Six Gun Justice (4 page)

“Long enough to see you’re not a very good house keeper,” she grinned maliciously.

“Don’t blame me,” he responded. “I haven’t had time to clean up the mess Murdock’s men left behind. I did take care of the dishes, and sweeping the floor, and a few other chores.”

“So I noticed. I’ll give you a bit of a pat on the back.”

“I spent the whole day patching the fence on the western boundary, and running some of Murdock’s stock back on his own range. There was a section that had been torn out for a quarter of a mile. That was after I dodged a bushwhacker that tried to kill me this morning.” He was smiling down at his pretty young wife, happy that she was back where she belonged.

“I saw the slug in the door. What did he use, a cannon?”

“No, just a Spencer .50 caliber. I guess he though he was hunting buffalo.”

“He probably thought you had a head as hard as a buffalo,” Sarah smiled. “But seriously, is it safe for us with Murdock sending hired guns out to kill you?

“I’ll be paying a call on him soon. A call he won’t be expecting,” his bushy eyebrows furrowing in a way that gave him a dark, harsh look. “I have to be sure it was Murdock’s man.”

“Who else could it have been? He’s the only thorn in everyone’s foot around here. If it hadn’t been for his pushing, stealing the stock, cutting our fences, and running his own cattle onto our place, I wouldn’t have had to move into Payson, seeking work to survive. The only alternative was to take over the duties of a man, and start packing a gun, after he ran off the only ranch hand we had, old Pete Watson. It wasn’t too much of a loss, but he could at least keep the fences mended in the summer.”

“He won’t be doing anymore of his shenanigans, if I can help it,” he growled.

For the first time in four years, he and Sarah retired to their conjugal bed, which for the last couple of nights had seemed so empty, and cold. The warmth of her lying next to him, the lovemaking that had been so long lost to him, was now the most precious thing on earth to him. He slept the same as on many another night, sleeping lightly, alert to any intrusion, or strange sound.

He awoke early the next morning, as he had for most of his life, but on this morning he smelled coffee, and baking biscuits, wafting through the house, as he put on his clothes, and stomped into his boots. Strapping his Colt around his waist, he went into the kitchen, where his lovely wife was busy fixing breakfast. The scene was so peaceful, he was arrested for a moment, watching her move about with efficiency, his love almost choking him.

After a delicious breakfast, he took his rifle and went out to the corral to saddle his horse. Sarah walked out on the porch, shading her eyes from the bright rising sun, as she watched Jake swing into the saddle. He rode near the stoop, and bent to kiss her on the cheek. She held on to his neck for a brief moment, and then released him.

“You be careful Jake Killman. Remember that you promised not to leave me again. That means not getting yourself killed by some gun happy cowpoke. I suppose your first stop is at Murdock’s ranch?” she queried.

“I might as well get things out in the open between us, so’s he knows I mean to hold him to blame if any other ranny decides to try and gun me from ambush.”

He smiled, reining his horse around a cantering up the slope of the hill to the south. It was only a four-mile ride to Murdock’s place, so he let his horse pick his own gate, enjoying the morning air, and the chirping of the birds in the pines. He rode through the front gate of his ranch, and reined his mount to the southwest, riding straight up the trail that led to his destination.

There were more men at the house when he rode up to it, but none of them made an overt move, when he drew rein near the stoop of the house, his hand resting on the butt of his Colt dragoon. A few seconds passed as he looked around the group of punchers, who were watching him with hard eyes. In a few seconds, Murdock strolled outside, a rifle held loosely in his hand. Sidestepping his horse just enough, that it put everyone in view.

“Murdock, I gave you a warning a few days ago, about keeping your men off my range,” he growled. You don’t seem to hear too well. Someone tried to gun me a couple of days ago, from ambush, and I don’t take too kindly to that. This is my last warning. If anyone comes around pointing guns in my direction, I’ll come for you and kill you. I’m damned tempted to do it right now.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with that Killman, but if any man of mine had tried and not gotten the job done, I would have fired him!”

Jake looked down at the rancher, wondering if he would have to back up his threat at some later time. He silently cursed himself for a fool, for not shooting him right now. He would give it one more try. After all there was a little law in this Mogolin country, even if it was a long way from the Rim. It had been practice along the rim to handle one’s own affairs, short of an all out range war. He wondered dryly if the law would even come into the Rim then.

“I won’t tell you again Murdock,” he said shortly. “And if the man is here that tried to ambush me with that buffalo gun, just be aware that you won’t get another chance. I’ve said all I came to say.”

He had just turned his horse to leave, when his peripheral vision caught the movement of one of the punchers bringing up a rifle, near the blacksmith shed. The Colt on his hip leapt into his hand, spouting flame from the barrel, the thunder rolling across the land, as two slugs found their marks in the man’s chest. He kept the Colt aimed in the general direction of the rest of the punchers, and they, and Murdock knew it would be suicide to reach for a firearm.

“Let this be a last warning Murdock. You’ve got three men dead. Just let it lay.”

He backed his horse a ways out from the men standing at the front of the house, turning the mare toward the trail. Murdock’s men stood transfixed, shocked by the sudden display of violence that had just visited them, glad they had not been the target of Killman’s guns, as he walked his horse away from the gathering, his back exuding a burning spot in the center of his spine. He didn’t turn his head, for that would show a sign of weakness, and lack of confidence in his prowess, leaving him at the mercy of Murdock’s men. They would respect him, and would fear him, just as long as they could see in their mind’s eye, a bullet from the barrel of his revolver hitting them between the eyes.

When he was a good distance from Murdock’s ranch, when he spurred his mount into a loping gallop, thinking of the confrontation he had just had. Murdock, as well as his hired hands would be a lot more careful about trying to bushwhack him now. Things had gone rather well, to his thinking. He had expected a shoot out that would have left bodies lying dead, possibly his own. He would have to be wary from here on out, and he would start wearing another revolver. The next confrontation would be a little different he was sure.

When he reached the main trail, he turned toward Strawberry, nudging the mare into a mile-eating lope. The village was quiet, with no one on the street, the small mercantile, and the saloon, were the only doors open this early in the day. He tied his horse in front of the mercantile, and stomped his boots before entering.

Ely Stamper was putting some goods on the helves when he entered, and turned to look. He did a double take when he saw Jake Killman standing in front of the counter. It had been a long time since he had seen the rancher, who had not only been a long time customer, but a good friend as well.

Stepping down from the ladder, he walked quickly across the floor, his hand stretched before him. “Jake Killman! As I live and breathe! Stoler told me you were back from the war. It’s been a long time!”

“Too long Ely,” Jake said, wringing the hand of the merchant. “How’ve you been? How are Kathy, and Sybil?”

“They’re just fine! You have to come by for dinner soon. I know Sybil will want to see you. She’s grown some since you last saw her. She’s eleven now, and like most kids her age, knows everything,” he chuckled.

“Does that invitation extend to Sarah?” he grinned.

“Of course! It was just…you know…I heard she had moved off the ranch a few months back.”

“She did, but she’s back now. Seems Harvey Murdock was bent on pushing her off, so he could take over the ranch. Guess he figured I wouldn’t be coming home.”

“Yeah, he’s trying to swallow up the whole Rim. Not too many of the ranchers here about bucked him. They just sold out, or got run out, and Murdock moved in. a few stood tough enough to hang on, but most of them just pulled stakes and ran. Grat Osterman is still on his place though, and Bill Michaels, Seph Hatter, Joe Docker, and the Mexican Jose Catano. Catano would be the last of the old ranchers on the plateau to crack. They would have to kill the cantankerous old Mexican.

He smiled crookedly, thinking back to the time he had first come to the Rim, remembering how crotchety the old Mexican had been. They had become fast friends over the intervening years, helping each other during the cold of the hard winters, and the dry spells that hit on rare occasions. He had stood godfather to his and Sarah’s only offspring, little Ephraim Killman, who had succumbed to the rigors of cholera at the tender age of one year.

He paid for his purchases, and Ely put them in a burlap bag, and then walked with him to the front of the mercantile. He grinned up at the tall broad shouldered frame, realizing that Murdock had a battle on his hands that was not winnable, not to his liking, if he was any judge. He would hate to be in his shoes, having an enemy like Jake Killman. 

That evening, Jake put away his horse, and relaxed on the porch of his small ranch house, savoring the odors of the cooking that wafted through the open door of the log house. He was contented, though he was worried about what Murdock’s next move would be. He was sure the man would not give in so easily to his threat, even after the gunning of one of his hands. He would have to contend with the man again, he was sure. He had seen the fury and hate in the man’s eyes, had felt the vitriol that boiled within his guts at the confrontation.

He knew he would wind upon killing the man, before this was over. But, he could not bring himself to gun him down in cold blood, especially there on his ranch, and with all his hired hands to bear witness against him. There might not be too much law on the Rim, but there would sure be hell to pay if he gunned the man in cold blood. Besides, it was not his style. He could never bring himself to do such a cowardly thing.

III

Close to death

The next few days were spent fixing up the rail fence of the corral, checking the stock on his own place, running his brand back on its home range from the open land north of the fence line that had gathered among the pinons, generally fixing up the place, and gathering his cattle for a good count. He was working the lower brakes of the north canyon wall, keeping an eye out for rustlers, or anyone that might try to ambush him, when a shot rang out, the bullet finding flesh, and bone in his left shoulder, and knocking him from the saddle. As he left the saddle, he instinctively jerked his 44-40 from the scabbard.

He rolled a few yards, to the lip of the canyon, then crawled along the edge, desperately looking for a place to hole up, but could find no way down over the steep drop. He leaned out a little over the edge, and could see a narrow ledge about ten feet below the rim. Shoving the rifle through his gun belt, he let his body slide over the steep precipice, hanging by his arms above the deep chasm below him. Saying a silent prayer, he let go, his left shoulder crying in pain from the stretching he was forcing on it, hanging there high above the valley floor. He would either land on the narrow ledge, or if he were unlucky, he would drop to his death among the rocks and boulders far below.

He felt a solid impact, as his boots hit the ledge, then his shoulder sent a pain throughout his body, as it connected with the solid rock ledge, almost causing him to black out. He drug himself closer to the wall, seeing a slight overhang above him, there was a slight cave a little farther along the ledge, but he was sure the ambusher would come to check his work, and he was in no condition right now to fight off his attacker, should he try to finish the job. He may not be able to see him from the lip of the rim on this side, but he could ride around the mouth of the canyon and cross to the other side, where he would be visible and within rifle distance.

He took his bandana from around his neck, and stuffed it in his shirt to staunch the flow of blood, then lay on his stomach, listening for the approach of his attacker. He didn’t have very long to wait. A few minutes had passed since he had dropped from the mesa above him, when he heard the click of horse’s hooves on the hard ground above. Then came the voices of two men in whispered conversation, drifting down to him in his place of concealment. He gritted his teeth against another twinge of pain, literally holding his breath to keep from groaning.

“Drago, there’s some blood here. You think he might have fell into the canyon?”

“If’n he did, he shore as hell’s dead now, Marvin. You see anything below? He could of crawled off sommers, but they ain’t no place around for him to hide among these pinons.”

“You keep your eyes pealed Drago,” came Marvin’s reply. “You saw how fast he is with that hogleg, when he shot Carp at the ranch. I’d hate to be in his sights, when he let the hammer down on that Colt. He put those shots close enough to cover with a dollar, and at better’n fifty feet.”