Confessions of a Gunfighter (17 page)

Chapter forty-two

Lieutenant Porter was on my mind as I rode along.

He had ordered me to clear out. The more I thought about that, the more irritated I got. I hadn’t done anything wrong, and it riled me to think that some Yankee could order me around like that. Especially him. 

So, I decided that I wasn’t going to leave. I was going to find a job some place close, even if that meant working in town cleaning out horse stalls.

I was also bothered by the way he planned on taking away the rancher’s lands. I didn’t know much when it came to the law, but to me that just didn’t seem right.

But then, who was I to decide what was right and wrong? 

There was also the mystery of those horses. Lieutenant Porter had sure acted funny when I had asked about them, and I got the feeling that they had been stolen.

***

Two days later, just as it was getting dark, I rode up to a little ranch. 

Recovery from the war had been a long and painful process here in Texas, and I could tell that this place had fallen upon hard times.

The pole pens sagged; they were just about to fall down in several places. The roof on the house seemed to have more patches than original material, and the barn leaned in directions it shouldn’t be.

There was a lamp burning inside the main house. As I pulled up Slim, a middle aged man came out onto the front porch. An older black man hobbled out behind him. 

I noticed that both of them held rifles.

The middle-aged man was a big man with wide shoulders and large, powerful arms that were accustomed to hard work. His face was weathered and tired looking, but his eyes were sharp.

As for the black man, he was just old.

“Who’s out there?” The middle aged man called out.

“I’m just passing through, looking for work is all,” I replied. “I ain’t looking for trouble.”

“In that case, light and set a while, mister,” he offered. “Supper’s on the stove. Put your horse up in the barn and come have a cup of coffee.”

That sounded good. My coffee pot still had a bullet hole in it, and I’d gone two days without coffee.

“Thanks for the invite,” I replied. 

They went back inside while I went down to the barn and unsaddled Slim. I watered and fed him some hay, and then I went back up to the house. 

The middle-aged man met me at the door.

“My name’s Steve Hardin,” he said as he shook my hand.

“I’m, uh, Joe Lenders,” I replied.

We walked inside.

“This here is Jeremiah Batch. He works for me,” Mr. Hardin said.

I nodded at Jeremiah, and he nodded back.

Supper was ready, so we sat down at the table.

It was a plain meal of bread and beans. But there was plenty, and we ate heartily.

“Where are you headed?” Mr. Hardin asked.

“Just drifting, hunting work,” I replied. “You couldn’t use an extra hand, could you?”

Mr. Hardin frowned.

“I’m sure you’ve got eyes. We’re barely making it as it is. Besides, me and ol’ Jeremiah do all right by ourselves. Ain’t that right, Jeremiah?”

Jeremiah nodded.

“Times are hard,” Mr. Hardin continued. “Only place I can think of that might be hiring is the Tomlin’s place.”

“Oh?” I asked curiously.

“They’re the biggest outfit around these parts,” Mr. Hardin explained. “They run some cows, but they also raise a lot of horses.”

“Sounds interesting,” I replied. “How far off is it?”

“Their range starts just as soon as you leave my place,” Mr. Hardin told me. “But their headquarters is about twelve miles to the west.”

“That would put it pretty close to Empty-lake, wouldn’t it?” I asked as I gulped down some coffee.   

Mr. Hardin nodded.

“Empty-lake is a few miles due north of their headquarters.”

“Well, reckon I’ll head that way in the morning then,” I replied.

It was real nice being amongst honest fellers again, and I enjoyed myself. Mr. Hardin seemed to be sort-a lonesome, and he talked non-stop.

“You’re the second visitor I’ve had today,” Mr. Hardin told me suddenly. “But I didn’t like the looks of that other feller, and I sent him packing.”

Jeremiah nodded in agreement.

“Oh?” I asked.

Mr. Hardin continued.

“I think he was looking for somebody. He kept asking me if’n I had seen any other strangers about.”

I was suddenly curious. 

“Did he tell you his name?” I asked.

Mr. Hardin shook his head. 

“No, don’t recall that he did.”

“Just what did this feller look like?” I wanted to know.

“He was a young feller with curly, yeller hair, and he was riding a light colored dun horse,” Mr. Hardin told me. “Seemed real cocky too.”

My fork froze halfway up to my mouth.

Ryan Palmer!
I thought grimly
. 

I was worried, but I tried to look calm.

“Well, I’m just glad that he didn’t give you any trouble,” I said.

Mr. Hardin grinned as he reached over and patted his rifle, which was laid out on the table beside him.

“Me and Jeremiah had our rifles on him, and he figured out right quick that we meant business. He left real peaceful like.”

“Good, I’m glad,” I replied.

We finished supper, and then I helped Jeremiah clean up the dishes. After that we all sat around and talked for a while, and then we turned in. 

I woke up early, and while Jeremiah fixed us some breakfast I went down to the barn and saddled Slim.

When I returned breakfast was waiting, and it was while we were eating that I looked over at Mr. Hardin.

“You wouldn’t happen to have an extra coffee pot I could buy, would you?” I asked. “Mine’s got a ventilation problem.”

Mr. Hardin fixed me up, and then I grabbed my bedroll and got ready to leave.

Soon as we stepped out of the house something in the far distance caught my eye.

I looked again, and I saw ten to twelve riders topping out over the hill. They were riding in columns of two, and even from a long ways off I could tell that they were soldiers.

I had a suspicion that it was Lieutenant Porter, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Looks like you’re going to have company,” I commented as I pointed. “Are them friends of yours?”

Mr. Hardin watched them thoughtfully, and when he turned to me his face was grim.

“I ain’t even
got
that many friends,” he said.

“Think they’re trouble?” I asked.

“More’n likely,” Mr. Hardin said.

I frowned as I thought it over. And, seeing how it might be Lieutenant Porter, it didn’t take me long to decide.

“Want help?” I asked.

“Sure ain’t going to turn it down if you offered,” Mr. Hardin replied.

“We’d best get ready, then.”

Chapter forty-three

When they got closer I could make out the blue uniforms. 

“Them’s Yankees for sure,” I told Mr. Hardin.

“Don’t know if that’s good or bad,” Mr. Hardin replied. “Either way, we’d better be ready. Jeremiah, you get in the door. Joe, you stay behind me on the porch.”

We got in our positions.

I held my rifle ready, and if need be my six-shooter was loaded and ready in its holster. Mr. Hardin and Jeremiah had their rifles.  

Sure enough, it was Lieutenant Porter. He was in the lead, and as he rode up he looked the place over.

“Place is run down, but there’s a lotta potential here,” I heard him say to Shaw, who was right behind him.

Mr. Hardin stood beside the porch steps, and Lieutenant Porter rode right up to him. He raised his hand and signaled the column to stop.

It was silent as Lieutenant Porter looked Mr. Hardin over, and then he glanced at Jeremiah.

If he noticed the threat of the rifles, he didn’t show it.

Lieutenant Porter turned his eyes to me, and there was nothing friendly in the way he that looked at me.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded to know.

“Headed to Empty-lake,” I replied.

Lieutenant Porter didn’t reply. Instead, he looked down at Mr. Hardin.

“Are you Steve Hardin?” He asked.

“Yes,” was Mr. Hardin's simple answer.

Lieutenant Porter nodded.

“I’m here on official business, so I’ll get right to the point. According to our records, you ain’t paid your taxes since before the war. Consider this a notice. If you don’t pay ’em soon you’ll lose this place.”

Mr. Hardin scowled.

“You got anything else to say?” Mr. Hardin wanted to know.

“No, that’s everything for now.”

“Then get off my land,” Mr. Hardin declared.  

Lieutenant Porter’s face stiffened, but he kept calm as he eyed Mr. Hardin.

“Sure, we’ll leave. But we’ll be back.”

Lieutenant Porter turned to me.

“And as for you; I don’t like you following us around. I strongly suggest that you go get your supplies and clear out.”

I narrowed my eyes, and I felt the feeling start to build up inside me. But, I managed to stay calm.

“You sure did get rid of all them horses in a hurry,” I smiled. “What’d you do with ’em?”

Lieutenant Porter looked as if he’d been slapped.

He started to say something, but then changed his mind. 

“You’ve been warned,” he said in a low, somber voice. 

Lieutenant Porter raised his hand and signaled the troops to pull out.

As they rode by us Shaw looked over at me, and his eyes were cold and hateful.

We stood there and watched them leave.

“Well!” Mr. Hardin grunted. “Lieutenant Porter sure ain’t a very likeable feller, is he?”

“Can’t say that he is,” I agreed, and to myself I added,
me and Kinrich should have took care of him a long time ago.

“Well, unless you need me to stay, I reckon I’ll be leaving,” I said.

“Don’t worry ’bout us,” Mr. Hardin replied. “We can take care of ourselves.”

I wasn’t so sure, but I still went down to the barn and led Slim out. I shook Mr. Hardin's and Jeremiah’s hand, and then I took out.

A feller can cover twelve miles in only half a day if he moves on, so I kept Slim in a brisk trot. But Slim didn’t mind, for he was feeling good and wanting to travel.  

An hour later I rode into a deep little valley. The sides were steep and mostly made out of big slabs of rock. 

There wasn’t a breeze at all down in the sandy bottom, and me and Slim started sweating hard.

I was eager to reach the Tomlin's headquarters, and that’s all that was on my mind. I should have been stopping every once in a while to carefully look around like I always did, but the thought of getting that ranch job made me lose all sense of caution.

But the loud thump of a bullet hitting flesh snapped me out of it, and a split second later I heard the loud boom of a rifle shot from somewheres up above. 

I felt Slim stumble. And then, before I could recover, Slim fell.

Chapter forty-four

I tried to get out of the saddle. But, before I could Slim hit the ground hard, and my leg was pinned underneath him. 

Slim started kicking and lunging, but I leaned up next to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Easy boy, lie still now,” I whispered in his ear.

Slim nickered in protest, but he still put his head down and stayed still. He was breathing hard in short, labored breaths.  

I put my shoulder against Slim and tried desperately to pull my leg out. But Slim’s weight was crushing down so heavily that I couldn’t budge it.

Suddenly, another bullet came flying in. This time, I felt a sharp tug on my shoulder, and I was violently knocked over backwards. I hit the ground on my side and stayed still.

There were all sorts of thoughts running through my mind, but I knew my best bet would be to stay still and hope that the shooter would think I was dead. 

Every nerve in me was drawn tight as I expected at any moment another slam of a bullet. But no such shot came, and after a while I slowly turned my head so I could see. 

My rifle was also pinned underneath Slim.

I moved my hands real slow and grabbed the butt of the gun. I tried to pull my rifle out, and I was careful not to make any sudden movements. But, to my disappointment the rifle held firm.

I could get to my six-shooter, so I pulled it out of my holster and held it firmly.

By now my shoulder was throbbing a bit, but that was all. I had no idea how bad I was hit, and I didn’t dare move to look.

It was then that I heard the distant chipping sound of a horse’s hoofs on rock. As I had hoped, the shooter was coming down to inspect his kill.

“Keep on a-coming, mister,” I breathed softly.

The shooter was coming up behind me. That made me even more tense, because at any moment he could decide to shoot again without me even knowing.

But I had to draw him in closer, that way I could get a good shot.

I stayed still as he rode closer. But then, the chipping sounds suddenly stopped. 

My ears listened frantically for any sound. 

I didn’t hear anything, and that’s when I jumped into action. All at once I flipped over, and in the same movement I also brought up my six-shooter.

I spotted the rider right away.

He was about two hundred yards away, and he was riding a light colored dun horse. I couldn’t make out his face, but there was no doubt in my mind that the man was Ryan Palmer.

Palmer was surprised, and he started to raise his rifle. But I fired two wild shots at him, and that made Palmer panic.

Palmer spun his horse around and headed out in a dead run. I fired a couple more shots at him, but he was too far out for a six-shooter.

I hoped Palmer would keep on going, but I couldn’t count on it. He could come back at any moment, or he might go back up to the top of the ridge and finish me off from there.

I needed some cover.

I looked down at Slim. He was still breathing long, labored breaths, and he was lathered all over with sweat.

I reloaded and holstered my six-shooter. Then, I leaned down next to Slim and spoke softly:

“Come on, ol’ boy, you’ve got to help me out here.”

Slim seemed to understand. Suddenly he kicked forward, and for a split second his weight shifted off my leg. 

That was all the time I needed.

I dragged myself out from underneath him, and in the same motion I also grabbed my rifle. Then, I ran over and got behind a big boulder of rocks.

I took a quick look at my shoulder. To my relief I found that it was only a scratch, and it was barely even bleeding now.

I stayed behind those rocks until mid-afternoon. 

During that time my eyes went over every nook and cranny of the ridge above me, and I was finally satisfied that Palmer had ridden on.

I walked back over to Slim, knelt beside him, and examined the wound. 

Slim lifted his head and nickered at me, and then he put his head back down.

“There just ain’t much I can do for you, ol’ boy,” I said softly as I rubbed his side. “You rest easy now.”

It was plain to see that he was dying. So, I pulled my six-shooter out and put him out of his misery. It was mighty hard to do, but it had to be done.

It took me a bit, but I finally managed to pull my saddle off. Then, I slung my saddle up on one shoulder, grabbed my rifle, and took out.

It was hard to leave good ol’ Slim like that. Slim was one of my last links to Pa, and I almost got choked up.        

It was then that I remembered what Lee had said, about it being personal with Palmer.

Well, this little game we’d been playing had suddenly become a personal thing with me too. To shoot a man's horse out from under him was a very low thing to do, and Palmer was going to pay for that, one way or the other.