Six Gun Justice (3 page)

Jake nodded in understanding, pulled his hat down on his forehead, and turned to leave, touching the brim in farewell. “Thanks again Mike.”

Jake swung into the saddle, touched his hat again and turned his horse south. The ride to Payson took him a couple of hours, and as on his ride into Strawberry, he sat easy in the saddle, enjoying the cool of the morning, watching the small animals at play and foraging for food. As he rode down the rutted street of the cow town of Payson, he caught a glimpse of the woman he loved standing beside a house with a sign depicting it as a boarding house. She was bent over a washboard, busily scrubbing away at a wet piece of clothing. He immediately felt shame that she had been reduced to taking in laundry to survive.

He stopped his horse a few feet from where she worked, and sat for a brief moment, enjoying the view of her working there. She was just as beautiful as he remembered her, even with a stray wisp of hair falling across her forehead, and soapy lather up to her elbows.

He stepped from the saddle, dropped the reins on the ground and took three steps to where she stood.

“Sarah!” he breathed softly.

She turned from her washing, bringing her right arm up to brush the stray wisp of hair from forehead, surprise quickly registering on her face, which turned quickly to joy as she recognized her husband. Rubbing the soapsuds from her arms with her apron, she stepped into the strong enclosure of his arms, feeling safe, and secure for the first time in more than two years.

“Jake!” she sighed. “I thought I would never see you again. I’ve missed you so!”

They stood like that for a long time, in plain sight of anyone who might ride by, clinging to each other, afraid to let go, in case the other might become an apparition, and disappear. The tenderness Jake felt was overridden by an anger at himself for ever riding away to war, leaving the one person in the entire world that mean anything to him; expecting her to survive in this harsh land alone.

“Can you wait just a minute,” she smiled up at him. “I have to finish this washing. I only have a couple of pieces left. It’s been a slow week,” she said, with a bit of rancor at her circumstances.

“You don’t have to do this any more Sarah. I’m home now. I came to take you back to the ranch. We  can build it up again.”

“Now you just hold on Jake Killman! You rode away to your war almost four years ago, never giving a thought to what I might have to do to survive! Now you come riding back, and expect me to jump when you say frog. You can just think again! I told the gentleman who left these clothes to be washed that they would be ready this evening, and they will be ready,” she said heatedly.

Jake took a step back at the heat of her short tirade, smiling at her independence, the very trait that had first drawn him to her when he had first met her. She was beautiful when she was angry, he thought. There would never be another woman who could take her place.

He stood back, and let her continue her washing, smiling at the scene. As he leaned against the sun bleached siding of the house, he rolled a cigarette from the makings he carried in his shirt pocket. He knew his wife to be a stubborn woman, one who finished what she started, if it was at all possible. He would have to tread lightly around her for a time. He was the one who had ridden away to war, and left her to fend for herself, for the last four years. He couldn’t expect her to just drop everything and come at his beck and call. She had too much pride to just walk away from the commitments she had made to the people she did laundry for, even for a man she loved deeply. At least he hoped she still loved him.

When she had completed her chore, she wiped her hands on her apron again, and turned to him with a smile.

“Did you have fun playing war while you were gone?” she asked, with a sour smile on her pretty face.

“It wasn’t a game Sarah, it was a belief,” he said, doubting the validity of his own words. “I wouldn’t have been any good to you or myself, or to you, if I had shirked my belief, or what I thought was my duty to that belief and cause.”

“So, what now Jake?”

“I want you back home on the ranch, with me.”

“You may find the ranch is not yours anymore. The last I heard from a drifter who rode through here a few months back, Harvey Murdock had laid claim to it and put some men in the house to hold it.”

“You heard right,” Jake growled. “I put them on the trail yesterday. I don’t think Murdock will pursue it further, but if he does, I’ll work it out.”

“You know darn well Murdock won’t give up that easy. He was pushy as all get out before you went away. What makes you think he has changed?”

“I sent two of his gunnies back to him across the saddle, along with a message that it wasn’t healthy for him or his riders to come back on my land. I’ll be riding down to his range in a few days, to round up any stock that may be carrying my brand. I just want you and I to be together, to start building a future again.”

“Until the next time you want to ride off into the sunset, tilting at windmills?” she said with some heat.

“You know it won’t be like that. Just come on back to the ranch with me.”

“She thought for a while, then said, “I’ll have to give it some thought. If I decide to come back, you’ll see me riding in soon. If I’m not there in a week that means I won’t be coming back Jake.”

The last statement shocked him, though he had half expected some punishment for his mistake. He had not thought it might come to her not wanting to return, or that she might have decided to make a permanent place somewhere else. He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded, took three backward steps to his horse, ducked his head, turned and swung into the saddle. He looked down at her one last time.

“I hope you ride down the trail to me,” he said sadly. “I love you, and I don’t want to think about life without you there to share it with me.”

“Those were the words that were missing from the beginning of this conversation Jake Killman,” she said sternly. “If you hadn’t said them, I surely wouldn’t have been coming back,” she said haughtily. “You just go on back to the ranch, think on the future, and you could do a little thinking on the past as well.”

A short gin passed Jake’s lips; he touched the brim of his hat, and without another word, turned his horse back toward the north. He knew it would do no good to plead with her; she would just resist that much more. The best thing was to let her think about it and do things in her own time. It would give him time to clean the place up a little, make a few minor repairs, and round up what stock he could find, if any still carried his brand.

He took the high ridge trail back to the ranch, bypassing Strawberry. He didn’t want to have to explain to anyone he might meet about why Sarah had not come home with him. He knew the information would be all over the Rim country within a few days.

The high trail ran along the ridge just above Murdock’s place, so he might as well drop in on him and check out the brands on the stock running on his range, and confront him on his own ground. That was something Murdock wouldn’t expect. He pulled the 44.40 from the saddle holster, checked the magazine to see that it was full, that a shell was seated in the chamber, and replaced it in the boot. He then did the same thing with the pistol on his hip. He, like many others carried a pistol that used the same ammunition as his rifle, thereby doing away with the need to carry two different caliber shells.

He filled his belt loops with shells from the box he carried in his saddlebag, letting his horse pick its way along the trail as he worked. Satisfied that all was in order, he continued on the trail at a light gallop, until he was just south of the cutoff that led to the ranch. Turning from the trail, he guided his mount through the soft pine needle carpet to the edge of the clearing that led up to the main house. He sat on the low hill above the ranch for the next few minutes, his trained eyes searching the grounds around the house, the barn, and the outbuildings.

There was nothing but the thin tendril of smoke that rose from the chimney pipe in the back of the house. Killman thought it was probably the kitchen, and the cook was probably cooking the day’s evening meal. There was a lone figure working in the small shed that served as a smithy near the barn, but nothing else he could see. Since the sun had passed its zenith, and was halfway to the western horizon, when he spurred his mount and headed down the hill and across the open terrain.

It was less than a quarter of a mile from the trees to the house, and with the loping gate of his mount, it took him little time to reach it. The blacksmith had stopped pounding with his hammer, watching Jake Killman ride toward the house. From where he was, Jake was sure the man was not carrying a rifle, and he could see no sign of a sidearm. It would be highly unusual for a blacksmith to be armed, due to the extreme heat from the forge.

The man made no move to warn the house, as he rode nearer, just looked on at the approaching man. As he rode past the smithy Killman touched the brim of his hat, and received a nod from the huge, bare chest man, standing with a hammer dangling from his right hand. No other persons appeared from the house, or other buildings, as he continued on to the front of the building, until he was at the hitch rail.

As he pulled rein at the hitch rail, a slightly graying man stepped through the front door, a rifle held lightly in the crook of his arm. The first thought in Killman’s mind was, that Harvey Murdock had not changed much.

“I got the message you sent to me yesterday Killman,” Murdock said. “A bit inhospitable, since it came from a squatter.”

“I sent the squatters back to you Murdock. They were on my ranch uninvited, and they were warned against pulling their guns. The message was meant to be a warning to anyone coming on my property with intent to do harm to it, or me and my family.”

“What family is that Killman? Last I heard, your wife left the ranch and moved on. That means the ranch was abandoned. I just took it on myself to move in and claim it,” Murdock sneered.

“You know the law of abandonment. A place has to be vacant for three years, before it is considered by law to be abandoned. When you sent your men in, there was still furniture, and personal belongings there. I hear you had been hassling my wife for quite a while before she left, prodding her to sell out to you or leave.”

I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but that’s a lie,” he replied, placing the rifle in his right hand as he finished speaking.

“You know better Murdock. You have always been a lying snake, and I see you still are. If you come around my place looking for trouble, you’ll sure find it. If you raise that rifle, I’ll be forced to gun you, so set it against the wall real easy. I came here to check brands, and drive any cattle with my brand on them home. I’ll run your cattle back onto your range and mend my fences. If they get cut again, I’ll look to you Mister.”

Harvey Murdock stood his ground for a short spell, then slowly placed the rifle he was holding against the front wall of the house. He had seen the fire in Killman’s eyes, and knew he would not stand a chance against him in a showdown.

“Get your cattle and get off my range Killman.,” he said with bravado. “My men will be here soon, and if you’re still here then, I’ll have them escort you off, alive or dead.”

Jake said nothing, just smiled cruelly at his antagonist for a moment, then turned his mount and rode out into the group of cattle that were grazing some distance to the northwest. Reaching them, he quickly and efficiently cut out the cows that wore his brand, and gathering them in a bunch, drove them toward his own range.

When he reached the fence line, there was a half-mile or more of the fence down. The posts were still in place, but the wire had been cut and rolled to one side. He shook his head, and then dropped from the saddle. Taking his fencing tools from one of the saddlebags, he unrolled the barbed wire, pulled a few staples from the still standing posts, pulled the wire tight and re-nailed it, then twisted the ends of the wire together, on the top strand and was half finished with the second strand when the light began to fade. He stood back, checking his handiwork, thinking that it would have to do until the next day. At least it would hold the cattle for the night

He herded the cattle nearer his own ranch house, leaving them at the stock pond that was fed by a spring in the north section of his land, and rode on to the house. It was getting dark as he rode up to the corral and put his horse away. He lit a lantern and took the light to the small barn set some distance in back of the house. Inside he took stock of the gear and harness that was still there, just as he had left it, when he had ridden away. Sitting in the center of the barn was the springboard wagon, still with some hay in the bed.

He spent the next hour checking over the fittings, wheels, and tongue of the wagon, and the harness that was hanging on a post nearby. When he was satisfied that all was in good condition, he took the lantern and went back to the house. He hung the lantern on the post at the corner of the porch, and went inside. Lighting a lamp, he looked around, wondering where to start cleaning.

He finally took a broom and starting in the bedroom, he began cleaning out the dirt that had piled up while Murdock’s men were in residence, stripped the curtains from the windows, took the mattress out to the porch and beat it with the broom, till he thought it was clean, then took it back into the bedroom. He would wash the curtains in the morning, before he rode out to finish repairing the fence. He continued cleaning and putting things in place for two hours, then fixed himself a meal of beans, and fatback he found in the pantry.

He was tired when he finished eating, so he off his boots and pants, found some clean sheets in the top of the closet to make the bed, and lay down, hanging his Colt from the metal poster of the headboard, his rifle propped nearby. He slept lightly that night, just as he had the night before, awakening at dawn, when the sun was barely visible on the horizon.

The night had passed uneventful, the morning presenting itself with its usual grandeur that was the hallmark of the sunrises above the Mogolin Rim, surrounding the tips of the loblolly, and pinons with a halo of gold, the rays from its warmth filtering through the branches, to shimmer in the light vapor of fog that clung to the branches. He stood on the stoop enjoying then dawning of the new day, rolling a cigarette from his sack of tobacco. He felt good to be back home.

He struck a phosphorus match on the porch support, touching fire to the tip, and took a deep drag into his lungs, letting the smoke drift into the still morning air. His eyes picked up the smallest glint of sun on metal, directly in front of him some distance out along the open land that stretched to the edge of the forest. An alarm sounded in his mind and he dove through the open doorway, landing on his stomach, as the crack of a rifle sounded, and a slug ploughed into the heavy logs of the front of the house.

Crawling quickly to his rifle, he jacked a shell into the chamber, he moved quickly to the back door. Gathering himself, he made a dash out the door, around the side of the house to the water trough at the back side of the corral. Sticking his head around one end of the trough, peering at the spot among the trees, where he had spotted the glint of sun on steel. He could see nothing through all the trees, and no further glint showed itself.

Staying low, he worked his way through the trees in a large arc, until he figured he was just beyond where his attacker had tire to ambush him. Keeping his rifle ready, he silently worked his way to the spot, but still found no sign of life, other than a couple of jays, scolding each other from the branches of a short pinon. He searched the terrain near the site of attack, finally spotting the gleam of a shell casing lying among the pine needles.

He picked it up, noting that it came from a .50 caliber Henry. That was a hell of a piece of firepower, he thought. If the slug had hit him, it could have done a lot of damage. A hit in the arm would have probably taken his arm off. His anger built with the passing moments, as he thought of who was probably behind this attack. He would pay another visit to Murdock later, and this time he would leave a lasting impression on him about staying off his range. For the time being, he would take care of putting his fences in order, and any other repairs he deemed necessary, on the hopes that Sarah would return soon.

He walked back to the corral, threw a saddle on his horse, gathered the tools he would need from the shed, placed them on the spring wagon, hooked two horses to it, and tied his horse to the tailgate. He drove out to the fence he had worked on before, took out the comealong, hooked it to a post, and went to work re-stretching the wire he had worked on the day before. He watched the land near him, looking for another attack to come at any time, but he had no visitors.

By late evening, he had finished the break. He mounted his horse and leaving the wagon under a tall pine, rode along the fence looking for any other breaks, finding nothing between his repairs and the south gate, that bordered on the land that still belonged to his neighbor on the south. He had not seen Grat Osterman for more than four years. He had always been a good neighbor, but he was also a tough old coot. He would ride over to his place in a few days and pay him a visit.

Turning his rode back to the wagon, keeping watch for anyone who might be moving about through the trees that could hide a sniper. He had to put a stop to this bushwhacking, before whomever it was got lucky. Shading his eyes, he looked up at the sun, which was pretty low in the west. He calculated it to be somewhere near four in the afternoon, so he turned the wagon toward home.

As he came within sight of the house, he saw a buggy tied at the rail. He lifted the leather thong from the hammer, loosened the Colt in its holster, and drove on to the house. He recognized the buggy when he pulled rein on the horses, a smile creasing his weather-beaten face. Sarah had returned. He tied the reins around the brake, jumped from the wagon, running to the porch. She was standing in the door, as he bounded up the steps, fully intending to take her in his arms.

“Whoa Jake!” she said, holding her hand out in front of her. “Before we take this any further, we have to come to some agreement as to where we both stand. First off, I won’t stay around waiting for you, if you decide to traipse off  to some God-forsaken place to fight, or for any other reason.”

“I told you that was over,” he groused. “I had to go back then, to fight for what I thought was right, but no more.”

“You didn’t have to go back then, any more than you would have to go now. You’re not some young kid, who craves excitement, and goes running off to put on a uniform and fight for a cause that I could have told you didn’t stand a chance of winning.”

He said nothing, just stood there and let her vent her anger; let her get it all out of her system. He knew that arguing would only make her anger grow, so he just nodded his head in agreement, knowing deep in his heart that she was right. He should have placed his wife first, above all else, especially since she had no one left to protect her.

She finally dropped her hand, the anger draining from her face as quickly as it had come. Then she was in his arms, the kiss from her soft lips as sweet as nectar from a honeysuckle, washing away the hardships, and loneliness, which had been with him over the long years he had been away. They clung to each other for a long time, reveling in the warmth they gave one to the other.

When they parted, he went out to unhook the buggy, and the wagon, and put away the horses in the corral. The sun was now low in the west, only the golden glow on the very edge of the horizon. He slipped the bridle from his saddle horse, opened the gate, and gave her a light slap on the rump, sending her through the gate to munch on the hay he had forked from the lean-to. He took one last look around, took the rifle from the well of the wagon and went inside.

To his surprise the house was as neat as a pin, the floors swept, the curtains ironed and rehung, the floors scrubbed, and everything in its place.

“How long have you been here?” he asked in surprise, looking around the room.