Ralph Compton Sixguns and Double Eagles Read online

  Southern Colorado. November 18, 1884.

  “Denver should be almost due north,” said Wes. “That means if we’re havin’ company, they’ll soon be close enough for Empty to warn us. I think we’ll continue west, following the Arkansas.”

  Wes and El Lobo again made their camp early, putting out their fire well before dark. After supper, Empty disappeared for a while. Eventually there was a light breeze from the northwest, and El Lobo got to his feet.

  “They come,” El Lobo said. “Make fire.”

  “Yes,” said Wes. “I smell smoke too. I expect Empty’s nosing around their camp, and when he returns we’ll have a look.”

  Less than an hour later, Empty returned, and there was little doubt he had made a discovery. Growling softly, he trotted north a ways and waited, proof that he expected to be followed.

  “We’ll leave the horses here and go afoot,” Wes said. “Bring your Winchester, just in case. We might want to show the varmints just what they can expect from us.”

  Chapter 7

  Wes and El Lobo moved slowly, and Empty never got so far ahead they couldn’t see him in the starlight. The smell of smoke grew stronger, and eventually they could see a pinpoint of light in the distance.

  “They’re almighty confident,” Wes said quietly.

  Finally they topped a rise and could see the camp below. It was near a spring, and the gunmen were grouped around the fire, partaking of the whiskey they had brought with them.

  “We kill many,” said El Lobo.

  “We could,” Wes said, “but it would be cold-blooded murder. Besides, we can’t really be sure they’re after us. But there’s a way we can find out. Let’s get back to our horses.”

  Clearly El Lobo didn’t agree, but he accepted the decision Wes had made. When they reached their horses, Wes spoke.

  “We’ll saddle up and ride west, leaving a trail they can’t miss. Come first light, we’ll double back and arrange an ambush. If they come after us, we’ll gun them down.”

  “Bueno,” said El Lobo.

  Saddling their horses, they rode more than ten miles. It was far enough to establish for a certainty they were being followed, and a sufficient distance for them to double back and set up an ambush.

  “Now,” Wes said, “we’ll settle down and get what sleep we can. Come first light, we’ll swing south a couple of miles and parallel our back trail.”

  “They come,” said El Lobo confidently.

  “I think you’re right,” Wes said, “but I’ll feel better when we know for sure. I can’t think of any other reason for twenty men being camped out and armed.”

  Wes and El Lobo were saddling their horses as the first gray of approaching dawn crept into the eastern sky. They rode out, headed east, Empty ranging on ahead. They still followed the Arkansas, but were more than a mile south of the river. The trail they had left along the southern bank the night before would be obvious to the gunmen who followed. They had ridden only a mile or two when from a rise they could see an abundant upthrust of stone well within rifle range of the river’s south bank.

  “Perfect for an ambush,” Wes said. “Those stones stand high enough to protect us and our horses.”

  Leaving their horses behind the tallest upthrusts, they quickly found crevices in the rock that not only afforded them cover, but allowed perfect shooting well within range of their Winchesters. They hadn’t long to wait. Empty growled, warning them of approaching riders well before they rode into view.

  “Hold off until they’re plenty close,” said Wes. “We must cut down as many of them as we can. Otherwise, they can flank us left and right, catching us in a cross fire.”

  “Per‘ap they try,” El Lobo said. “You shoot right, I shoot left.”

  The ambush was as near perfect as two men could devise. When the riders eventually came into view, some appeared to doze in their saddles. Or perhaps they were partially hung over from the whiskey they had consumed the night before. Wes and El Lobo fired simultaneously, and it took a moment for the reality of the attack to register on the riders. Quickly, Wes and El Lobo emptied half a dozen saddles, and when the riders tried to rush the fortress, they met a withering fire that discouraged flanking their attackers. Wheeling their horses, the survivors galloped along their back trail. Many clung to saddle horns, seriously wounded.

  “We ride after them?” El Lobo asked.

  “No,” said Wes. “There’s still enough of them to set up an ambush of their own. We’ll ride on, watching our back trail. If they’re foolish enough to follow, we’ll give them another dose of what they just had.”

  When it became obvious the bushwhackers didn’t intend to pursue them, Mull reined up. The condition of his force was not encouraging. Of the thirteen men who remained, six had wounds that might prove fatal. Three others bled profusely from arm and leg wounds.

  “From now on,” Mull said, “I reckon we’ll be earning our money.”

  “Maybe you’ll be earnin’ yours,” said one of the wounded men. “Me, I’m ridin’ back to the nearest town where there’s a doc.”

  “Hell,” Mull said, “Most of you ain’t hit that hard.”

  “Hard enough to die from infection,” said another of the gunmen. “I’m finished.”

  There was quick agreement from the other wounded men, and before Mull could argue further, they kicked their horses into a lope, back the way they had come. The four men who remained regarded Mull with doubtful eyes.

  “I’m goin’ on,” Mull said. “There’s five of us, and that don’t cut the reward so thin. We get four thousand each.”

  “If we live to collect it,” said one of the gunmen. “We just rode into an ambush that cost us fifteen men.”

  “Elkins warned us this pair of pistoleros was dangerous,” Mull said, “and we can blame ourselves for underestimatin’ them. We won’t do that again.”

  “We’re listenin‘,” said one of the men. “What you got in mind?”

  “They have an edge as long as we’re behind them,” Mull said, “so we’re gonna change that. We’re goin’ to get ahead and do some bushwhackin’ of our own. Doan, I want you and Wells to ride half a dozen miles to the north and then back to the west. Baker, you and Olson will ride south and then west. You won’t be followin’ a trail, so you can ride all night. When you figure you’ve covered fifty miles, I want all of you to come together along the Arkansas and set up an ambush.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Olson sourly. “While we’re riskin’ our hides, where’ll you be?”

  “Takin’ a hell of a lot more risk than you,” Mull snapped. “I’ll be followin’ their trail, just like we been doin‘, while the four of you will be shootin’ from cover. Any of you that don’t have enough sand for that, mount up and ride back the way you come.”

  “That makes sense to me,” said Baker. “I’ll stick.”

  Doan, Wells, and Olson quickly agreed to the plan.

  “Then mount up and ride,” Mull said. “I’ll be on their back trail, if they try to run.”

  A few miles ahead, Wes and El Lobo had reined up to rest their horses.

  “They still be coming,” said El Lobo. “How many?”

  “That’s something we have to know,” Wes said. “Ride on ahead, while I have a look at our back trail.”

  El Lobo rode out, heading west, while Empty prowled somewhere ahead. Mounting his horse, Wes rode south a ways and then east, so that he might view their back trail without being seen. Eventually he reached a high point where he could see a considerable ways along the south bank of the Arkansas. He was growing impatient, wondering if he’d made a wrong move, when he sighted a single rider. He waited, assuring himself no other riders followed. He then mounted his horse and rode back the way he had come. Reaching the place where he and El Lobo had parted company, he carefully continued the tracks of his horse alongside those of El Lobo’s horse, so the pursuing rider would have an unbroken trail to follow. El Lobo had been watching his back trail, reining up when
Wes approached.

  “How many come?” El Lobo asked.

  “Just one,” said Wes, “and that tells us plenty. We know we cut down six of them and wounded some others, but there has to be more than one of them after us. They rode into one ambush, and they won’t do that again. As long as they’re behind us, we have an edge.”

  “Others get ahead of us,” El Lobo said. “Ambush us.”

  “That’s what I figure,” said Wes. “I figure the rest of ‘em are flanking us to the north and south, planning to come together somewhere ahead of us. But they can’t ambush us if we take another direction. We can ride south, and when the varmint trailin’ us figures it out, he’ll still have to ride on ahead to tell the rest of his outfit.”

  “Nevada don’t be south,” said El Lobo.

  “No,” Wes said. “Santa Fe is to the south, and we’ll be takin’ the long way to Carson City, but we have to lose this pack of hired killers. It’ll buy us some time, while the Golden Dragon figures out what’s become of us.”

  Wes and El Lobo waited until they reached a portion of the riverbank that was thick with brush and stirrup-high grass. There they turned south, careful to conceal tracks of their horses.

  “He’ll find our tracks,” said Wes, “but it’ll take him a while, and he’ll still have a considerable ride ahead of him, catchin’ up to the rest of his gunmen.”

  “Damn them,” Mull said aloud when he emerged from the brush and thick grass that covered the riverbank. The trail he had been following no longer existed. He could see no horse tracks down the south bank, and none on the muddy north bank where the riders might have crossed, and that left but one choice. He rode south almost two miles before eventually finding the trail, and it continued due south.

  “Damnation,” said Mull, kicking his horse into a gallop. He must ride at least fifty long miles to the west to rendezvous with his men, and the lot of them then faced a fifty-mile return ride before they could again take up the trail. Worse, they would again be following their prey, with another ambush a definite possibility. Mull swallowed hard, not relishing breaking the news to Doan, Wells, Baker, and Olson. An hour before sundown, Mull found them gathered around a fire, boiling coffee. Their response was even worse than Mull had expected.

  “It’ll be dark in another hour,” Doan said, “and I ain’t ridin’ nowhere without sleep and grub. If the rest of you are of a mind to go, then go without me.”

  “That’s the way I feel,” said Wells, “and when I’ve had some sleep and grub, I’m ridin’ back to Denver. Hell, these hombres is headed for Santa Fe. There, I got a price on my head.”

  “You’ll likely have a price on your head in Colorado,” Mull said. “Elkins won’t let you weasel out of a job after you been paid to do it.”

  “He’ll have to find me first,” said Baker. “I ain’t wanted in New Mexico. First light, and I’m ridin’ south. I ain’t left nothin’ in Colorado.”

  “Me neither,” Olson said. “I’ll ride with you.”

  Doan laughed. “Mull, it looks like you got that twenty-thousand-dollar reward all to yourself.”

  Mull went for his gun, but Doan had been expecting that. He was fast. Incredibly so, and Mull died with his hand on the butt of his Colt. The four stared at their fallen leader without remorse.

  “I’m claimin’ the gold he’s got on him,” said Doan. “He ain’t gonna be needin’ it.”

  “You can bunk here tonight and keep him company,” Baker said. “I ain’t as tired as I thought I was. I’m ridin’ south to Santa Fe.”

  “Bueno,” said Olson. “Let’s ride. We ain’t got a trail to follow.”

  Doan watched them mount and ride south. Quickly he robbed Mull of his gold and his Colt. He saddled his horse and then Mull‘s, and leading the animal, rode north, toward Denver. After a moment, Wells mounted his horse and followed.

  “We’ll make camp here,” Wes said. “If that bunch takes up our trail again, they won’t be able to follow us in the dark.”

  “We still not know how many follow,” said El Lobo.

  “Dead or wounded, I think we accounted for at least half of them, and as long as we’re ahead of them, we have the advantage. Tomorrow I’ll scout the back trail.”

  Wes and El Lobo, unaware they were no longer followed, rode south at dawn. When they had been three hours on the trail, they could see a plume of dust to the northwest.

  “Looks like they didn’t double back and take our trail,” Wes said. “They’ve cut across country, if that’s who I’m expecting.”

  “Who else it be?” El Lobo asked. “We kill?”

  “We can’t be entirely sure they’re after us,” said Wes, “since they aren’t following our trail. Let’s find some high ground and see how many riders are coming.”

  Baker and Olson had ridden most of the night and had slowed their weary horses to a trot. The first slug kicked up dust, causing Olson’s horse to rear. Both men piled out of their saddles, taking their Winchesters with them. There was little cover.

  “Damn it,” Olson said, “we’ve stumbled onto them varmints we was chasing.”

  “There’s two of us and two of them,” said Baker. “Maybe this is our chance.”

  “Yeah,” Olson said, “but we can’t see them. We’d better get to our horses, if we can.”

  “You aim to run for it?”

  “Yeah,” said Baker. “At least, I aim to circle wide and try to get around ‘em. You’ve seen what they can do with them long guns.”

  “I’ll settle for gettin’ around ‘em,” Olson said. “If we can’t claim the reward, we can at least save our necks. Them varmints can shoot like hell wouldn’t have it.”

  Olson and Baker ran for their horses, and to their surprise there were no more shots from their attackers.

  “Coyotes run,” said El Lobo. “Per‘ap they get ahead.”

  “We’ll just give them time to ride on, if that’s what they have in mind,” Wes said. “I’ll send Empty on ahead. If they’re holed up waiting for us, he’ll find them.”

  But Olson and Baker, having made good their escape, continued riding south until they reached the headwaters of the Rio Grande. They rode on until they came to a sign that read: HAWKTOWN. YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE.

  “Well, ain’t that somethin‘?” said Baker. “Hell, they can’t deny us a drink and maybe some town grub. Come on.”

  Strung out along the river, the town wasn’t impressive. The buildings were weathered, having fought a losing battle with the elements. There was a two-story hotel, a combined livery and blacksmith shop, half a dozen shacks that might have been private residences, and a saloon. The saloon was the most impressive, with a plate-glass front. To the right of the swinging doors, painted across the glass in fancy red letters was CASA DE ORO SALOON. To the left of the swinging doors, painted across the glass in black-and-gold script was THE LAW OFFICES OF JUDGE ELIAS HAWK. Half a dozen horses were tied at the hitch rail, and from somewhere down the dirt street came the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer. Baker and Olson elbowed their way through the swinging doors. Six men sat around a table on which there were several bottles, an assortment of shot glasses, and a deck of cards. Standing near the bar was a tall man whose thumb was hooked in his gunbelt. On his vest there was a lawman’s star. As Baker and Olson approached the bar, the bartender seemed not to see them.

  “Couple of beers,” said Olson.

  “Friend,” the lawmen said, “I take it you gents can’t read, or maybe you didn’t see our sign.”

  “We seen your sign,” Baker said. “We ain’t plannin’ to settle here. We just stopped for a drink and maybe some grub. Then we’ll be ridin’ on.”

  “Yeah,” said Olson, “we’re dodgin’ a pair of hombres that tried to kill us.”

  “I’m Hobie Denbow, the sheriff here, and this is a peaceful town. The last thing we’re wantin’ is troublemakers like you. You’re both under arrest for trespassing.”

  “Like hell,” Olson snarled.

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p; His hand froze on the butt of his Colt, for Denbow had him covered. Baker raised his hands, backing toward the door.

  “Unbuckle those gunbelts and let them drop,” Denbow ordered. “Judge Hawk, we got court business.”

  A door opened in the back of the room. Judge Hawk was a tall old man with silvery hair, whose fierce blue eyes looked from beneath shaggy white brows. He was dressed in black pinstripe trousers, a white boiled shirt, fancy red tie, and a black frock coat. He went behind the bar and pounded on it with the butt of a Colt.

  “Court is now in session,” said Judge Hawk. “You men will face the bar and tell me your names.”

  “Baker and Olson,” Baker said sullenly, “and you got nothin’ on us.”

  “You are charged with trespassing after having been warned,” said Hawk, “and I find you guilty as charged. I am sentencing each of you to a year at hard labor, and fining you two hundred dollars. Sheriff Denbow, march them to the mine, get them in irons, and put them to work. The court will seize their horses, saddles, and weapons, which should cover their fines and court costs. After you have disposed of them, Sheriff, ride north a ways and be sure they weren’t pursued, as they claim.”

  “No,” Baker shouted, “we ain’t done nothin‘.”

  But Denbow ignored their pleas, marching them out the door. The card game had continued uninterrupted, and Judge Hawk returned to his office behind the saloon. Shortly afterward, Sheriff Denbow rode north, reining up when he saw a wisp of dust rising somewhere ahead. Riding well away from the Rio Grande, he took cover on a ridge and waited for the oncoming riders to pass his position.

  Reaching the headwaters of the Rio Grande, Wes and El Lobo came upon the trail left by Baker and Olson.

  “I’ll send Empty to scout ahead,” said Wes, “and we’ll follow them a ways, just to be sure they’ve given up on us.”

  They reined up when they reached the HAWKTOWN sign.

  “Hombres go there,” El Lobo said.