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Short Stories & Tall Tales
OUTLAWS LUCK
By Christopher Scott
Mean Webb Dixon blew on the smoldering tinder as his partner, Little Jack, looked on in total disbelief. He knew this was a bad move, but his disagreement with Webb over the idea of building a fire went nowhere. Neither of them had eaten solid food in almost two days and Webb wasn’t about to eat his fresh killed rabbit raw. He had taken the risk of firing the shot that killed the hare and now was willing to take his chances with a fire. But then that’s how Webb was. He was always willing to take a chance on something, even if it meant putting someone else at risk.
And Jack, he was in no position to argue with his partner, as Webb had earned the moniker of 'Mean' and was not beyond putting a bullet in him if for no other reason than to shut him up, or better yet, to not have to share the hare with him. So as Webb continued to tend the fire, Jack reluctantly went about gathering what wood he could find in the dark. They had rode hard most of the day only stopping to make camp well after the sun had dropped below the horizon.
As Jack gathered a few sticks from around the parameter of the camp he could see Webb plain as day, adding a few sticks of dry wood to the kindled fire.
"If I can see him," he thought. "So could any one else that might be on their trail."
Hopefully they had enough of a lead on their pursuers that that wouldn’t become an issue.
The thought no sooner entered his mind when something caused him to stop dead in his tracks. He was already nervous about the fire and now he was sure he was hearing things. Slightly cocking his head he stood silent in the dark and listened intently. He had caught the sound of what he thought was loose rock being disturbed. Webb had heard it too. Crouching by the fire he had already cleared his holster and was listening as intently as Jack.
The silence was suddenly disrupted by the unmistakable sound of a single shot ringing out through the cool night air. Webb fell back hard but managed to get off a couple of shots into the darkness before he lay motionless. Jack dove for whatever cover he could find. He was close enough to see the light of the flickering fire against Webb’s face. And from the looks of things, he knew Webb had breathed his last. Jack laid low behind a rock that seemed too small to hide him, but fortunately he was outside the camp and away from the light of the fire.
The darkness had quickly become his friend along with the gun he held in his hand.
Jack remained motionless peering into the darkness for any sign of movement. He didn’t twitch a muscle for what seemed like hours. The camp's fire had long died out and the light of day would soon be overtaking Jack's cover of darkness. He was about to lose the one advantage the night had to offer.
Earlier, as he laid low, he had thought out his next move, but quickly dismissed it as being too risky. But now with daybreak coming on soon and no other options in mind he reconsidered, it was now or never. If he could make it to the ridge behind the camp he could move up to higher ground without being seen. The position would be to his advantage once the sun came up and he could get a better look at just what the situation was down below. But to get to the ridge he would have to move across open ground. It would be risky even in the dark, but staying put until daylight could prove to be deadly. There really was no choice. He had to make his move. His muscles were tensed and he was poised to make his way toward the ridge when he caught the sound of something close by.
Suddenly, off to his left, a lone horse came into view. It was still saddled but there was no rider. Jack’s plan quickly changed. Instead of making his way towards the ridge, he ever so slowly made his way towards the direction of the horse. The morning light was coming on fast and just as he was wondering if his sudden change of plans had been a mistake he saw him. Lying on the ground just beyond the wash of a dry creek bed he could clearly see the body of a man. It was still, and did not look to be in a natural position so Jack cautiously continued to move forward toward the stranger. As he got closer it soon became apparent to him that he had been laying behind a rock all night hiding from a dead man. A bounty hunter most likely, thought Jack. They do tend to travel alone and he and Webb knew they were being followed. They just didn’t realize how close. Webb had managed a lucky shot just before he died hitting the stranger directly in the heart. The old man didn’t stand a chance.
With the hope that this would buy him some time Jack got busy. It was mid morning when he finished burying the two men. Not that he felt either one of them deserved it. His main concern was in hiding any evidence that could point someone else in his direction. After taking what few useful provisions the stranger had on him he hid the saddles and the tack. Webb and the stranger’s horses were unbridled and left to go wild. He then took the money he and Webb had gotten from the bank they held up back in Three Rivers several days ago and stuffed it into his saddlebag. Jack mounted up and continued south to where he and Webb were to meet up with some acquaintances to plan their next job.
After two days ride across a bone-dry desert, Jack was getting close to the border of Mexico. He pushed for every mile he could get but as the day came to an end and the sun sank low, he stopped to make camp. The following day, if all went well, he would meet up with the others at the old cabin they had used in the past as their base.
Little did Jack know that the area he chose to make camp was notorious for bandits and social outcasts of the unsavory type and he had unfortunately made camp not too far from a band of these low life desperados. A half dozen of them had come North of the border to raise a little hell and were on their way back to Mexico with a few bottles of whiskey and a couple bags full of their ill-gotten gains. They had stopped for the night a little earlier and were well on their way to emptying a couple of those bottles. But they were not too drunk to be ignorant of the fact that Jack had made camp not too far from where they were and they were keeping a close watch on him.
A couple of these men decided to work their way closer to Jacks camp. It soon became apparent that the whiskey they were drinking had made them less than cautious. Jack heard the careless stumble and the muffled curse. Crouching by the fire he reached for his gun. A shot rang out and Jack fell back hard. He lay on the ground motionless. The low light of the camp's fire shown across his face. It was apparent Jack had reached the end of the trail. The desperados approached him slowly. A lucky shot had hit him right between the eyes. “A bounty hunter most likely,” said one. “Yes,” the other agreed. “They do tend to travel alone.”
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