Forty-Four Caliber Justice (17 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

C
lay arrived at
the juniper at the bottom of the canyon, near the camp. He could smell the campfire and hear the men talking. He lay listening for a moment, contemplating the upcoming action. Now was the time. He would have them dead to rights. He was only about thirty feet from the fire. Clay slowly stood behind the juniper. His footsteps making no sound, he stepped from behind the tree. The men kept talking. They hadn
’
t noticed him. But only two men sat at the fire. He snapped his head around, left, right, no sign of the third man. He was committed now.

Clay thumbed the hammer of the Roper back. The audible, metallic click stopped conversation. “Howdy, boys.”

The two men turned to look at him. The one with the beard grinned. “Mighty big shotgun you got there, boy. What took you so long?”

Movement from his left caught his eye, and a half-breed stepped from the brush. He had a Winchester trained on Clay.
How do I get myself in these predicaments? Am I ever going to
learn?

“Breed, you got him covered?” the bearded man asked.

Neither of the men at the fire had drawn a weapon.

“Yes, if he moves, he dies,” Breed said.

“Good,” Beard said, “drop yore weapons, boy. Or I’ll have Breed gut shoot you, then we’ll drag you into the fire and see how long you last. Nothin’ more fun than watchin’ a man roast. Drop yore weapons, now!”

This is going to be close. I won’t get out of this without getting shot. But if I surrender, I’m dead.
Clay eased the shotgun toward the ground. When his hand came even with his holster, he turned loose of the Roper and grabbed the Model 3, diving to his left. He felt the comforting weight of the six-gun in his right hand. The roar of the Winchester echoed through the canyon. Breed worked the Winchester’s action fast, but not fast enough. Clay heard the crack and felt the breeze by his ear, as the bullet passed.
He missed—how could he miss?
He watched his shot blossom red on the Breed’s chest.

No time for a second shot. The bearded man had dropped his fresh cup of coffee, the scalding liquid spilling all over his lap. If it hadn’t been life or death, it would have been funny. He scrambled to get his gun out, but also to get away from the searing heat. Clay immediately switched the muzzle of the Model 3 to the third man. He was standing, and his gun was coming up.

“Drop it,” Clay yelled. He knew he had the man dead to rights. The rustler knew it too and heaved his gun into the brush. Clay swung the muzzle back to the bearded man. He was no worry. He had dropped his gun in the dirt and run to the creek and was splashing cold water on his lower waist and legs.

“Don’t shoot, Mister, don’t shoot. I’m already ruined. I ain’t never gonna be good for nothin’.”

Clay turned to the other man and signaled him toward the breed. “Go check on your partner.”

The man walked over and looked at him for a moment. “He’s dead, Mister. You plugged him right in the chest. Why, I never seen such shootin’. Who ever heard of a man drawing with a rifle dead on him? I never, I just never.”

Clay motioned him back to the fire. “Where’s Gideon Pinder?”

“He’s gone to San Felipe,” the man replied.

The bearded man was sitting in the creek, moaning.

“Any more of you?”

“No, sir. We’re it. I figgered this would be an easy job. Stealing a few cows from a Mex. Never figgered it would come to any shootin’. Why, it ain’t even rustlin’ if you’re stealing from a Mex over the border.”

“What’s your names?” Clay asked.

“Well, sir, I’m Handy Taylor. The feller sittin’ in the creek with his crotch on fire is Zeke Martin. The dead breed is half-Comanche and half-Mex. He goes by the name of Tomas. Don’t know any other name for him.”

“Zeke, why did Gideon Pinder go into town?”

Zeke had quit moaning, but was still sitting in the creek. “He got word that Harly had been killed. He was some riled up. Reckon he sets a lot of store by his brothers. Heard them talking—seems he took care of them since they was little tykes. His pa was gone drinking, when he weren’t working, and his ma was cattin’ around. Don’t get me wrong, Mister. Gideon’s bad clean through, but he shore takes care of his brothers. He was madder’n a wet hen when he heard. Said he was gonna rip the guts out of the so and so that did it. So, who are you?”

“Clay Barlow, Bill Barlow’s son.”

Clay could see Zeke’s eyes grow large with recognition, and his face turned white as a new moon. “Yeah, you heard right, Zeke. I’m Clay Barlow. You’re one of the men I’m after. Seems you like to burn people.”

“That weren’t my idea, Mr. Barlow. No, siree, it weren’t me at all.”

“Not what I heard. In fact, I heard you like to burn people. You even mentioned gut shooting and burning me, or did I misunderstand you?”

“I was only kidding. I’d never do such a thing.”

“You like pecans, Zeke?”

The man looked at Clay. It was obvious he couldn’t figure out the boy-man standing in front of him. “Uh… yeah. I like pecans.”

“Do you like oaks?”

“Mister, I ain’t likin’ what you seem to have on your mind. Ain’t no reason to start talking hanging. I ain’t done nothing to deserve such treatment. These are Mex cows. That ain’t rustling.” Sweat was coursing down the man’s white face. “Why, I could even be a help to ya, finding Gideon and his brother.”

“Oh, I think you’re going to be a big help,” Clay said. “Get out of the creek and come over here by the fire so I can keep an eye on you.”

“I’m burnt bad. Can I jest sit here for a while?”

“Tell you what I’ll do, Zeke. You can sit in that water, and I’ll see if I can hit you, from here, with one of these .44s. Your choice.” Clay turned the muzzle of his six-gun toward Zeke, and the man scrambled out of the creek.

“Now come over here, take your boots and shirt off, and lay down by the fire, facedown.” Clay glanced at Handy. “Move over by him and do the same.”

Zeke waddled back to the fire, pulled off his boots and then his shirt. Handy followed suit.

“Toss the boots over here.”

Both men tossed their boots to Clay and lay face down on the dirt. He checked the boots for weapons and found none. He moved to the Roper, picked it up, and checked each man. Neither of the men had any hidden weapons.

“Okay, you two, get dressed.” Clay watched the two men closely as they pulled their boots on. He turned slightly to Handy, keeping Zeke in view. “What’s your story?”

“I tied up with these folks in San Felipe,” Handy said. “Thought I might make some travelin’ money. Wasn’t long before I figured I joined up with some mighty bad
hombres
. Didn’t figger they would take kindly with me just riding away. I’ve been biding my time, waiting for a chance to lay some dust behind me.”

“Mister, you have no idea how bad this bunch is,” Clay said. “They rode into my pa’s ranch, killed him and my ma and our good friend, Slim. This piece of dirt”—Clay indicated Zeke with the muzzle of his revolver—“burned my pa, after they had shot and hanged him. That’s the kind of animals you’ve been riding with.”

“Figured pretty close, from hearing them talk. That’s why I’ve been looking for a chance to ride my cayuse out of this country.”

Clay thought for a minute. “You ever done any rustling?”

“Well, sir,” Handy said, “can’t say I haven’t slung a wandering loop or two. But nothing major, and that’s the gospel truth.”

“Ever killed a man?”

“Only for good reason, and they were facing me.”

“You wanted anywhere?”

Handy rubbed his chin. “Reckon I don’t want to get caught in Mexico, but that’s it.”

“Okay, here’s my deal: You help me drive these cattle to San Felipe, and you’re free to go. I’ll keep your guns until we get there.”

Clay could read relief all over Handy’s face. “I’ll owe you big, Mister. I’ll be glad to help with the cattle, but there’s only two of us. We got about five hundred head here. That’s quite a few for two men, in this country.”

“You’re forgetting Zeke. I’d bet he would be glad to help, wouldn’t you, Zeke?”

“Yes, sir. I’d be pleased to. I just don’t know if I can sit a saddle.” Zeke had started to squirm from the pain. It was clear that the heat from the fire was making it more intense.

“I’ll tell you what, Zeke, I’ll give you another choice. You can trail these cows to San Felipe, or we can ride down to the Devils and find a nice strong pecan tree. Which suits you best?”

“Reckon I’d be glad to help. What’s going to happen to me when we get to San Felipe?”

“Why, Zeke, you’re going to jail, and then I imagine you’ll hang. But that gives you a little longer to live. Now get over there and get your dead partner tied on your horse. You’ll ride with him. Handy, pick up those guns and bring them over to me.”

The men’s horses were saddled, tied out nearby to feed. Handy picked up the guns and laid them at Clay’s feet. He got Tomas’s horse and his own and led them over near Clay.

Zeke had led his horse to Tomas and hefted the man behind his saddle, tying him in place. Clay pulled a piggin’ string off Tomas’s saddle, tied all of the guns together, and cinched them up tight across the saddle, behind the horn. He picked up his shotgun and swung up. The other men followed, with Zeke complaining about his burns. Clay wasn’t worried about Zeke taking off, not with Tomas tied across his saddle and the burns he had to deal with. Handy seemed like a basically honest cowboy who had managed to get mixed up with the wrong crowd. He was lucky, Clay thought, to be getting out of this situation. He would have ended up at the end of a rope or shot in the back by any one of the Pinder Gang.

The men pushed the cattle out of the canyon and turned them south. An old longhorn cow took the lead and stepped out with a quick step, following Handy. Clay kept a lookout for the mesquite thicket, where Blue and the buckskin were tied. He spotted it soon after they left the canyon and rode up to them. Both horses had been watching the herd. He dismounted from Tomas’s horse, untied the guns from the saddle horn and tied them to the buckskin. He stepped into the saddle on the buckskin and slid the Roper back into the scabbard. Clay cleared the mesquites and checked Zeke and Handy. They were both still in position. They probably hadn’t even noticed him leave the herd. With Blue and the other horse in tow, he picked up his drag position. No one liked riding drag, with all the dust, but it kept him in a position to watch the other two men.

At the pace the cattle were moving, if they drove straight through, they should push into San Felipe in time for breakfast. He figured they’d pause about midnight and let the stock feed for a while. The cattle were staying fairly bunched together. Maybe they could smell the cougar he had run into earlier.

Clay pulled out of the drag and galloped up to Handy. “Anybody else go with Gideon into San Felipe?”

At a glance, Handy took in the buckskin and Blue. “Yep, he took Quint in with him. Now that’s the one you gotta watch. He’s fast with a gun and mean as a snake. He’s a thinker.”

“So there’s only two of them?”

“Reckon so. Zeke was telling you straight. Gideon was boilin’ mad. He almost killed the breed, but Quint stopped him. The breed was in town when you shot Birch and Shorty. Way he told it, he’d of killed you, but you had folks around you. Way we all figured it, he saved his own skin and dusted it out of town. Been me, reckon I’d probably done the same thing.”

Clay mulled over what Handy had told him. Gideon and Quint didn’t know him. If he could get the drop on them, he could turn them over to the law and wouldn’t have to kill anyone else. He’d rather they be tried and hanged. They’d killed his folks, and they deserved dying. He was just tired of killing. A month ago, he was just a happy-go-lucky kid living the life he loved. Now, he had already killed five men. It sure wasn’t anything he was proud of, nor a number he wanted to add to.

“When we get to San Felipe, I’d like to keep the cattle in the river bottom. They’ll have grass and water. Don’t reckon they’ll be inclined to stray far. If we can leave them far enough from town, the Pinders won’t even know I’m anywhere around. When we leave the cattle, you’re free to go. Just don’t alert the Pinders.”

“Mister, I’ve got jerky in my saddlebags and Devils River water in my canteen. When you say go, I’m out of here. I’m gonna cut for San Antone and parts unknown. You don’t have to worry about me causing no problems.”

“Good. Anything else I need to know about the Pinders?”

“Both right-handed. Quint’s sly. You gotta watch him. Gideon, he’s just big. Tries to run over everybody. But don’t let his size fool you. He’s fast with that gun. Probably ain’t as fast as you, but fast.”

“Thanks,” Clay said. “We’re going to keep the cattle moving. Stop ’em around midnight and let them feed and rest for a couple of hours. Then we’ll push on through to town.” Clay wheeled the horses around and rode over to Zeke.

“Mister,” Zeke said, “I’m hurtin’ mighty bad. These burns make it some terrible to sit in a saddle. We plannin’ on stopping soon?”

“People call you Mad Dog, don’t they?”

“I don’t like that name.”

Clay turned in the saddle and stared at Zeke through the gathering darkness. “I don’t much care what you like or don’t like. I asked you a question.”

“Yeah, I’ve been called that.”

“Listen close, Mad Dog. You’ve got one chance to survive this drive. Do what I tell you. Your job now is to keep these cattle moving to San Felipe. You try to run, I’ll catch you. I spent half my growing years with a Tonkawa tribe. They taught me things you don’t even want to know. I promise you, when I catch you, I’ll hang you. You killed my folks and you burned my pa. I’ll make sure your neck doesn’t break, and while you’re gasping for breath, I’ll follow your example and set you on fire. Do you understand me?”

The man stared straight ahead. Clay could smell the fear. “I asked if you understand me.”

Zeke turned his head slowly, his shoulders slumped, and he gazed at Clay with a blank stare. “Yeah, I understand.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna drive these cattle to San Felipe?”