The Winchester Run

by Ralph Compton

  Red lighted a candle off Mac’s, and they went over the log walls thoroughly, finding nothing. A careful examination of the floor revealed nothing except a reddish-brown stain that might have been blood, long since dried.

  “Nothing in here,” said Red. “Do we tell the others what we suspect, and start in the next room?”

  “Not yet,” Mac said. “This storm may be with us a while, and we should have plenty of time. Let’s not feed anybody’s superstitions unless we have to.”

  The storm raged on, unabated. By suppertime, there was a rumble of distant thunder.

  “Ever’body better load up on hot coffee,” said Port Guthrie. “That thunder’s gettin’ closer by the minute, and it’ll bring lightning with it. I look for us all to be out there with the horses and mules, tryin’ to convince the varmints there’s nothin’ to git spooked over.”

  “Good advice,” Mac said.

  Guthrie’s prediction proved all too true, and came to pass within the hour. There was a crash of thunder that shook the cabin, followed almost immediately by the frightened braying of mules and the nickering of horses.

  “Come on,” Mac shouted. “They’re gettin’ spooked!”

  Every man with a pair of catch ropes, they surged out into the storm. Mac, Red, Haze, and Buck went after the horses first, for they were creating more commotion than the mules. By the time the rearing, nickering horses had been secured, panic had spread to the mules, and some of the animals lit out back toward the river. Then, on the heels of a clap of thunder, like an echo, came the unmistakable bark of a Winchester. Three more of the deadly weapons added their voices to the fury of the storm, and taken by surprise, the teamsters and outriders tried to fight back with their Colts. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the fusillade ended. The thunder had diminished, and in the lightning flashes there were revealed three huddled bodies.

  “Mac!” Red shouted.

  But Mac didn’t answer. He lay facedown in the mud and driving rain. Slipping in the mud, Red managed to shoulder his friend and started toward the distant cabin. By the time he reached it, Port Guthrie and Lafe Beard were there. Each had brought in a wounded man.

  “Mac’s hard hit,” Red panted.

  “So is Buck and Haze,” said Guthrie, “and we don’t know who else.”

  “Go after the others,” Trinity said, “but one of you bring the medicine chest first.”

  With trembling hands, Trinity unbuttoned Mac’s shirt. Blood welled from a wound in his side, and when she felt for a pulse, there was none.

  “Oh, God,” Elizabeth cried, “Haze has no pulse.”

  “Neither does Mac,” said Trinity. “We must get them out of these wet clothes and see to their wounds.”

  “It’s too late,” Rachel wailed. “Buck’s been hit twice.”

  “It’s not too late,” Trinity snapped. “Move, damn it.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Among the teamsters, only Lafe Beard and Smokey Foster had been wounded. Lafe had been hit in the shoulder and Smokey in the thigh.

  “Some of us better take our Winchesters and stand watch outside,” Port Guthrie said. “There’s at least four of the varmints, and they’re better than average with them rifles.”

  “Port,” said Red, “you’ve had experience with gunshot wounds. If you’ll see to the wounded, I’ll stand watch outside.”

  “Near ’bout all the mules stampeded,” Gourd Snively volunteered.

  “Damn the mules,” said Red. “Trinity, is there anything else you need, anything any of us can do . . .?”

  “Say some prayers,” Trinity said. “The bullets are still in Buck, and that goes beyond the experience any of us have had.”

  “You ladies see to the others,” said Port Guthrie, “and let me work on Buck. He ain’t hurt no worse than that Indian was, and I saved him.”

  Red stepped out the door and stood under the stoop, staring grimly into the rain-swept darkness. He marveled at how rapidly events could take a turn for the worse. They were suddenly free of any threat of a troublesome band of renegades, and through an act of kindness, had been spared by the Comanches, only to see everything go straight to hell within a matter of seconds. His three companions lay grievously wounded, while the damn jug-headed mules would end up God knew where. But the worst of it was that there were at least four men out there somewhere who would kill to keep strangers out of this cabin where a man had been murdered.

  “You varmints went about it all wrong,” said Red softly. “We’d have overlooked the dead man, and after the storm we’d have moved on. Now, by God, we got three men near dead, and we ain’t movin’ until they can ride. Until then, I aim to always have this Winchester in my hand. Show your slimy heads, and I’ll blow ’em off.”

  The door opened and Hattie stepped out, a tin cup of steaming coffee in her hand.

  “I thought you might be needing this,” she said.

  “I do,” said Red. “How does it look for Mac, Haze, and Buck?”

  “I feel better about Buck, with Port seeing to him,” Hattie replied. “The man has a good touch. He’s even managed to get Rachel and Elizabeth settled down. What do you suppose was the cause of this attack?”

  “This cabin may have been built and used by outlaws,” Red replied. “That’s about all I can figure. I reckon we took a chance coming here, but we needed shelter, and the place looked to have been abandoned for months.”

  “I don’t understand the reason for the attack,” said Hattie. “If they wanted us out of here, why didn’t they just leave us alone? After the storm, we would have been gone. Now we have five men wounded, three of them so seriously they won’t be able to ride anytime soon.”

  “I can’t make any sense of it, either,” Red said. “They went about it like they intended to kill us all. That’s why I’m out here. If they have killing on their minds, we don’t know when they’ll attack again. That’s a good reason for you not lingering with me.”

  “I had to get out of there,” said Hattie. “With Port, Trinity, Rachel, and Elizabeth all tending the wounded, I was in the way.”

  “How about Mac and Haze?”

  “Neither of them had a pulse at first,” Hattie said, “but Trinity never gave up. First she got them out of their wet clothes and then began massaging them all over. Elizabeth and Rachel helped, and soon they had a pulse. Port showed them how to stop the bleeding, using cobwebs he found in the cabin’s corners.”

  While the thunder and lightning had ceased, the rain seemed to become more intense. From somewhere upriver, sounding faint and far away, a mule brayed.

  “Port’s as worried about the mules as he is about the wounded,” said Hattie.

  “With good reason,” Red replied. “We’re downwind from that varmint you just heard brayin’, so he could be five miles away. Without mules—two teams per wagon—we’ll be finished.”

  At that point, Port Guthrie stepped out into the night, and Hattie went back inside the cabin. Red waited for the teamster to speak, and he did.

  “With plenty of rest, they’ll all make it. I reckon they’ll have plenty of time. It’ll take us a week to round up them damn mules. Maybe longer.”

  “You’re right about that,” Red agreed, “because all of us can’t look for the mules. We have to count on those varmints who tried to kill us having another go at it. Some of us will have to keep watch.”

  “Lafe and Smokey ain’t hurt all that bad,” said Guthrie. “They can stay with you and stand watch while the rest of us hunt for the mules. But we can’t do nothin’ until this rain lets up.”

  “There won’t be all that much graze, this time of year,” Red said, “and those mules have been getting grain. Some of them may wander back on their own.”

  “True,” said Guthrie. “It’s a wonder the horses didn’t run with ’em.”

  “Those bushwhackers expected us to go after the horses,” Red said. “That’s how they nailed three of us. Will you stand watch for a while? I’d like some more coffee, and I want t
o see how the wounded are doing.”

  “Go ahead,” Guthrie replied. “I’ll be here.”

  Mac, Buck, and Haze lay around the fire, clothed only in bandages. Trinity was soaking the bandages with whiskey. Lafe and Smokey sat on one of the bunks, their wounds already bound. Emmett Budd, Saul Estrella, and Gourd Snively stood in the shadows, concern on their weathered faces. Rachel sat beside Buck and Elizabeth beside Haze.

  “If some of you will bring in their bedrolls,” Trinity said, “we’ll move Mac, Buck, and Haze to bunks.”

  “Saul and me will get ’em,” said Gourd Snively. “Come on, Saul.”

  When the teamsters returned with the bedrolls, Trinity, Rachel, and Elizabeth made up a lower bunk for each of the seriously wounded men. They were then carried to the bunks and covered with blankets.

  “Is there any more whiskey?” Trinity asked. “We used a quart of it, disinfecting and dressing the wounds.”

  “Should be plenty, ma’am,” said Lafe Beard. “There was two quarts to every wagon, strictly for medicinal purposes. I’ll go round up some more.”

  “You’ve been wounded,” Saul Estrella said. “Gourd and me will get it.”

  “Good thinking,” Red said, “going two at a time. For as long as we’re here, nobody goes out alone. Those of us who haven’t been wounded will take turns standing watch outside the door. Trinity, we’ll depend on you, Hattie, Rachel, and Elizabeth to take turns at seeing to the wounded. Sometime before dawn, they’ll likely all be burning with fever, and in need of whiskey.”

  The storm continued unabated, a strong west wind slapping sheets of rain against the log walls and shake roof of the cabin. Gusts of wind swept down the chimney, sending showers of sparks and smoke into the crowded room where the wounded slept fitfully. On the hearth, on a bed of coals, a big black coffeepot bubbled. Hattie was awake, going from one wounded man to the other, feeling their fore-heads for fever.

  “Hattie,” Rachel said softly, “lie down and rest for a while. I’ll take over.”

  “I’ll stay up with you, Rachel,” said Elizabeth. “I can’t sleep until their fever breaks.”

  Red was on sentry duty outside the door, and suddenly there was the roar of a Winchester. Port Guthrie and the rest of the teamsters were immediately awake, on their feet, their Winchesters ready.

  “Red,” Guthrie said, “are you there?”

  “Yeah,” said Red. “I saw somethin’ out yonder.”

  “Rain’s still comin’ down like a cow waterin’ a flat rock,” Guthrie said. “You sure it wasn’t one of the mules?”

  “It wasn’t a mule,” said Red, “and I may not have hit it. Come mornin’, we’ll take a look. Nobody goes back out there tonight.”

  An hour before dawn, Mac’s temperature rose, and Trinity forced a dose of whiskey down him. After breakfast, Haze and Buck began running fevers, and were given whiskey.

  “Port,” Red said, “come along with me and let’s see if I hit anything or anybody last night. If I killed one of the mules, you can shoot me.”

  “I reckon them mules is scattered for miles,” said Guthrie.

  The rain hadn’t let up much, and the two men were soaked for nothing. There was no evidence that Red’s shot had accomplished anything.

  “I saw something or somebody last night,” Red insisted. “I’m sure enough of it that I will personally stand watch today. You can’t see ten feet in all this rain.”

  “It’s a real handicap in more ways than one,” said Guthrie. “Anybody comes skulkin’ around, he’s got to leave some sign. But not in this rain. Them four varmints could be all over us ’fore we knowed they was there.”

  “My point exactly,” Red replied. “That’s why we must have somebody on watch outside the cabin all the time.”

  The day dragged on. The sky lightened up just a little, but more storm clouds swept in from the west, and the rain continued.

  “Mac’s fever’s broken,” said Trinity.

  “Bueno” Red said. “This time tomorrow, he’ll be awake and talking to us.”

  “Buck won’t be,” said Rachel. “His fever hasn’t let up, and I’m afraid that it won’t.”

  “Double the dose of whiskey,” Port Guthrie said. “His wounds was worse, so he’s got maybe twice the infection. What about Haze?”

  “Still feverish,” said Elizabeth, “but he’s resting well.”

  “They should all be takin’ a turn for the better by suppertime,” Guthrie said.

  It was what Guthrie left unsaid that bothered them most. A wounded man who didn’t respond to treatment and showed no improvement could only continue to slip away from the living until he became one of the dead. But Guthrie’s prediction was accurate, and well before suppertime, the fever broke. Buck and Haze were judged to be out of danger. When Port Guthrie had eaten, he took his Winchester and went to relieve Red. But no sooner had the teamster opened the door than a slug slammed into the log wall just inches from his head. Guthrie dropped to his knees, cocking his Winchester, but Red was already firing.

  “Back inside,” Red shouted.

  Guthrie needed no urging, for in quick succession there were three more shots, and all were chest-high. Had he been on his feet, Port Guthrie would have been a dead man. He threw himself back through the cabin door, Red right behind him. Red kicked the door shut just as another slug tore into it. The rest of the teamsters—even the wounded—had their Winchesters ready.

  “We’ll have to abandon that outside watch as long as this storm’s roarin’,” Red said. “When we open the door, we’re presenting them with a target, and thanks to the storm, we’re not even gettin’ a muzzle flash to return the fire.”

  “Yeah,” said Guthrie, “but with nobody on watch, they can kick in the door and blow us all to hell and gone, before we can fight back.”

  “Maybe not,” Red said. “We’ll pile all the extra firewood in front of the door. It’s not all that thick, and if they throw enough lead through it, some of it could get to us.”

  “I just want the storm to be over, so we can get out of here,” said Hattie.

  “We’ll likely be here another week, storm or not,” Guthrie said. “We got wounded men, and we’ll need a good three days of sun before we can move the wagons.”

  “Not even then,” said Gourd Snively, “if we don’t find them mules.”

  While their prospects were grim enough, things promised to get worse. There came a crash of thunder. Yet another storm was moving in, and the continual pounding of wind-driven rain on the shake roof and log walls of the cabin became a dirge. Twice, since the five men had been wounded, they had been fired upon by unknown, unseen adversaries, and with no effective means of retaliation, their nerves had become frayed almost to the breaking point.

  “I suppose we should be thankful for the continual rain,” Trinity said. “If it wasn’t for that, they could burn us out.”

  “That’s the one thing we don’t have to worry about,” said Red. “There must be something in this cabin they want, somethin’ they can’t get to while we’re here. At least, that’s what Mac thought.”

  “So that’s what you an’ him took candles and was searchin’ for in the other room,” Gourd Snively said. “Didn’t find nothin’?”

  “No,” said Red. “We didn’t make a big thing of it, because we didn’t want the rest of you gettin’ rattled.”

  “After gettin’ shot, an’ havin’ all that lead throwed at me by varmints I don’t know, can’t see, an’ can’t shoot at,” Smokey Foster said, “I’m commencin’ to git rattled anyhow.”

  “I reckon I can understand that,” said Red. “It’s time you knew the straight of it. Mac and me didn’t take that skeleton out of here. When we came back to remove it, the thing was gone. Bones, hat, saddlebags, and Colt.”

  “More damn outlaws,” Emmett Budd said, “and they knowed we was lookin’ for some place to hole up durin’ the storm.”

  “Yes,” said Red, “but we had no idea they wouldn’t just wait f
or us to leave. Damn it, how could we know they planned to kill us?”

  “I reckon we can’t fault you and Mac for goin’ ahead and takin’ this cabin,” said Port Guthrie. “It’s good shelter, but it’s a real skookum house.”*

  “What . . . what’s happened?” Mac mumbled.

  “Nothing you should think about until you’re better,” said Trinity, kneeling beside his bunk. “Go back to sleep.”

  “No,” Mac said weakly. “I’ve . . . been awake . . . heard the talk. Water . . . bring me water . . .”

  Trinity brought him a tin cup of water, and when he drank that, brought more.

  “Red,” said Mac, his voice stronger, “tell me . . . what happened.”

  Trinity shook her head, but Red McLean appeared not to notice. He hunkered down beside Mac’s bunk and began to talk.

  “The horses and mules were spooked by the lightning. When we all ran out to try and hold ’em, four rifles cut down on us. Lafe and Smokey have flesh wounds, but Haze, Buck, and you caught some bad ones. Buck was hit twice, but him and Haze survived the fever. They’ll make it, and so will you.”

  “The shooting,” Mac said.

  “Since that first time, when you were hit, they’ve fired on us twice,” said Red. “Port and me was takin’ turns standing watch outside the door, and they damn near got the both of us. The door ain’t that strong, so we piled all the extra firewood against it. You can’t see ten feet, with all the rain. We couldn’t return the fire, because we couldn’t even see a muzzle flash.”

  “None of you are to go out there again,” Mac said, “until the storm lets up and you can see to defend yourselves.”

  “We haven’t been out,” said Hattie. “Since we couldn’t get to the bushes, we’ve been going to the back room. It’s beginning to smell like there’s something dead back there, for sure.”

  Despite his wound, Mac laughed, and it ended in a coughing fit.

  “Enough talk,” said Trinity. “See what it’s doing to you?”