barrel missed him by scant inches. He tried to pick up the Colt, but his fingers couldn’t grasp the weapon.

  The gunman, in a furious frenzy, tried once more. Rawley dropped down again, hearing the whistling sound of another near miss go past his ears. But this time, using his left hand, he managed to get the pistol. Normally right-handed, he held the Colt in his left, feeling clumsy and awkward.

  “Goddamn you!” the man cussed desperately in his effort to brain Rawley. He took another vicious swipe with the Winchester. “I’ll bash your skull into bits!”

  Desperate and fast running out of time, Rawley had no choice but to fire fast before he got his head caved in. The slug crashed into the man’s lower jaw, lifting him free of the ground. Thanking whatever lucky stars he had, Rawley was already at a dead run toward the saloon door before the unlucky bushwhacker hit the ground in a knee-buckling thud.

  Knowing the last shot would have attracted attention in the lull of the gunfight, Rawley could no longer depend on guile or concealment to see him through. He pushed through the back door of the Deep River Saloon, sped across the storeroom, and burst out into the main barroom.

  The first man who turned toward him was the bartender, Roy Patton. The man had a scattergun, but he only had time to turn the double barrels toward Rawley before one of two snap shots took him down with a chest wound.

  Rawley whirled to face the next opposition, but there was nobody there but Rosalie Kinnon. She stared at him nervously, then suddenly shouted, “Rawley! Up on the stairs!”

  He whirled and saw Big Ed MacWilliams just as the saloon owner fired his .44 Smith and Wesson. The bullet whistled by Rawley’s head. Firing left-handed was more difficult at this longer range. Rawley’s shot missed at the same time that Big Ed tried again. That slug kicked up splinters in the floor between Rawley’s feet. Rawley desperately let off two more shots as he backed toward the cover of the bar.

  But one of the slugs found the target.

  Big Ed lurch
ed backward and grabbed the banister. Standing unsteadily, he raised the pistol again. But Rawley also was taking careful aim. Using the numb right hand as a rest under the barrel, he squeezed the trigger in a desperate hope for a second hit.

  The .45-caliber hunk of lead slammed into Big Ed’s sternum, rocking him back on his heels. The saloon owner made a final effort to fire, but died on his feet and tumbled down the stairs to end up crumpled across the bottom steps.

  Rawley turned to Rosalie. “Is there anyone—”

  The girl lay across the table, her blood spreading out to the edge and dripping down on the floor. One of Big Ed’s bullets had hit her. She gasped and struggled to get up, but failed.

  Rawley rushed to her, and picked her up to carry her to the bar, where he laid her down. “Easy, gal,” he said softly, trying to make her comfortable.

  “Witherspoon ...” She spoke with a great effort. “Upstairs with . . . Hannah—” That was all she said. Her death rattle was no more than a gentle sound coming from her throat.

  Rawley, reloading as he ascended the stairs, went directly to the other dance-hall girl’s room. He kicked the door open and started to fire.

  “Don’t shoot!” Witherspoon begged. He dropped to his knees and held out his hands in a begging gesture. “For the love of God, don’t kill me—please! I’m not armed! I swear to God, Pierson! I’m not armed!”

  “Lemme outta this goddamned place!” Hannah shouted. She rushed out the door, then yelled out when she saw Rosalie’s body. “Oh, God in heaven!”

  “Come on, Witherspoon,” Rawley said. “If you don’t want to get shot, don’t try to be cute. Get on your feet. We’re going down to the blacksmith’s place and put an end to the gunplay.”

  “Sure, Pierson. Anything you say,” Witherspoon said. He smiled in an ingratiating way as he got off his knees. “This can all be put right. You’re not going to shoot me, are you?”

  “If you don’t do what I say, I damned well will,” Rawley snarled.

  “Let’s not get excited, please!” Witherspoon pleaded.