Only the Stubborn Survive Page 3
When the boy pulled out a large gold nugget from his pocket, the man’s eyes reacted just as those of the gunsmith’s had.
“Well, even iffen I would sell him,” the man said, stroking his chin, “and I ain’t saying I will, I could never make change for that.” His eyes never left the hand holding the gold.
Red shook his head. “You don’t understand. This whole nugget is yours. I just need the horse, a good saddle, and a canteen of water.”
It took all of a whole two seconds for the liveryman to decide. “It’s a deal. When you need him by?”
“Right away. I’m going to get my own horse ready . . . the sorrel gelding I rode in on. Hurry, and don’t forget that canteen of water, and make sure you put a good saddle and blanket on him.”
“Right away, son, and for that much gold, I’ll give you my own saddle too. Got it in San Antonio. Tooled leather. Ain’t none prettier.”
“That’s sounds good, but, mister, you better not cheat me in any way, or I’ll be back to collect,” he said, tapping his new Colt revolver.”
The man laughed at the boy’s brashness, but for some reason he didn’t doubt the lad for one moment. Besides, with the firepower the boy was carrying, he wasn’t about to argue with him. “One roan with a good, sound saddle on him coming right up.”
Twenty minutes later, the liveryman stood outside, watching as the all fired-up teenager in tattered clothes galloped out on his sorrel gelding, the reins of the big chocolate roan in his hand.
“Revenge sure as shootin’ if I ever saw it,” the man said to himself sadly. He reached into his pocket, felt for the gold nugget, and slowly shook his head. “I wish you luck, boy. It was only fer a short time, but even so, I kinda liked your old man when I met him.”
Chapter Three
There was no doubt that the events of three days earlier had stirred up a lot of conversation and speculation among the townsfolk of Baker’s Gap.
By now, in a town of this size, almost everyone had heard of the shootout and the old prospector’s death. They also heard stories from both the gunsmith and the liveryman, although both conveniently left out the part about being overpaid with the boy’s gold nuggets. Only the banker knew those details, and he was known to be a very tight-lipped gentleman.
Although no one in town really knew the old prospector or the boy, everyone assumed they were father and son and that the boy had recklessly ridden out in a state of anger, seeking the two men who had murdered his father.
There were some—mostly women—who said that Ed Farrell, the gunsmith, was blinded by his greed, and that if anything bad should happen to the boy, which it surely would, he would be responsible. His only defense was that the boy was so insistent, there was simply no arguing with him.
Bob Dickens, the liveryman, offered a similar explanation. “A stubborn kid like that?” he’d reply. “Already armed with a rifle and pistol? I’m a-telling you, there was just no arguing with him. Besides, he was willing to pay a fair price.”
Seeing as how Dickens had a reputation for being a miser, no one believed for a minute that he had settled on a fair price for his own horse.
There was little doubt among the townsfolk that the boy would meet his end out on the trail. They were relieved to hear that Sheriff Tom Harrison was recuperating from his shoulder wound and that Doc Burns believed he would make a full recovery. Harrison had been town marshal for five years and had never had a setback like this. In fact, once Doc had dug the bullet out, the sheriff had tried to go after the murderers more than once, but he was too weak, as it had taken some effort on the part of Doc Burns to dig out the bullet.
Prior to this event, Baker’s Gap had been a relatively peaceful town. Tom had efficiently seen to that on more than one occasion. He was a widower, his wife and son having been killed years earlier in a Comanche raid. He had been away, driving cattle, and had never forgiven himself for what had happened to them. Even though he knew nothing of Red or the man who had been killed, he was worried about the boy. Riding out after outlaws was his job, but with his arm in a sling and Doc Burns insisting that he stay put, there was little he could do but stew and curse himself.
“I walked right into it, Doc. The fastest gun in the county and still I get shot. Took one like a tenderfoot,” the lawman said, shaking his head in disgust. At the time, he was getting his bandage changed in the Burnses’ home where Doc carried out his practice.
The doctor shook his head and set his scissors down on the table next to him. “Listen to me good, Tom. You walked right into something unexpected. Hell, it went off so fast, you couldn’t have even known what was going on or who was doing what. You can’t blame yourself, Tom, no one else does.”
“Yeah? Well, tell that to the boy and the old prospector. Oh, right, you can’t. The man’s dead, and the boy’s long gone. I’m the sheriff. I’m supposed to react quickly and precisely in situations like this. It’s what they pay me for.”
Doc Burns adjusted his spectacles. “And they will go on paying you. Look here, Tom, there isn’t a man or woman who doesn’t know that you didn’t hesitate at the first sign of trouble. You put yourself right in the midst of the danger.”
“Right into the firing line.” Tom Harrison was almost tearing up, but it wasn’t from the pain. “Hell of a lot of good it did the old man. Or the boy, for that matter. Doc, that young ’un is out there all alone. If he’s not dead already, that is. What chance does a boy that age have against two fully grown, stone- cold killers?”
“Oh, I’ll agree he doesn’t have much of a chance against those two,” the doctor said, shaking his head sadly. “But remember back to when you were his age. How many times have you told me that you were punching cattle for Dan Steel’s outfit at fifteen?” The sheriff shrugged while the doctor began easing the sheriff ’s arm back in the shoulder sling he had fashioned. “And besides, maybe it’ll work out, and he’ll lose their trail. You just wait, that boy will probably come limping back in here without even a scratch on him, hungry as a bear coming out of hibernation.”
“I hope so. It just galls me that I didn’t help him is all.”
“You’re alive, Tom. Stop worrying about things, and you’ll have a full recovery, if you listen to my advice. You should be grateful it wasn’t worse.”
“Thanks, Doc. It’s just that I keep thinking the kid is about the same age as my boy Johnny would have been . . . if he’d lived. If anything happens to that boy, it’ll be like going through it all over again. And I can’t help thinking it would be my fault.”
“Nonsense. Any blame rests totally on those two outlaws. You can’t be responsible for a vengeful boy’s stubborn streak. You mustn’t let it tear you apart.”
The doc had barely gotten the words out when there was a shout from the street just outside the house. The two inside could see people running along the plank walkway, but they couldn’t see what they were looking at, because they had stopped and were blocking the view out to the street.
“Now what?” muttered the sheriff, as he wrenched himself away. He reached down to his holster with his good arm and pulled out his Remington single-action revolver.
Doc Burns looked down at the gun and then up at the face of his friend.
Harrison shook his head. “Not again, Doc. You won’t catch me daydreaming this time.”
“Be careful Tom. We don’t know yet what’s happening.”
The two men went to the door, and when the doctor yanked it open, the sheriff stepped quickly out into the street, his hand by his holster. The doctor followed closely behind.
Riding slowly and steadily down the street was a lanky boy in tattered clothes and a torn hat on a chocolate roan horse and trailing two chestnut horses. A dead body was draped over the saddle on each of the chestnuts.
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With a group of children running behind him, Red rode straight for the sheriff ’s office. He dismounted slowly, arching his back to relieve the stiffness, before he walked up to the door. It was locked.
He turned when a loud voice shouted out at him: “Wait a minute, and I’ll open it for you! Get back,” he snapped at the people who were following him. Tom Harrison took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door to his office. “You there, Bill and Harry,” the sheriff ordered, “take the bodies over to the undertaker, and get those chestnuts over to Dickens at the livery. I’ll be along as soon as I can.”
Turning to Red, he said softly: “Come on in, boy, and tell me what happened.”
“I’d appreciate some water first,” Red rasped. “I’m kinda parched.”
“Sure, son.” The sheriff took a cup down off a wooden wall peg and poured some water from a large pitcher that he kept on a small side table.
“What’s your name, boy?” he asked.
“I’m called Red. I was named after the river.”
“Well, just take your time, Red. You’re among friends here. Just tell me what happened when you’re ready, so I can make up a report.”
The boy started gulping the water like there was no tomorrow.
“Go easy there,” Sheriff Harrison warned as he sat down, indicating to the boy that there was plenty more water. Red emptied a second cup, then took a chair in front of the desk.
“Now then, tell me, was that your pa that got killed?”
Red set the empty cup down and nodded. “Next closest thing. Found me out on the trail as a cub and raised me all these years. All the kin I ever known. Just found out his name was Luke Smith. Always called him Old Man . . . sometimes Pa. He found me when I was just a baby. The wagon train was attacked . . . everybody killed but me.”
Harrison shook his head. “So there’s no one else to care for you?”
The lad looked up defiantly. “I don’t need no one to take care of me. I can take care of myself.” He looked out the window, forgetting the dead men and the horses had been ushered away. “Guess I proved that, didn’t I?”
“Sort of looks that way,” the sheriff agreed. “Didn’t mean for you to take offense. Everybody needs someone around. Friends and such. ’Less they’re a hermit. Are you a hermit, boy?”
Red wanted to lash out at the sheriff, but it seemed this man, this stranger, was genuinely concerned about him. “I’m not a hermit. It’s just that it was always the two of us out there. We did fine for ourselves. The Old Man taught me to read and write, to track, shoot, and hunt. He taught me something everywhere we traveled. Hell, he even taught me to speak Kiowa.”
That last remark surprised the sheriff, who for good reason had little use for the native population.
“All right, so what exactly happened out there? I mean after you rode out of town,” Tom said.
“I used an old Indian trick the Old Man taught me. I rode my sorrel until it couldn’t go no farther, then switched to the roan, it being the stronger mount. That’s why I could catch up so quickly, what with them just having the one horse apiece. I knew they were pushing their animals hard when they first rode out of town, and that they’d have to rest ’em or at least walk ’em from time to time to keep ’em from tiring out. And I didn’t.”
Tom Harrison sat, nodding. “Mexican vaqueros do that, but they actually jump from one horse to the other at a full-out run. Call it el paso de la muerte. Means the leap of death. Did you know that?”
“Comanches and Kiowa do it too,” Red told him. “After a day or so I could tell where they was headed. The Old Man once told me that trailing something or someone isn’t just about reading their tracks but about thinking like the prey does.”
“That’s what good lawmen do,” Harrison said. “I learned the same thing.”
“They weren’t real careful about covering their tracks,” Red continued. “Knew what they needed . . . water for themselves and their horses, food, and sleep. I figured they wasn’t going to stick anywhere around here, seeing as how they shot a sheriff and murdered someone.” He paused, catching his breath on that last sentence.
“Take your time, Red,” the sheriff said patiently.
“Well, sir, I knew which way they was heading from the tracks they was making. There was only one way they could go that would get them out of the area but still provide the water they’d need along the way. Knowing that, it was just a matter of getting out in front of them. That part was easy. Like I said before, know the land around here like the back of my hand.”
Tom Harrison marveled at how mature and trail-wise the boy was. He began to feel almost a sense of pride in the kid. “But there were two of them and you’re just . . .”
Red glared at him.”
The lawman hesitated. “You’re just one person.”
“I am. So I wasn’t about to give them any more of a chance than they done the Old Man . . .” He glanced at Harrison’s shoulder. “… And you.”
Red’s acknowledgment of Harrison’s injury made the lawman uncomfortable, but he bobbed his head and urged Red to go on.
“I rode out ahead of them and then waited in this rocky outcrop. When they appeared, I made sure they was the right fellows. I recognized them, all right.”
“But you only got a glimpse of them. And it all happened in a matter of a minute or so,” the sheriff said.
“I learned a long time ago you better notice things right off. Might mean the difference between life and death.”
Tom smiled. “Well, you got me there. I agree. Said the same thing a time or two myself. Just thought that someone so . . .” He caught himself before bringing up the boy’s youth again. “Never mind.”
The boy reached over and poured some more water but just took a couple of sips this time. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and continued his story.
“Like I was saying, I hid in that outcrop until they both rode past. Then I shot one of them off his horse. Got the man right in the chest. He was dead before he hit the ground. I used my own single-shot rifle for that one, ’cause I’ve had more practice with it. Trust it more.”
“The other fellow make a run for it?” the sheriff asked. His curiosity had gotten the better of him.
“No, sir. He pulled his rifle out and dropped off his mount. Then he took cover amongst some nearby boulders. Didn’t even bother to check on his partner, the louse,” the boy commented. “When he started shooting at me, I returned fire right back at him, but I took my own sweet time reloading so’s he’d know it was only a single-shot rifle I was using.”
“Why’d you do that?” Tom asked.
“So that when I dropped it, he’d figure he had the upper hand.”
“You dropped your rifle on purpose? Good grief !” Sheriff Harrison couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but he had to smile at the boy’s gumption.
Red nodded. “Yep. Fumbled it right on over the rocks. Then I got up, leaned over, and yelled like it was the dumbest accident in the world. Well, sir, next I started taking shots back at him one at a time with my new pistol. Pretty quickly that fellow realized I only had a six-shooter pistol. Guess he reckoned I couldn’t match his rifle for range. After a while I heard him laugh and yell a few curses up at me. Then I heard him heading up the rocks to get me.”
It was only then that Sheriff Harrison remembered the gunsmith mentioning that he had also sold the boy a Winchester carbine. When he realized what kind of cold calculation such actions implied, he looked at the boy with both wonder and respect.
“He walked right in range of you and your carbine, didn’t he.” Harrison said it more as a statement than a question.
Red said nothing.
The sheriff realized that he had been so caught up in the boy’s story that he hadn’t remembered to take notes. But that didn’t wor
ry him. Tom Harrison wasn’t likely to forget what he had just been told.
Chapter Four
The sheriff went off to see the undertaker and meet with Dickens at the livery, leaving Red alone in his office. When Harrison returned, he made a pot of coffee before he announced: “I don’t think you should leave Baker’s Gap for a while. You can stay with me.”
Red shook his head. “Don’t seem likely I have a reason to do that.”
“I think you do,” Harrison began, trying to lure the boy in. “You’ve no place to go and no one to go with. I, on the other hand, have a good-size house and could use some help keeping the place up, especially now with this bum shoulder of mine. You’d be doing me a favor of sorts. Besides, we could sort of keep each other company, if you don’t mind my boring conversation too much.”
“Don’t even know you,” the boy remarked.
“One way to get acquainted, ain’t it?” Tom smiled.
“I suppose,” Red mumbled.
“And now that things are back to normal in town, I can help you find whatever things you might be needing.” He looked at the threadbare cuffs and elbows of Red’s shirt. “New clothes or anything else you might need. Might even be a help in deciding what you’re going to do next. Come on, give it a few days, and let’s see how it goes. I might not be the best cook in town, but my house has got plenty of room. Even have an extra bed. Now’s not a good time for you to be alone.”
Red couldn’t argue with the man’s reasoning. He nodded his agreement but after a moment’s thought said: “I need to see the Old Man first. You know . . . make sure he’s taken care of proper.”
Tom got up and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Son, this town didn’t get off to a very good start with you, but believe me when I tell you it’s full of good people who sincerely regret what happened to your pa. While you were gone, they arranged to have him buried in our cemetery real nice, with a minister saying the words and all.”
“I’d like to go there and pay my respects first thing,” Red stated.