Six Gun Justice (8 page)

He stayed behind his blind for a time, just to be sure the rider he had let escape had not doubled back. When he was sure the coast was clear, he rose to his feet, gathered the spent brass, and dusted over the spot where he had laid his ambush. He did the same on his way back to his horse, which was tethered some fifty feet away.

He then mounted and rode away toward the rim again, making his way further to the north west, then turning back toward the south along a strip of rocky ground, walking his horse, and conserving his strength for a time when he might need it. By mid morning, he had traversed an area the brought him to the western most boundary of the Circle M, and turned his horse back to the east. When he was near Murdock’s place, he dismounted, took out his telescope, and scanned the house and grounds around it. The only thing he saw was the smithy, working away at the forge. None of the other hands seemed to be in evidence, but there was a horse tied to the hitch rail.

He recognized the Appaloosa the man had ridden away from the ambush on, smiling with a grim countenance. He had been right in his assessment. The gun hand had reported directly to his boss. He watched as the rider came out of the house, and could tell that he was having some harsh words with his boss. He finally stomped across the ranch compound to the bunkhouse, and went inside.

Jake lined the sights of his Spencer on Murdock, and squeezed off a shot. The report boomed across the mesa, and the bullet hit the gun hanging from his waist, tearing a big hole in the holster, and sending the pistol flying across the porch. His second shot caught Murdock in a shocked stance, raking across his cheek with a fiery brand. He had spun around with the first shot, now his hand flew to the crease on his cheek, coming away with blood.

Jake could see the fear that crossed his face, smiling as Murdock spun and ran through the door of the house. He jacked the shell from the breach, catching it before it could hit the ground, picked up the other spent cartridge, and dropped them in his pocket. With the telescope, he looked toward the bunkhouse, but the rider had not made an appearance. The blacksmith had dropped his hammer, and was trying to find refuge behind the hot forge, and not having too much luck. He was too big to fit behind the small forge, but he was making a good effort.

Killman replaced the rifle in its scabbard, gathered the reins and swung his big frame into the saddle. He had left a few calling cards that would give the men on the Circle M something to worry about, and he had enjoyed the fright on Murdock’s face. He was good at sending others to do his dirty work, staying behind in relative safety, but now he would realize that he was vulnerable to attack, just as his riders were. It was Jake’s first lunge at his enemy, and he had successfully scared the wits out of some of his gunslingers, and cut down the odds some. They would know he was out for blood now.

Riding around the fence line of the Circle M, he thought about what his next move should be, and what Murdock’s next move would be. He was riding south toward Strawberry without thinking. He would go in for some supplies for the ranch, and stop off at for a drink with Mike. He was feeling proud of himself; proud of the day’s work he had done, when he rode into Strawberry, just before noon.

He spotted the two horses tied at the rail in front of the Strawberry saloon, but paid little attention to them, his mind on the purchases he wanted to buy. He was inside the mercantile before the import of the hoses hit him that the horses were carrying the Circle M brand. He said a hello to Ely, and told him he would be back later, then turned and walked back outside and across the street to the saloon.

Easing onto the board sidewalk, he looked over the batwing doors, to see the two Circle M riders bellied up to the bar, and Mike Stoler looking directly at him. He made a motion for Stoler to move out of the line of fire, and then walked through the doors, stopping just inside, to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. One of the riders turned to see who had entered and suddenly went stiff.

“Howdy boys,” Jake said in a low tone. “I thought you would be riding out of this country by now.”

The second man stiffened and turned slowly to face Killman. His face had lost some of its color, as had his companion. Mike was at the far end of the bar, polishing on a whiskey glass, a small grin creasing his face.

“Reckon we stayed for the funeral,” the first man said.

“Oh. Did someone die?” Jake responded, his right eyebrow rising a bit..

“Not yet. But we expect it to happen soon. I guess you’ll be coming to the funeral too,” he said, as his hand moved closer to his six-gun.

“If your hand drops any further toward that hog leg, it might be even sooner than you expect,” Jake replied.

The slender man who had been talking froze, but his partner made a grab for his gun. Jake’s hand moved like lightning, as the Cold dragoon leaped into his huge hand, spitting flame, and lead. The second gunman reached for his gun at the same, and two bullets from Jake’s gun struck him just below the bridge of the nose. The one, who had been doing the talking, caught the next slug in the forehead, slamming him back against the bar, his hand loosening on the grip of the still holstered weapon.

It was over in less than two seconds, both the Circle M riders dead on the floor of the saloon, Jake standing over them with his dragoon still smoking. He quietly loaded the weapon, before dropping it back in his holster, and then walked over to the bar. Without asking, Mike poured him a glass of whiskey, and shoved it in front of Jake. He looked across at the dead men lying on the floor of his saloon, shook his head and set the bottle of whiskey on the bar.

“You sure know how to keep an honest bartender busy cleaning up,” he joked.

“It’s been a long day Mike. Sorry I had to gun these two in here, but it was that, or take a chance on them back shooting me along the trail. I figured this was easier.”

“That was some fast gun handling. Not many men would have braced two gunnies like these at the same time.”

“I want to send a clear message to Murdock. One that he can’t help but understand.”

He downed his drink and had Mike pour him another. After downing that one, he touched the brim of his hat, and dropped five dollar gold piece on the bar.

“Thanks for the drinks. Do you think you can get these two planted for the five?” he asked, dropping another half on the bar for the drink. “Sorry about the mess.”

Waving off Jake’s apology, Stoler watched the big rancher push through the batwings, and disappear into the street. He thought about the gunfight, and shivered, glad he didn’t have to stand against him. He almost felt sorry for Murdock and the men he had hired, should they be foolish enough to stick around. Jake Killman wasn’t a man to cross horns with.

Jake rode into the corral next to his house in the early evening, and proceeded to make a few changes to the perimeter, stringing wire with tins tied to them in such a way, that the least touch of the wire would set them jangling. He had no doubts Murdock and his men would pay him a visit. Unless he missed his guess, most of the men who had stayed on his payroll, were not the kind to scare easy. But, he was a man who believed in giving a man an even break. He had sent his message, and the warning it entailed, but he had no misconceived ideas that it would cause Murdock’s riders to pull stakes, and run. They were killers, pure and simple, and they had been hired for their prowess with a gun. At least he had taken down a goodly number of them.

He was just finishing up his alarm system, when Sarah called him for dinner. He washed up and went inside, sitting at the table with his Colt still strapped to his leg. He noticed the look Sarah gave him, and ignored the venom it carried. She was a woman of set ways, but this was an extenuating circumstance. He wanted to have his gun handy, in case there was trouble coming their way.

“Sorry about the gun Sarah, but these are bad times. I think I should keep it close at hand.”

Wrinkling her brow, she asked, “How long do you think this will go on? I worry about you every time you leave the ranch; worry that one of Murdock’s men will gun you, like before.”

“Don’t worry honey. I’m a little more careful after that last little mishap.”

She shrugged, placed a steak on his plate, letting him know that she would still worry, no matter what he said. The steak was delicious, and he had not realized he was so hungry, so he gave his attention to devouring the whole thing, in short order.

CHAPTER V

The Nightriders

As the night progressed, Jake lay on the bed next to his wife, his every nerve attuned to the sounds that reached him through the slightly open window. He could not sleep, except in short cat naps. He lay next to Sarah, hearing her breathing in the darkened room, trying not to stir too much, in case she might awaken.

He could see the stars through the window of the bedroom, and hear the calls of the night birds, and an occasional howl of a coyote, taking to the moon. Near midnight, he heard what sounded like horses, but he couldn’t be sure. He rose quickly from the bed, took his boots into the other room. Slipping quietly into his clothes, he picked up the Spencer, and stepped through the back door into the night.

There was a good moon, and he could see maybe fifty feet in front of him, but everything appeared as shadows. He circled the house, and came up behind the corral, his eyes searching the night for any sign of men or horses, but there was nothing to see in the darkness, but the pines, but something was out of place. The night birds were no longer talking, and even the crickets had hushed there chirping, giving warning that someone or something was in prowling nearby.

Then came the clatter of the cans he had set up, and the stumbling curse of a man. He looked in the direction from whence came the sound, straining to see through limited light the moon shed through the trees. There was group of six men creeping forward, and another just rising from the ground where he had fallen over the wire, trying to free himself from the offending wire as he rose, the clatter of the cans setting up more of a din than before.

“Tank, damnit, be quiet!” whispered a voice from the right. “Do you think they man is deaf? You make any more noise, and they will hear us in Strawberry!”

“Can’t help it,” came the response. “I got tangled in some infernal wire, some darn fool left out here.”

“Shush! Keep your mouth shut!” whispered the same first voice.

Jake lay perfectly still at one corner of the corral, watching the six men advance, searching the surrounding area for other men. When he was satisfied that these were all of them, he lined his sights on the leader and fired the Spencer, the boom shattering the still night. The shot hit the man, throwing him backward a few feet, and his second shot picked off the second man, as he tried to break to his right. He steadily picked off a third as he dodged for one of the tall pines.

He waited for them to show themselves again, knowing the futility of trying to pick them off from behind the trees. He quickly changed his position, as a fusillade of bullets tore into the earth he had just vacated. He crawled to the farther corner of the corral, settling himself to wait them out.

The man called Tank, had found himself a large tree and was plastered to it, on the far side. He kept his sight on the tree, waiting for him to lean out for a shot at the opposite corner of the corral. He didn’t have long to wait. The man leaned out for a shot and Jake squeezed the trigger, feeling the big Spencer buck against his shoulder, and watched the man known as Tank topple from behind the tree, without a sound.

Rolling quickly to his left, he crawled toward the front corner of the front porch and lined his sights on one of the other trees where another of the attacker was hiding. A few shots had chewed into the ground at the last place he had been, but there were less guns firing now.

He knew Sarah had been awakened, and was probably at one fo the windows, trying to acquire a target. Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard the report of his military rifle, then a yelp of pain, as the bullet struck one of the men. She hadn’t killed him, but she sure as hell put one in him, he grinned.

He only had two men left to deal with, and one of them was now wounded, though how badly he wasn’t sure. He kept his sights on the same tree as before, but the man was smart enough to know that he didn’t miss what he was shooting at, so he glued himself to the tree.

“Tank? Link? Tex? Any of you hit,” the voice came from the tree he was aiming at.

When no answer came, the man became nervous, and peeped out from behind the tree. A shot hit the tree inches from his face, spraying bark into his face, as he jerked his head back. He called again, and when the only answer was a groan from a tree to his left, he didn’t bother asking how everyone was any more.

A few minutes passed, then came the voice again. “Killman! You done killed my men. How about facing me like a man. Anyone can shott from ambush.”

“What would you call the little party you had in store for me,” he growled at into the night. “Seems to me you started this party hombre.”

There was a long silence, then, “I always heard you was a fair man. Why don’t you meet me in the open?”

“I think not. I’ll give you a chance to live though. Just throw out your gun, and you can ride out of here.”

There was another long silence, then, “You got a deal. Here comes my rifle. Don’t shoot!”