Revenge Requires Two Graves

by George Emery Townsend

  Chapter 13

  Pawnee Camp

  Ray walked around the outside of the wagons and was headed straight for the stream that ran on the east side of the camp. It wasn’t a big stream but it would do. Because of the row of thorns that blocked his route, he decided to go between two wagons. Just as he stepped over the wagon tongue Morgan came around the opposite side to also take advantage of the short cut between the wagons. As they passed each other Ray’s heart soared until he saw her nose wrinkle.

  “Well I’m hardly surprised. Not even house broken,” she said with a note of arrogance.

  Ray stopped as she continued on without looking back.

  All he could say to himself was, “Shit.”

  After a well deserved and needed bath, a strong cup of coffee, and a plate of stew, Ray was ready for his bedroll.

  “Ray, wake the hell up! Come on boy, we need to hit the saddle and quick,” came a voice out of his dreams rattling his thoughts until he awoke.

  “What the hell. Leave me alone,” Ray mumbled, as he shrugged off the hand that was shaking him.

  “Ray, Mickey talked a bunch a old boys into goin’ over to the Indian camp to run ‘em off. We need to get there and stop ‘em,” shouted Zeke. “Get your buddies and get mounted. We needed to be in the saddle ten minutes ago!”

  Finally awake and realizing the gravity of the situation, Ray jumped out of his bedroll.

  “Larry! John! Wake up boys we need to ride! Come on!” Ray shouted as he pulled on his pants and shirt, still a little damp from their scrubbing.

  Within ten minutes, the three of them were saddled and mounted when Richard who was almost completely recovered, rode up. “Let’s go boys.”

  Without speaking, the four of them rode to the west end of the wagon circle to meet up with Zeke and the others.

  They rode hard to try to make up the distance between them and Mickey Farrell. The dust hanging in the air ahead of them told them they weren’t far behind. With the Indian camp just a few miles to the southwest, Ray wondered if Quincy and the other riders would be able to cut Farrell off in time, and if they did, to what length would they have to go to stop them?

  Quincy pointed towards the Indian camp, “They’re already sittin’ their horses in the camp! We’re too late!” yelled Quincy.

  Riding slowly into the camp, Ray’s team was surprised to see the Pawnee had the drop on the five-armed men in Farrell’s group.

  “Keep your hands away from your guns boys. We don’t want this to open up iffen' we can avoid it,” said Quincy.

  Ray and the other riders stopped just inside the camp and to the left of the Pawnee. Farrell and his men were to the right, with Farrell sitting in the middle facing the braves. The same Indian braves Ray had seen yesterday now stood fast holding three rifles toward all of them.

  “I must have missed one of the guns when I observed the camp earlier,” thought Ray. He could tell by their movement that the braves were scared, but they held their ground.

  Finally the standoff was broken when Quincy asked Zeke to speak to the Pawnee for him. “Scout, tell the Pawnee that we do not want bloodshed. We will take these men away and bring back a couple steers. We will leave them in peace.”

  “Like hell we will!” yelled Farrell causing the braves to jerk their rifles toward him.

  Ray had all he could take. “Farrell, you back off right now, or I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”

  “You better watch your mouth boy. I have men here that’ll shoot you down,” threatened Farrell.

  ”I’m not talking to them, I’m talking to you. Make one move towards these Indians and you’ll die!” Ray promised.

  Farrell no longer sat tall in his saddle, no longer felt inflated from the power given him by having these hard men follow him. He knew in the West, men expected you to stomp your own snakes. He’d been singled out now and the next move was his.

  “Okay, okay, take it easy, we’re on the same side here. We shouldn’t be fighting’ amongst ourselves. I’ll tell you what: I’ll forget what you said to me and we’ll all just clean out this nest of filth,” said Farrell.

  Turning from side to side Farrell smiled at his men. When he thought Ray had taken his eyes off him, he turned back and began to pull iron. He was shocked to see Ray’s eyes dead on him and the flaming red barrel of his Colt. Farrell was dead before he left the saddle.

  “Jesus, boy. I didn’t know you were that fast,” said Zeke.

  “Me neither,” Ray replied as he replaced the spent shell.

  The three rifles were still aimed directly at them, as the nervous Pawnee tried to figure out what just happened and why these crazy white men were killing each other.

  You could see the relief on the Pawnees’ faces once Zeke had a chance to repeat what Quincy told him to say. When Zeke mentioned the beef, they actually smiled. The braves nodded yes and moved back slowly.

  “Let’s go boys, this party is over. Scout, when we get back to the wagons, have one of the boys watchin’ the herd cut out two and bring ‘em here,” ordered Quincy.

  “Will do, Boss,” acknowledged Zeke as he looked at Farrell’s men. “You boys rode out with Farrell; you can take him back and bury him.”

  “Bury him? It’s been warm the last few days but not warm enough to of thawed out that ground. It'll take dynamite to get deeper than a foot down,” said one of Farrell’s men.

  “I don’t care what you do with him!” yelled Quincy who was now at the end of his rope, “Find a damn ditch to throw him into then push dirt down over him. I don’t care, just get it done.”

  As Quincy started to ride off, he stopped and looked back at the riders, “Throw some damn rocks over him too. It’ll keep the varmints off him.”

  Ray’s team rode out, leaving Farrell’s men struggling to get Farrell thrown over his saddle and tied on. Two of the men were lifting the body up while the other was trying to hold the horse.

  “Damn it Buck, hold that horse steady, this ain’t easy!” yelled one of the men as he lifted Mickey.

  The horse was bucking and pulling hard on the reigns.

  “I’m doing the best I can Floyd, this flea bag is plum spooked by the blood!”

  Floyd dropped the body hard on the ground and picked up a branch lying nearby.

  “I’ll teach ya, ya damn flea bag!” He yelled as he started beating the animal.

  Richard just happened to look back to see what was happening, “Hold up boys, I’m going back.”

  And with that, Richard turned his mount and galloped back to Farrell’s men. Flinging himself from the back of his horse in a dead run, he grabbed the branch from Floyd’s grasp, spinning him in a full circle. Richard then landed his right fist into Floyd’s face, collapsing him to the ground like a rag doll. Richard then turned and faced the two remaining men. One was standing with his mouth hanging down as he held Farrell’s right arm. The other was still holding onto the reigns, trying to control the horse. Richard lifted the dead body up over his shoulder, flinging him onto his saddle. He then returned to Floyd lifting him onto his saddle as well.

  “Now, you boys think you can handle it from here?” Richard said as he returned to his horse, mounted, and rode back to where Ray, John and Larry sat in their saddles, watching in amazement.

  When they returned to the train several people greeted them, wanting to know what happened. Quincy called all those interested into the center of the camp and explained the details. He described how Mickey had drawn first on Ray and that as far as he was concerned that was the end of it. A couple of Mickey’s drinking buddies started to complain when Quincy walked away, but soon realized they really weren’t going to miss Farrell all that much.

  Over his shoulder Quincy yelled, “We’re burning daylight. Let’s get these wagons moving.” And with that, they hit the trail.