Only the Stubborn Survive Read online

  The bond between Red and Tom grew stronger every day, and that bond had nothing to do with the original bargain they had struck.

  * * * * *

  Baker’s Gap had been relatively quiet for months. It seemed that the only men occupying the jail cells were the drunks who had gotten out of hand. For that reason Tom and Red spent a lot of time outside the city where Red practiced drawing and shooting his Peacemaker.

  He’d come a long way since his first lesson once his holster had been made. Even though he was skilled with the use of a rifle, Red hadn’t been that familiar with pistols.

  “The idea is to make the bullets go where your eyes are looking,” Tom had instructed him in the early days of the lessons, “not to make your eyes try to follow the pistol. Keep your knees slightly bent, don’t lock them in place, in case you have to move quickly to the side or drop down. You have to learn how to start firing the second your hand touches the grips and the barrel clears the holster.”

  When Tom had quickly fired off three shots that sounded like one to Red, he explained: “It comes from practice. Watch me. You raise your hand, keeping your thumb sideways, like this, and cock the pistol just as you pull it up out of the holster. Then, as soon as the gun barrel leaves the leather, you rotate your hand up and fire right from the hip. Next, you turn your gun hand to the left, sideways, so the gun is horizontal . . . the barrel still facing forward. Then you push the gun forward, hammer tight, against your hip. You want to squeeze the trigger down, so the hammer won’t lock back. It’ll release and fire. Next, you turn the pistol back upright . . . like you’re turning a doorknob . . . and you fan the hammer again, but this time use the side of your left hand. Do it right, the three moves are so fast, they’ll sound as if they were fired simultaneously.”

  “Can I try?” Red asked.

  Tom reached over and pulled the Colt from the boy’s holster. “Nope,” he replied as he emptied the pistol of its bullets.

  “Hey, what’s the big idea?” Red said.

  Tom had handed back the pistol, saying: “For the next few weeks, we are going to practice drawing and dry-firing, because, first, I want you to develop reflexes that come naturally, no thinking about it all. So we’re going to start by drawing slow so you don’t drop the gun, and then, gradually, we’ll begin speeding things up. Besides, I don’t want either of us to get shot in the foot by accident. I’m sort of used to having ten toes.”

  Red laughed. “Yeah, me too.”

  “Look, Red, I know you are anxious to shoot, but it’s better to take it slow and steady like the tortoise and win the race than to rush at it like the hare and lose. You have all the time in the world to learn this, and I ain’t going nowhere. So what do you say we just have fun with this and do it my way, no matter how long it takes.”

  Red shrugged. He had no idea what turtle race Tom was referring to, but he agreed on general principles.

  * * * * *

  The lessons in pistol work continued for over a year and a half, and by that time Red was as gun-savvy with a revolver as he had been with a rifle. But the lessons didn’t stop there. Because Red’s exposure to people had been limited before coming to Baker’s Gap, Harrison began teaching him all the things he had learned over the course of his career.

  He taught him about setups, ambushes, back-shooters, hideaway or backup guns, and the difference between shooting out on the trail versus in a town or a room, especially a crowded one like a saloon. Some of the things Tom told him had already been ingrained into him by the Old Man, while others were totally new ideas —how to survey a room for potential problems, what could be considered suspicious behavior, and what to look for when studying people.

  “Watch for a man who’s always patting a pocket or adjusting a waistcoat. Fellows doing that usually have a hidden weapon they’re checking on,” Tom told him.

  The sheriff honed the boy’s abilities about compensating for the sun being in your eyes and how to fire accurately when riding on horseback or even a buckboard.

  Red practiced shooting with both hands, in case one was ever injured, and learned some fancy gun-handling too, like tossing the gun from one hand to the other or doing what was known as a road agent’s spin, or a border roll, a fancy move by a gun artist that made you think he was surrendering his loaded gun, grip first, but then was reversed by a flip of the gun, which put the weapon back into firing position and in the hand of the shootist.

  So while Ms. Harriett drummed history, philosophy, grammar, mathematics, and geography into Red’s head, Tom Harrison took every opportunity to discuss the philosophy and application of pistol craft and marshaling. It was his hope that Red would become a lawman like himself. But the sheriff always treaded lightly when discussing the subject of shooting at another man. The pair had long conversations in the evening about various scenarios that Tom had either experienced or heard about.

  “It ain’t enough to outdraw the other fellow,” Tom would remind him often. “You have to know when to fire, and you have to hit what you aim at.”

  “Why? If you know you can outdraw him?”

  “Well, consider this,” answered Tom. “What if you come across someone standing over a dead body with a gun in his hand?”

  “I draw and shoot. Right?”

  “And what if that person just happened across the body, picked up the gun, and is really an innocent bystander? You draw and it’ll force them to shoot back.”

  Red nodded. “I see what you mean. But it still helps to be quicker, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure it does. But the real determining factor isn’t speed. It’s your willingness to shoot and perhaps kill another man. You also have to be willing to take a hit and still keep on firing. It may mean the difference between life and death.”

  Red had become uncomfortable when Tom said that, and he mumbled to himself: “I already know that.”

  Tom Harrison thought a moment before saying: “Red, you went after those men in a fit of rage. I’m not saying that you did anything wrong necessarily, but in the future things may be different.”

  “How?” Red asked. Tom swore he could see tears welling up in the boy’s eyes.

  “Let me ask you a question first,” Tom replied. “Of all the weapons you have at your disposal, do you know what the most important one is?”

  Red thought about the question. “Still my rifle probably.”

  “Nope. Try again.”

  Red couldn’t figure it out. “What is it?”

  “Your brain,” Tom answered.

  “My brain?” Red repeated.

  “Look here, in a fight it’s the man who keeps his focus and stays in control and doesn’t lose his temper who walks away,” Tom explained. “You were damned lucky going up against those murderers, and I’m not referring to the fact that you were so young. That said, even though you were filled with hate at the time, you still won against those men, because you had thought out a plan. But you also had a whole heap of luck.”

  “Weren’t all luck,” Red contradicted Tom.

  “You aren’t listening to me, Red,” Tom replied. “I believe I said, first, that you had a plan. But I guess I did leave out the fact that you had a whole heap of guts.”

  Chapter Seven

  It was the end of Red’s second year of school. It was with regret that he said goodbye to Ms. Harriet as his teacher, though if he stayed in Baker’s Gap, he knew he would still visit with her to discuss his favorite subject, history, and maybe even join in on her Saturday night dinners with Tom, if he didn’t bombard her with questions.

  As he made his way home slowly, Red thought about the bargain he had struck with Tom a little over two years ago. They had both kept up their half of the bargain, and the rewards had been larger than either had expected. But now that he was almost seventeen, he felt a growing desire to do something with his life.

  That night, over dinner, Tom set his fork and knife down and looked at Red, saying: “Have you given any thought to what you want to do now that your school days are over? I know money isn’t a concern, but I can’t imagine you plan on just sitting around Baker’s Gap doing nothing for the rest of your years.”

  It was at that moment that everything clarified in his thoughts, and Red realized that he had made up his mind about his future almost as soon as he had ridden out that day after the men who had murdered the Old Man. Riding back after the showdown, he had vowed to himself that someday he was going to try to stop as many outlaws as he could and right wrongs. And after he had met Tom and learned that he was a lawman who was highly respected for his abilities, Red had instinctively known that he could learn things from the sheriff that might be of use in the future.

  “I have thought too much about it, Tom. Truth is, I’ve known all along what I intend to do with the rest of my life.”

  “Care to let me in on the secret?” Tom asked.

  “I’m going to be a lawman,” Red declared.

  Tom frowned. “I know I mentioned that as a possibility a long way back, but I hope you’ve really thought about it hard. It’s not an easy life, and it’s often one that’s far too short.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Red replied.

  Sheriff Harrison thought a moment and chuckled. “I was also going to say it’s not a very good way to get rich, but I guess you’ve got that part already covered, haven’t you?”

  Red smiled back. “Yeah, I guess I have. Lucky, huh?”

  The lawman nodded. “I’d say so. Well, if you’re really sure about this, I guess it’s time to start taking you along on my rounds. Next level of training, so to speak.”

  Red smiled. “Sounds good to me. And I get to carry a gun now, right?” Red asked.

  “I guess so, but only when you’re with me,” Tom said sternly.

  “That’s good, because if I’m on rounds with you, and something like a gunfight starts up, and you get hit . . .” Red said.

  “Why are you so fired up to get me shot?” Tom interrupted.

  “I’m not,” Red said.

  “Then what is it? Why are you so anxious to step in harm’s way?”

  Red hesitated a moment before answering. “I guess it’s just that I don’t want to be a helpless victim like Pa was when we came to town. I don’t want to go face down in the street without even having a chance. I want to prevent that from happening to others too.”

  “I got shot that day too, if you’ll remember. Carrying a gun doesn’t guarantee you anything,” the sheriff pointed out. “Besides, your pa was armed, right?”

  “But he wasn’t expecting trouble, so he wasn’t prepared. His gun was with the horses,” Red reminded Tom.

  “Look, Red,” Tom said, reaching out and putting his hand on the lad’s shoulder. “A gun is a tool, no more, no less. It’s as good or as bad as the man handling it. Remember, firearms have different purposes . . . long-range rifles are for hunting, pistols for self-defense, guns for sport target competition, and shotguns for crowd control or to protect a stagecoach. But they’re just tools. Now, you don’t see a young carpenter getting all fired up about carrying around his saw or his hammer, do you?”

  “I’ve seen you admire many a new gun,” Red stated.

  “Yes, I have, just as I’m pretty sure a master carpenter would admire a brand-new finely made and well-balanced hammer.”

  “Yeah, I suppose, but nothing is as good for protection as a gun. I don’t think I’m ever likely to see a bank robbery being carried out or stopped with a hammer.”

  “Nope,” Tom agreed, smiling. “But remember, the Comanches, Apaches, and Kiowas do pretty well in battle, even without any guns.”

  “Some have breechloaders. So why are you saying this now . . . after all you’ve taught me? Why do you even bother to carry when you make your rounds as sheriff ?” Red asked.

  “I didn’t necessarily say go unarmed all the time,” Tom replied. “I said keep your head screwed on straight about it. I carry because a firearm is the right tool for the job I have. I just want you to be safe, and that means making sure you don’t get all fired up about shooting someone.”

  Red seemed truly offended. “That what you think I’m doing?”

  The sheriff looked at him, wondering himself why he was trying to dissuade the boy from a job he had been preparing him for. “No, I know you’re not. I just wanted it said out loud is all.”

  Red nodded. “Don’t worry, Tom. I get it. Besides, not much has happened in Baker’s Gap since you and Pa got shot.”

  “That’s true enough. But you never know. So, if you’re ready, we might as well get started,” Tom announced as he pushed back his chair and stood up.

  * * * * *

  That night the two walked the town together. Being Thursday, it was especially quiet.

  As they approached a corner, they heard a muffled sound.

  “Remember, Red, my job is to keep the peace, not start a war. Sometimes what you see or even hear might have to be ignored for the greater good. It often boils down to a making a judgment call, and that’s where experience comes in. That’s why sometimes what you say can be as important as what you do.”

  Once they turned the corner, they saw Charlie Kohl, drunk as usual, leaning over a dog, his face buried in the dog’s neck and making undecipherable sounds.

  “Nothing unusual here,” Tom commented as they walked around Charlie and the dog.

  “What’d you mean about talking can be more important than doing something when you’re trying to arrest somebody?” the teenager asked.

  “Well, let’s say you want to pat someone down to check for a hidden weapon, or maybe you want to handcuff a suspect. Sometimes you just need to tell the fellow to turn around slowly and keep his hands in sight. A lawman is more likely to be successful if he speaks calmly but cautiously, rather than by snapping orders and trying to push the fellow around.”

  “Why do you think that is?” Red asked. “I mean, you’re the law . . . doesn’t that raise the hackles on the back of anyone you approach?”

  Tom smiled. “I suppose it does if he’s guilty of something. But think about how you would react if I started pushing you around and barking orders at you, especially if you were alone on a dark street. Or if I did the same to a drunken cowboy.”

  “I guess I’d start swinging my fists,” Red said.

  “Exactly. It’s more than likely that will get you in a fight, or worse. You might be trying to stop a potential problem, but how you approach the problem can change the outcome. It’s often not what you say but how you say it.”

  They continued on their way through the streets of Baker’s Gap. They walked alleyways and checked doors to make sure they were locked and showed no sign of having been jimmied. From time to time, they would stop in at the saloon to be sure no one was too deep in their cups and becoming belligerent.

  “I like a drink as well as the next man, I suppose,” Tom said, “but as I’ve said before, my job is to keep the peace here. Some men just have a drink or two to relax. They’re harmless. Unfortunately, others tend to overdo it, and some of them can’t handle it.”

  “And that’s when we step in?” Red asked.

  The sheriff shook his head. “Not necessarily. Some get what I call happy drunk. They become friends with everyone in the bar, have a good time, maybe get a little too frisky around the saloon girls. The ladies who work there expect a little nonsense from the customers, but they usually know how to handle it. But some men get mean drunk. Don’t know exactly why it is, but after they start drinking, they go looking to pick a fight, feel everyone is against them. They become argumentative and are quick to anger.”

  “Are those the ones we arrest?” Red asked eagerly.

  “Those are the ones we keep an eye on,” the sheriff informed him. “A mean drunk can be dangerous and unpredictable. You can’t rationalize with them as easily as a sober man. Who knows what goes through a particular drunk’s mind. One minute they’re arguing, and the next minute they’re either going for a weapon or throwing up on your boots.”

  “Go through a lot of boots, do you?” Red asked, and laughed.

  “Not yet,” Tom answered as they entered the Broken Arrow. Stopping at the entry, Tom looked around, then asked Red: “Do you notice anything that bothers you?”

  Red’s eyes traveled carefully from one side of the room to the other, pausing to look at each man. As far as he was concerned, nothing looked out of the ordinary. There were men playing cards at several round tables. Toward the back was a small riser where a slightly older but still attractive blonde woman was singing. Nearby, several customers had turned their chairs around to face her, singing or mouthing along with her as she sang.

  “Everything looks all right to me,” Red said.

  “Maybe,” Tom muttered. “What about that fellow over to your right? I don’t recognize him.”

  “That one?” Red replied. He was getting ready to point, but the sheriff pushed his arm down.

  “Yeah that one. But don’t point.”

  “You know him? Is he wanted?

  Tom shook his head. “Not so far as I know. But look around. Compare the look on his face compared to everyone else. That man is sitting alone with an almost-empty whiskey bottle on his table and a full glass in his hand.”

  “Do we arrest him?” Red asked.

  “No reason to. But without being obvious, look at his face. Doesn’t look very happy now, does he?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “That’s what I mean when I tell you, you have to get a feel for people.”

  “So what do we do? Do we go over there? Maybe ask him what’s doin’?”

  Tom shook his head. “Do that and you’re asking for trouble, unless you want him to know he’s being watched. He hasn’t broken the law here . . . yet. Remember, we’re here to stop problems, not start them. A sheriff who shows up and braces an innocent man, drunk or not, is just looking for a fight. We’ll just watch for a while. Pretend we’re taking in the show. But we’ll keep an eye on him.”