by R. W. Stone
Within a few minutes, a large cloud of dust blew up, and I heard the expected sound of a large number of galloping horses.
As the gang started to round the bend, I looked at those in front, fully expecting to find Thompson and Dunbar. I was surprised that they were nowhere to be found, and that puzzled me.
Those two didn’t seem to be the type to let others do their dirty work. They were the sort who took great satisfaction in extracting their own revenge. I took another look and realized that one of the riders out in front of the pack was the same man I’d noticed with the sling on his arm back in town.
Through the magnification of the scope, I finally recognized him as the man who called himself Wilkins. The very same man Lobo and I had had the run-in with back in Cooper’s Crossing. The one Jake Finley had run out of town. I suddenly had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I had a job to do, so I set about doing it.
I quickly calculated the time remaining, aimed my rifle at that buried lantern, and pulled the trigger. It was an easy shot. Hell, I was the one who’d rigged and buried the lantern in the first place.
To the men on horseback, there appeared to be nothing unusual out ahead of them, so the whole group was bunched up and riding at full tilt. When I fired my shot, the lamp immediately exploded in flames. The fire touched off the detonation cord I’d buried, and the gang rode right into a series of simultaneous explosions from a combination of TNT and exploding canteens full of black powder and nails.
I ducked behind the boulder, and when the dust finally settled, there was a bloody mass of downed horses and men. I hadn’t seen anything that bad since the war.
I didn’t stop to count, but even a quick glance told me I had succeeded. The blast had almost totally eliminated the gang, either killing or seriously wounding nearly all the outlaws. Those who could still ride were hightailing it back to Broken Willow and would no longer pose a serious threat to us.
I ran as fast as I could over to the Appaloosa and sheathed the rifle in its scabbard. It took me a moment or so to get into the saddle, as the blast had spooked the horse a little. Once I was mounted, I let out a whoop and galloped away, back toward the wagon.
As I’d directed, the girls had stopped just short of the entrance to the pass. I dismounted and quickly retied my horse to the back of the wagon. I once again drew the Springfield and then practically dived into the wagon bed from behind.
“Drive on, Barbara, but remember, nice and steady,” I said. “We don’t want to spook the lookouts.”
I readjusted the scope and stretched out with the rifle sticking sideways, just slightly out from under the Conestoga’s cover. I sighted along the rock wall where I knew the sentries would be waiting. I didn’t know whether the guards had any binoculars or not, so I reminded the girls to keep their hats pulled low and not to look up.
We were halfway into the pass when several men stood up from their hiding places in the rocks and shouted down: “Hey, what in hell just happened back there?”
I didn’t want them to see me and knew they would recognize a girl’s voice if one of them shouted back. I whispered without taking my eyes off the rifle: “Don’t answer them. Just keep on going, but don’t rush it. Nice and easy. Make it look like we’re not in any rush.”
Barbara was driving the wagon with Susanne and Eileen in back with me. They shouted again, and Barbara raised her hands up wide at them as if she had no clue. I had to hand it to her, she had real grit.
After another shout, one of the sentries ordered us to halt.
“What now?” Barbara asked without turning around.
“Keep on going just like you are until I tell you,” I replied, still keeping my eyes on the rifle scope, “then let ’er rip.”
At that point I heard another order to halt, followed almost immediately by a shot. At the sound of a second shot, I pulled the trigger on my Trapdoor. The explosion that followed was about as I had expected.
Because last night after laying that first row of charges at the bend, I rode even farther ahead, sneaked past the guard, and climbed the rock face to a point over the sentry stations. There I had placed the remainder of my TNT and the rest of the black powder and some of the blasting caps.
This last explosion, triggered by my rifle shot, brought down an avalanche of rocks that took out the remainder of the guards.
I rolled over and breathed a sigh of relief. “Now, Barbara, put the whip to ’em.” I felt the wagon lurch forward, and we rode on at a fast pace for about ten minutes. The two women in the back hugged each other, and then both of them gave me a hug and said their thanks.
I was about as relieved and happy as I can remember being for a very long time, when I suddenly heard Barbara gasp loudly and bring the wagon to a halt. I climbed forward and out onto the wagon’s front seat to the right of Barbara to see what was up.
Staring right at us and blocking our way were Hank Thompson and Royce Dunbar. Barbara had been right to stop. At that close a range, if she had tried to gallop the wagon over them, she would surely have been shot right out of her seat.
When the wagon came to a stop, I started to climb down. As I did so, I untied the rawhide thong at the bottom of the holster that secured it to my leg. Before finally dropping to the ground, I cocked both barrels of the shotgun and whispered to Barbara: “If this doesn’t go well, empty the pistol I gave you at them, and then drive as fast as you can. It may be your last chance. But not until and unless …” I didn’t finish the sentence.
“Oh please, be careful. These men are born killers,” she pleaded.
I walked around and placed myself in front of the wagon’s team, directly facing the two men. I was now positioned between them and the women in the wagon. Dunbar was facing me a little to my left and Thompson on my right, standing near him.
“It was Wilkins, wasn’t it?” I asked calmly.
Royce smirked back at me. “Damn right it was.”
“Seems he recognized you from back in Cooper’s Crossing. You two had a previous little run-in, I hear,” Hank Thompson said angrily. “Apparently the sheriff let on you were some sort of bounty man,” he added. “Trying to collect, are you?”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Royce said, and laughed.
“So I assume you two came through here earlier just in case I made it past the guards,” I said. Out of habit my right hand was now resting on my scattergun.
“You got that right,” Royce replied.
“Just curious. Why’d you let us get this far? Why not just stop us back in town?” I asked.
Hank was the first to answer. “Was a good test of our defenses. It let me know who I could depend on.”
I just nodded. “Well, your gang did go down on your behalf. I’ll give them that.”
“I gather those explosions were your doing and that our men won’t be following?” Thompson added.
I looked at Royce Dunbar. “You got that right,” I mimicked. “So it’s just the three of us now.” I sounded confident, but truthfully, I had seen Dunbar draw, and I assumed Hank Thompson was just as fast. With his pistols positioned as they were with their butts forward, I assumed he used what they call a twist draw.
“Two to one suits me just fine,” Royce added happily.
“Thought it might,” I stated dryly.
“Before we kill you, though, I’d like to know why you would take on such odds all by your lonesome for women who are complete strangers to you. You need money that bad?”
“Oh, I wanted to help those girls all right, but I didn’t come just for them. I really came for you,” I explained.
Not surprisingly, they both looked a little puzzled.
“Us? I didn’t think any lawman even knew we were here,” Hank said seriously.
“Yeah. Last I heard there ain’t even posters out on us,” Royce said.
“There aren’t,�
�� I said. “Least not under those names.”
“So why us? Before we kill you, I’d like to know.” Hank said.
“Personal reasons,” I said after a pause.
“And those might be?” he asked. “I don’t recall your face.”
“Let me help,” I replied. “Took me a long time to find you, but now I understand why. You changed your names and cleaned up your act. Stayed here instead of going back out on the trail.” I addressed Thompson directly. “You used to go by Clay rather than Hank, right?”
Henry Clayton Thompson. He looked at Royce Dunbar and then back at me. He tipped his hat up slightly as if to study me further. “Used to. Some who’re close to me still call me that from time to time.”
“Then you’ll be the first to go, Clay. I’ve waited a long time for this,” I said, glancing over at Royce. “That is, unless you two are so cowardly, you have to try me together.”
“That’ll be the day,” Dunbar growled. “Let me take him, Hank,” he said angrily.
Thompson shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got this. Personal, hey? Waited a long time, huh? Mind telling me for what?”
“For a village full of innocent Arapahoes.” I replied. I was so mad the words almost stuck in my throat.
“Whoa, that was a long time ago. You’ve been looking for us since way back then?” He shook his head from side to side. “How sad. All that time searching for us just to end up dead. What a shame,” he said, gloating. “Well, we might as well get this done.”
I considered my chances, which at the time were poor to slim. My rifle was still in the back of the wagon, and I only carried two rounds in my sidearm. And both of these two were faster on the draw than a lightning strike. Suddenly, I knew how all this would play out. I took a big, slow breath and let out a sigh of relief. Thompson and I were tensed and squared away, facing each other. In the corner of my eye, I also watched Royce. I was fairly sure that between Thompson’s order and Royce’s confidence in his partner, Royce would hold his fire. Even so, I didn’t want to take any chances by ignoring him.
“If you know what’s good for you, Thompson, I’d advise you to turn around and look behind you,” I warned suddenly.
Henry Clay Thompson laughed out loud. “That’s the best you got? You actually think I’ve lived all these years by falling for that old one?”
“Okay, then,” I said, “but before we go at it, let me ask you just one more thing. Ever seen what a timber wolf can do to a man?”
“No, and what of it?” he asked, puzzled. “We’ve never had any wolves around here.”
“You do now,” I replied, smiling.
They say that as you are about to die, your senses heighten. At least Thompson’s did, and he suddenly spun around.
“Lobo, gun!” I yelled. Actually, the command wasn’t really needed, as that wolf was already in midair, springing right at him. To me it always seemed that Lobo could somehow sense anger, fear, or evil in people. Thompson had all three, and Lobo never let up once he started in on him.
I turned to face Dunbar. Royce knew that if he turned to help his friend or tried to fire on the wolf, it would give me the advantage I needed to shoot him dead. His face reflected the hate he felt for me, but I also sensed something else. Fear.
The screams coming from what was happening to his best friend of so many years had to have been unnerving. However, as sadistic as it may sound, it was music to my ears. I had never felt so alive.
I now faced only one man. Even as fair as that might sound, the enemy in front me was as deadly with a handgun as anyone I’d ever seen, and his fast draw holster held a six-shot Colt Peacemaker.
Out the corner of his eye, Royce Dunbar quickly glanced over at his partner. He rubbed his chin with his left hand as if in thought. His right was resting on the butt of his Colt. “I know who you are now,” he said.
“You do, huh?” I replied.
“Bounty hunter who travels with a wolf-dog mutt,” he said. “You gotta be the one they call the Badger.”
“Some call me that.”
“So why were we so almighty important to you? Personal, you said? And how’d you finally find out we was here? You say it took you all these years to track us down, but you ain’t no lousy Injun. What I wanna know is what’s so goddamned important to you about a few savages being killed all them years ago.”
“Still don’t recognize me, do ya?”
He looked at me with his half-cocked head and squinted. “Should I?”
“I’ll answer your questions in order. Then you can try to kill me.”
“Oh, trust me, I’ll do more than try,” he snarled.
“You used to wear a big beard.” I said it more as a statement than a question. “And they used to call you Brick.”
Dunbar looked a little surprised. “He used to,” he said, referring to Clay Thompson. “Always said I was built like one.”
“Or maybe he just thought your head was as thick as one,” I offered.
“Screw you, bounty man,” he rasped angrily.
“Well, Brick, you asked me a question, so I’ll tell you. When I heard about that train robbery, I interviewed all the witnesses I could find. They described you pretty damned well and said that the shooting didn’t start until one of the passengers started to argue. Apparently, he ripped off your bandanna in the scuffle that occurred between you two.”
“So? What’s that got to do with anything?”
I knew he’d want his curiosity settled before he made his move.
“A little unusual to kill a man over a lousy scarf, isn’t it? Unless, of course, there’s something underneath it you wanted to hide.”
The big man just glared at me.
“Take it off, Brick,” I said firmly. “Take the kerchief off now so I can see the scar. That’s why your head is stuck sideways like that, isn’t it? Scarred down.”
Royce Dunbar pulled off the bandanna, revealing as ugly a mess of scar tissue as I’d ever seen. It only served to intensify the anger and hate in his eyes.
“I’ll bet it hurt like hell at the time,” I said. “You sure must want to get even with the one who gave you that.”
“Oh, I already did just that.”
“Did ya now?” I asked. I then reached up with my left hand and pulled something out of my shirt pocket. My right hand, like Brick’s, was resting on the butt of my scattergun. I threw him the object I’d retrieved from my pocket. He caught it with his left and with surprising dexterity. He never once looked away or moved his right arm.
“Her hair was red,” I said with a building fury. “Just like mine.”
He glanced quickly down at the woman’s silver broach in his hand and at once realized who I was and why I was there.
“You survived? After all this time? All this …? It had nothing to do with the women, after all?”
“Oh, it had everything to do with the women. Especially the one who was my mother, you cowardly, raping son of a bitch.”
I was close enough, even with my poor eyesight, to see Brick Dunbar’s eyelids twitch just once before he went for his gun.
When someone truly knows what they are doing, I swear there is nothing on God’s green earth as fast on the draw as a Colt Peacemaker pulled from the kind of holster Brick Dunbar wore. And Dunbar clearly knew what he was doing. Nothing, but nothing is as fast on the draw as a Colt from a rig like that. Nothing that is, except a weapon that doesn’t even need to be drawn.
When I had gone to that leather smith back in Cooper’s Crossing, Mr. Murphy had not only repaired my belt and holster, but he had also made one very important modification, just as I’d requested. What he’d done was add a small brass bolt that connected the holster to a grooved metal slide attached to the belt. In essence Murphy had created a holster swivel.
I no longer had to draw. By first undoing the tie-down thong from
off my leg, that holster now hung free. I’d also made sure when I climbed down off the wagon that both hammers of my shotgun were already cocked. When Brick Dunbar finally went for his pistol, I simply pushed down on the sawed-off scattergun’s stock. That move swiveled the front of the holster upward when I pulled the trigger.
Brick took both shotgun barrels waist high, horizontally and right through the open bottom of my holster.
After that there wasn’t much of him left to bury. I went over and retrieved my mother’s broach from his death grip. I cleaned it off and replaced it in my pocket.
“Let’s go back, Lobo,” I said softly. He looked up at me from what now remained of Clay Thompson’s body, and I swear he seemed to be smiling. I walked back around the wagon with Lobo trotting behind me. I checked on the horse and mule, and once I was confident they were both still secured, I walked around to the front of the Conestoga and climbed up. I looked over at Barbara and the other two girls. They seemed to be stunned into silence.
“The quicker we leave here, the better off we’ll be,” I pointed out, taking the reins from Barbara’s hands. “Time to get you three back to the fort. I expect there are some overly anxious folks there that’ll be mighty happy to see you.”
“Wish Helen were coming with us,” Elaine said sadly.
“I do, too,” I said. “Sorry I couldn’t have gotten here sooner. Did my best to try.”
“You did more than your best,” Barbara said, putting her hand on my arm. She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I looked over at her into those beautiful eyes, but all I could do to express my thanks was nod.
Epilogue
After two days of riding, we crossed paths with a cavalry patrol from the fort. They appeared to be armed to the teeth, and, as could have been predicted, the ever-impatient Captain Boyle was leading the troop. But don’t get me wrong, at the time I was more than happy to have their company.
After an emotional reunion with his fiancé, Suzanne, and a rather uncomfortable explanation of why we were one short, I turned to the captain. “So, whatever happened to all that Posse Comitatus crap?” I asked.
