Short Stories & Tall Tales
The Stranger
Clifton Bush Jr.
I
The rising sun found him lying on his side, unconscious. He was weak with thirst, and had lost some blood as well. There were dried spatters of it following him up the sandstone ledge to where he had finally collapsed. Who he was or how he got here he had no clue. He didn't even know what had happened to him in the past few days. All he knew was that he was hungry, thirsty, tired, and dizzy from loss of blood.
He finally awoke, and blinked his eyes, adjusting to the brightness of the sun, now a third of the way up in the deep blue sky. He got up on all fours, and immediately regretted it. A wave of nausea hit him, and he laid back down again, shielding the brightness from his eyes.
He got up again, and swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He looked himself over, and found a wound in his arm. It appeared to be a gunshot, and he made an effort to stand up. He walked a few paces, then stopped, and sat back down on the red sandstone ledge once again. He surveyed his surroundings, getting a better feel of where he was.
He was surrounded on all sides by steep sandstone cliffs, etched millions of years ago by a long-forgotten river that had flown through here. Below him lay a peaceful desert, with cactus and creosote bushes scattered here and there. He watched with interest as, in the distance, a dust devil whirled its hypnotic dance among the plants. Up above him was another ledge, and beyond that lay a mountain range. He had followed some sort of trail to get up here, and he carefully planned his next step, once the throbbing in his head subsided.
He stood up again, watching everything weave and bob before his eyes. He put his hand to his head, and slowly made his way up the trail into the narrow draw of the upper ledge. What am I doing up here, he asked himself. Was someone chasing me? He looked down into the valley below but didn't see any sign of being followed. He continued up, slipping on the gravel and almost falling once again. He caught himself, and kept on his way, his heartbeat getting louder and the thumping in his head increasing with each passing step. Soon he was on top of the second ledge, and stopped to catch his breath. Who was he? He looked at himself. He had on a blue denim shirt that was sweat-stained, and a pair of jeans that were a bit tight, if not dirty. A red bandanna around his neck was sopping wet, and he took it off, wrung it out, and wiped his forehead off with it. That's when he noticed the gash in head. He gingerly took a finger and felt the wound, wincing as his dirty fingers touched bare flesh. The sweat running into it didn't help matters, either. He didn't know if someone wanted him dead, or if he had just fallen on his own. He couldn't think, his memory of all that had happened was nothing but a blur to him, with images fading in a dense black fog before he had a chance to recognize anything.
He did realize one thing, however. He needed to find some water, then some shelter and food before the sun went down. It was already high in the sky, and he figured the time to be about noon. Either way, he needed to find shelter, to get out of the direct sunlight and tend to his wounds. But first he needed to find a spring, a well, or even a creek. He desperately needed water.
He looked about him, to see if any water happened to be falling off of the sandstone cliffs. He proceeded up the trail before him, and after a while of strenuous exertion, finally reached the top of the mesa, with nothing but desert and scrub before him. To his left was a small copse of ash and alder, and he made his way towards it.
Soon he was enjoying the slight shade the trees had to offer, and where there were trees there had to be water somewhere near. He rested for a bit, then took to investigating his new surroundings. The copse was fairly close to the edge of the sandstone cliffs, so he took extra care in not falling over. That would seriously end his problems right then and there. He searched himself, and found a buckknife in a small side pocket attached to his gunbelt. He dug out some earth close to the roots of a tree, and after about a foot, had water slowly welling up in a muddy pool. He let it rise for a little bit, then cupped his hands, and dirt and all, took a drink of the cool liquid. He spat out most of the dirt, but oh it was refreshing. The cold water refreshed him, and he soon drank some more from his little pool. He washed off some of the blood and dirt from his head, and leaned back against the trunk of the tree and just tried to relax, and remember who he was. Or where he was, for that matter.
He dozed off, for soon the sky was in twilight, and his stomach was growling. He stood up, and surveyed his surroundings. The sun was about to set, so he figured he may as well stay here for the night. He looked around, but didn't see anyone coming from any direction, so he went in search of some dinner. He took the six-gun out of its holster and checked the ammunition. It had only three rounds in the chamber. He wondered if he had gotten into a gunfight or had been in a gun battle lately. The barrel was dusty, as was the rest of him, and he quickly wiped off the accrued dirt with his shirt as much as he could. He needed to find something to eat, and maybe he could shoot a rabbit or a bird around here.
He sat down, smelling the mustiness of the leaves on the ground and the wet earth he had dug up, and waited. He was rewarded soon, when a rabbit came scurrying through the copse. He stood stock still, and watched as the rabbit sat on its haunches, sniffing at the air. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his gun, and closing one eye, took aim and squeezed the trigger. The rabbit seemed to stand still for a moment, then slowly dropped to the ground. He got up and retrieved his dinner. He walked around the copse to gather some dry kindling for firewood and watched it burn while he skinned and cleaned the meat. Soon he sharpened a stick to use as a spit, and all he had to do now was wait as the meat crackled in the heat, the fresh smell of cooked meat wafting up into his nostrils, making his mouth water. He could almost taste the rabbit now.
He had himself a wonderful meal, and when done picking the bones, leaned back and stared at the first stars that had just come out in the evening twilight. The sun had finally dropped below the mountain range, and with a full belly and water pooling in the little hole he dug, he felt much better. He still didn't know who he was, though, or how he happened to be here. He unwrapped the bandanna from around his neck and dipped it in the little pool he had carved out of the earth. He pressed the cool cloth up against his forehead, and lay down against the trunk of an alder tree, and tried to remember who or what he was. Was he a gunfighter? Or a rancher? Cowboy? He had no clue, and soon gave up, just letting the coolness of the wet cloth relax him.
Soon the coyotes began their nightly wailing, and he lay there listening to the sounds of the night creatures. He was a little cold from the chill in the night air, but there was nothing that could be done about that. All he had on was a blue denim shirt and black vest, and that wasn't much protection against the elements. He figured he might as well get a good night's sleep, and he would figure things out in the morning.
At daybreak, his small fire still had some smoldering embers in it, so he added a few more dry sticks to it, watching the smoke slowly drift up among the leaves of the trees, then as it caught, warming his hands in front of it. He looked around him, but saw nothing of interest. He ate all the rabbit the day before, so he had no breakfast. He got up, and rubbed his hands together to try and wake himself up. The sun was just coming up over the horizon when he heard the rifle shot. He looked in the general direction from where it came, and noticed that it was down in the valley below. He dropped on all fours and stared out over the edge of the sandstone cliff, careful not to get too close. He lay prone in the grass, trying to see off in the distance. He could soon make out two horses, with riders, and they were headed off to his left. Perhaps they were ranchers, perhaps not. He still had no clue as to who he was. He watched them as far as he could see them, then got up and put out his fire. The last thing he wanted right now was to be spotted, especially since he didn't know if he was wanted or not. Better not to take any chances. He sat there for a few minutes more, trying to think of where to go. He had no horse so the going was going to be on foot the whole way. Was he near any towns? He didn't know. And that was frustrating him. He didn't know who or where he was, and it was maddening.
He got up, and followed the ridgeline to the northwest, as far as he could tell by the direction of the sun. He soon came upon an expanse of prairie land, with grass blowing in the gentle breeze and the smell of cattle in the air. He must be on someone's ranch, he figured. He needed to be careful.
Soon he spotted two riders on the horizon. He dropped on his stomach in the long grass, not wanting to be seen. They just kept going west, away from the ridge. He figured if they got up there that quickly there must be a trail over yonder leading up from the valley. They must've been hunting or chasing down cows, one or the other. He got up carefully, scanning the horizon, and made sure he wasn't seen. He noticed the fencing standing about twenty feet away from the edge of the cliff, and made his way towards the steep cliff face. Carefully he followed it, until he came to the trail the horsemen had come up on. It was a series of switchbacks with some gravel, but he figured that he could get down it quickly enough. He took one last look to make sure he wasn't spotted, and made his way down the trail. About halfway down he slipped and skinned his hands trying to catch himself. Cursing his bad luck, he got back up, looked up at the top of the ledge to make sure he wasn't spotted, and continued on down.
Once he reached the valley floor, he stayed close to the sandstone cliffs to keep from being spotted from above. If someone were on the other side they would have spotted him easily, but he was hoping his luck would stay with him.
He made his way carefully, staying close to the sandstone walls. He had to avoid a rattler once, but gave it a wide berth and continued on. Towards midday he sat down, leaning against the rock wall, and saw that maybe he had gained about two miles from where he came down on the cattle trail. So far no one had spotted him, and he took this time to load his weapon. No sense being caught unaware, he figured. He studied the pistol for a moment, then holstered it, making sure to tighten the thong around his thigh. His headache had dulled to a minor throb by this time, and the blood had stopped flowing from his wound. He took another look around, then got up and started walking east, with the sun at his back. He needed to find a spring or a well to quench his thirst. By all rights he should've stayed in the copse of trees back yonder, but he needed to find a town and figure out just who in the hell he was. Now whether he was wanted there or not was another matter. He just didn't know.
Towards evening the plateau up above slowly sank towards the valley that he was in, blending with the landscape. He soon came upon a creek, and gratefully sank on his knees and dipped his hands in the cool liquid, drinking deeply. He washed some of the grit off his face and sat there a moment, admiring the view. All around him was an expanse of flatland, except from where he'd come, and he figured the best way to get out of this predicament was to follow the river and avoid any human contact, if possible. The last thing he wanted was to get shot at by some trigger-happy cowboy or ranch hand.
For several hours he followed the river, following its contours like a dress covers a woman, and he soon came upon an abandoned wagon. Two of the wheels were broken off of it, and he figured that this place would be as good as any to spend the night. He took his hat off, and walked up to the river's edge, dipping the bandanna in and gently wiping his forehead from the day's grime and grit. He walked back to the wagon, and scrounged to see if there were any supplies left in it. To his amazement there were several cans of beans tucked under the seat, and he picked one up, blowing the grit from off of the top of it. Using his knife, he opened it, careful not to slice his hand off in the process, and proceeded to eat them cold. They were the best tasting beans he had ever had, and he wolfed down the can in no time, using the empty can as a cup when he was done. With his belly full and plenty of water to drink, there was little more he needed in the way of survival. He now needed to make himself a bedroll, and gathered up some grass to use as a pillow. He found an old dusty blanket in the back of the wagon, and snapped it to the winds several times to get the grime off of it, and crawled gratefully underneath the wagon's rear, with his grass pillow and dusty blanket, and was soon sound asleep.
II
The next day dawned bright and hot. He got up, dusted himself off, and walked to the river's edge to get himself a drink of water, and to rub the sleep from his eyes. He didn't remember ever sleeping that soundly, and it felt good.
Soon he heard the mooing of cattle, and decided it was time to move on. He made his way to where he thought the water was shallow, and crossed the river. He didn't want to be caught trespassing on anyone's land, especially since he still had no recollection of who or what he was. He reached a small grove of pin oaks, and took stock of his situation. Across the river in front of him was pastureland, slowly sloping upwards and he could see some cattle moving down the slight incline towards the river. Boy, would he like a juicy steak right about now! But that was grounds for hanging. He didn't want to be caught stealing cattle. He was still wondering who the hell he was, and what part of the country he was in. He didn't need any trouble at the moment.
He watched as a herd of cattle moved slowly down the slope towards the river to drink, and sat behind an oak tree to think of his next move. From here he could hear the mooing of the animals, and he didn't want to disturb them. His stomach was growling like mad, for he hadn't eaten since yesterday. The rabbit had tied him over for awhile, but now he could almost see a nice juicy steak on a plate with mashed potatoes with biscuits and...
He needed to stop thinking about food at a time like this. He was hungry enough without having visions of beef in his head. He had to find his way to a town. Did he even have any money? He checked his pockets, and brought out two silver dollar coins and a five dollar bill. Well, he figured, that would buy dinner, at least, once he reached a town. Then he could figure out where he was and maybe who he was. It was then that he saw the two riders again.
They were looking around suspiciously, like someone was ready to rustle their cattle. Then it dawned on him. When he shot the rabbit yesterday, it must've warned them that something wasn't quite right. That's why they were in the valley. They heard the shot and figured that someone was down there wanting to rustle their cattle. Oh great, he thought. Now I'm a cattle thief. He knew he wasn't, but they didn't. So he had to be extra careful from now on.
He was watching the riders come down the slope. Slowly, ever so slightly, he made his way deeper into the copse of oak trees, careful not to be seen. They would shoot first and ask later, he was pretty sure about that. He found a thick oak to hide behind, and sat down, planning his next move.
He figured that he would have to wait until the herd moved back up the slope. That could take all day, because they would want to graze where the water was. That meant that he wouldn't be able to move until night. Once it was dark, he could make his way downriver, and hope to get to a town before the riders found him.
He sat there enjoying the smells of the land, the sweat of the cattle wafting over the river, and the pungent odor of the oak bark reaching his nostrils. He decided that it would be a good time to rest, to take a nap. He pulled his sweat-stained hat down over his eyes, and dozed off.
When he woke up, the herd was gone, moved further up the slope, and the sun was almost down. His stomach was growling like a tiger in a cage, and he needed to find something to eat. He couldn't use his gun though. If he did, that would surely bring the cattlemen down upon him. He moved further back into the copse of oak and kept looking back towards the river. Perhaps if he moved further down out of sight, he might be able to catch some fish to cook. He thought that would be the best thing to do.
Downriver he went, about five hundred yards from the oaks, and found himself an overhanging of maples and alders that hung over the river's edge. Here he could fish without being seen from the slope the cattle were grazing on, and the trees would mask the smoke from a fire.
He took off his gun belt and waded into a shallow part of the river, waiting patiently for just the right time. He sat as still as he could, and soon saw some trout swimming about his legs. He reached down with his hands, and tried to grab a fish. Unfortunately, his first attempt failed. His second attempt was no better. Third time's the charm, he thought. He set his hands in the water, waiting for just the right moment. He clapped his hands together, and soon had a trout between them. He tossed the fish onto the bank lest he lose it, and waded back towards the shore. He cleaned the fish quickly, and soon had a small fire going, with dry brush gathered from the branches that had fallen. He found one where he could skewer the meat, and soon had a meal cooking over the open flame.
He ate the fish in silence, and wondered some more of who he was. He knew that he had some hunting skills, and wondered from whence he came. Once he was done with his meal, he sat there and thought, picking his teeth with a small stick he had picked up. The odor of the fire relaxed him, and he soon leaned back against an oak tree and watched as the sun slowly dropped behind the mountain range. He looked up in the sky, and noticed several small points of light starting to appear. Soon it would be dark, and the sky would be full of the points of light. He took his hat off, and got up, walking to the river's edge. He took his bandanna off and rinsed it quickly in the river, then wrung it out. With the cool cloth he pressed it against his forehead, easing the pain that had sprung up again. What he wouldn't give right now for an aspirin, he thought. Hopefully tomorrow he would find a town, and then maybe find a job on one of the local ranches to where he could save enough money to buy a horse.
He awoke before the sun rose above the horizon. He stood up, and started his trek along the riverbank to the east. The morning dew covered the grass, and the air was cool. He took off his hat and let his head breathe a little. He hoped that today he would reach a town. He kept walking along the river, and soon came to what seemed to be an abandoned campsite. There was a fire pit with coals in it, and someone had built a tripod with three poles to hang a pot on. He reached down and felt for heat from the coals, and they were ice cold. Someone had been here, but it had been several days. He wondered who it had been.
He saw wagon wheel tracks heading out of the campsite towards the one he slept under. Perhaps they were ambushed. If so, where were they? And by whom? He seriously doubted the ranchers would ambush a wagon, even if it were trespassing. They would be told to just move on. Not only did he have this mystery to figure out, but he still needed to find his own identity.
He followed the wagon tracks the way they had come, and soon came across a stage road. Off in the distance he could make out the false fronts of buildings. With a second burst of energy, he gathered himself up and headed towards what he hoped were the makings of a town.
“I tell ya, Sam, I heard a gunshot comin' from that ridgeline over there!” said John Showalter, a rugged short man with graying beard and full belly. He was anxious to find out just what had happened. They didn't expect anyone to be out here, much less someone out shooting. They took off up the ridgeline towards the copse of trees, and pulled up when they spotted the burnt wood.
“Dammit, someone was here!” exclaimed Sam Jefferson, a thin-faced man with a white cotton shirt and dark-colored vest on. He stood almost six feet tall, and feared no man. He got off his horse and put his fingers in the ashes.
“Still warm,” he said, wiping his hand off on his pants. “Whoever was here was here not too long ago, I'd say probably yesterday.” He noticed the bones of the rabbit on the ground, picked them up, and motioned to his partner. “Someone was up here yesterday at the latest.”
He looked around the ledge, and glanced down in the valley. He didn't see any movement, and threw the bones back on the ground. “Someone is sure askin' for trouble,” he said, finally.
John nodded his agreement. “Where we gonna hide all those steers?” he asked the skinnier man.
Sam just pointed in the direction in which they had come from. “Back yonder in the pasture for now, until we can move 'em again at night,” he said. They turned their horses around, and proceeded back towards their rustled herd. They had to be careful not to let them scatter too much. They had taken this herd from the Circle K ranch, and were now on the Dusty Trails ground. Once it was dark, they would move the steers up north, towards Kansas City and the rail head where they could sell them to the highest bidder.
But they had a problem. Whoever it was up on that ledge last night needed to be eliminated, no matter who it was. The last thing they wanted was someone finding them out. Rustling was a hanging offense, and they sure didn't want to dangle at the end of a rope.
They turned back to the task of herding the cattle together, then Sam looked at John. “Take a ride alongside the river, see if you can find something,” he said.
John urged his mount into a trot, and went to finding a shallow spot to where he could cross. He soon found one, about a hundred yards downriver from where the cattle were. He splashed across the river, then made his way carefully, checking for tracks and fire pits along the way. He soon came upon some embers. He dismounted, and felt with his hands the coals. They were warm, but not glowing. He figured that whoever it was had left just last night. He remounted his horse, and continued on. He soon came across the abandoned wagon, noticing that there was a fire pit there as well. He felt that one, and it was cold. He rode up the trail somewhat, and soon came across the stage road. He looked in both directions but didn't see anything but the town yonder on his right. If someone had gotten wind of what they were doing, they would most likely be in town. He decided he'd ride back and tell Sam what he found.
Sam didn't take the news lightly. “What in the hell are you talkin' about?” he shouted. He was madder than a hornet whose nest had been stirred up. “We need to get these cattle to Kansas City, and now some hombre is in town telling everyone what he saw!”
“Now Sam, we don't know that,” said John. “Let's just play it by ear, and we'll see what happens. Once we're on the trail no one will follow us.”
“Glad you're so sure,” he snorted. Darnit, he thought. That's all he needed, was for someone to spill the beans on their rustling activities. Maybe they ought to head into town and see what they could learn. The only problem was that they couldn't leave the cattle unattended for too long. They would drift and scatter, thus making their jobs that much harder.
III
He reached the town, and snuck around the back way. He didn't want to be seen, at least not yet. He made his way around some empty barrels that he assumed were behind the saloon, and kept going. Soon he made his way between two buildings, the one on the right with steps leading up to the second floor. He made his way up the stairs, and proceeded to turn the knob once he reached the top landing. To his surprise the door opened, and a woman was there, staring at him in shock.
“Just what the hell do you think you're doing?” she barked. She wiped her hands on her apron, and continued to stare at him.
“Sorry ma'am, to bother you, but I'm in some trouble, and I don't even know where I am,” he stammered out. The lady looked at him like he had lost his mind.
“Well, it seems you have a nasty head wound there, that would account for your problems,” she said, moving to get some towels and grabbing the basin. “Here,” she said, handing him the tub, “go pump up the well, and put some water in here.”
He took the basin, and did as he was told. He took his hat off, and pumped the handle on the kitchen well. He set the basin on the small wooden table, and sat down in the chair. She walked over to him, dampened a cloth, and proceeded to wipe away the grime and blood from his forehead. He winced at her effort.
“Oh, be a man!” she chided. “It looks like its just a scratch.”
He sat there, and admired the way she worked. Quietly, methodically cleaning his wound, and when she finished, she sat back and took a look at her handiwork.
“Much better,” she commented, placing the damp towel on a rack to dry. “Now, let's get to the nitty-gritty. Who are you, and where are you from?”
He looked at her, and smiled. “I was hoping you could tell me, ma'am.”
She gave him a grimace, and looked at him reprovingly. “Now how am I supposed to know who you are?” she asked. “I just met you.”
“I don't look the least bit familiar?” he asked, frowning. She glanced at him sideways, and shook her head.
“No, you don't. I don't recollect ever seeing you in this deadwood of a town.”
Okay, he thought. That got cleared up. “What town is this, anyway?” he asked.
She looked at him through piercing gray eyes, and a slight smile came to her face. “Well, my friend, we are basically in the middle of nowhere. A stage comes through once a week, and we're lucky we have that, with all the robberies that go on.”
He got up and walked over to the window. She was right, there wasn't much to this town. He turned, and walked out the door, his boots clomping on the boardwalk. He looked one way, then the other, and saw maybe five buildings total. There was a horse tied up at a rail in front of what he assumed was the saloon. It was a ragged building, with the typical false front advertising the 'High Rollers Saloon', and complete with peeling paint and warped boardwalk. He noticed that an old man lounged just outside the bat-wing doors, leaning back in a chair that looked about ready to fall apart underneath him. He walked back inside, and turned to her.
“What is your name, if I may ask, ma'am?” he asked her cordially.
“My name's Molly, Molly Wagner, and I've lived in this hell-hole going on for ten years now. Nothing ever changes but the weather and the faces.”
“Well, Miss Molly Wagner, pleased to meet you. I wish I could remember my name,” he said, sticking out his hand and shaking hers. She had a firm grip for a woman, complete with calluses on her palms that indicated that she wasn't afraid of hard work.
She turned to him while his back was facing her, and took stock of her visitor. He was close to six feet tall, in a rugged sort of way, lean body, probably a cowpuncher. She noticed how his gun was untied off his thigh, and didn't figure him for a gunfighter. His dark hair was swept back in a haphazard style, and he turned around and caught her staring at him. She quickly looked away, and busied herself putting the basin and towels away.
“I should put a bandage on that head wound,” she said. “It looks like its starting to bleed all over again.” She walked over to the wall, opened a cabinet door, and took out a bowl with a pair of scissors and some bandage in it. She made him sit down again, and proceeded to bandage his wound.
Her closeness gave him a chance to sample her fragrance. She smelled good, but he couldn't place the perfume. He had no idea of that sort of thing. He just knew that as close as she was, she smelled mighty fine. He smiled in spite of himself, and she caught him.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked.
He looked down sheepishly, and fidgeted nervously with his fingers. “Well, ma'am, I, uh, mean Miss Molly, you sure smell right pretty,” he finally spit out.
She took the bowl away and replaced it in the cabinet, then turned to face him. “I'll expect you to do some chores if you're going to stay here for a bit,” she reminded him. She pointed out the back door, and he got up and walked outside, noticing a pile of wood that needed to be split and carried inside next to the stove.
“Yes, ma'am, gladly!” he said, closing the door behind him. She soon heard the sound of the axe chopping wood, and nodded approvingly, smoothing her apron and sitting down at the table to contemplate who and what he was.
The two men herded the cattle north, and were soon joined by five other men on horseback. These men didn't come cheap. They were good at what they did, and expected to be paid top dollar, whether the cattle were rustled or whether they were bought and sold legal. It didn't matter to them, as long as they were paid in cold, hard currency.
John stopped his horse, and watched as the men took over the herd, leading them towards the river to drink. He urged his mount to climb the hill so he could scout out just where the town was. They wanted to circle around it, and didn't need some nosey Nellie asking questions that they didn't feel much like answering. Sam pulled up on side of him, and stared at the town.
“What do you think, John?” he asked the shorter man. John took off his hat, and wiped his sweaty brow with his bandanna. “I think we'll be okay, once we get far enough away from this town to avoid suspicion.”
“Yeah, I think you're right. We'll let the herd drink, then drive 'em hard to the north for a day or so, and see what happens.”
They turned their horses around, and soon rejoined the other men with the herd. If they got caught doing what they were doing, they would all hang. Every last one of them.
Sam got off his horse, and walked up to a stocky cowboy named Leon. He nodded in greeting, and shook the man's hand. “Glad to have you boys along, Leon. You were highly recommended to us for this.”
The other man shook his hand, and smiled a toothy smile. He rubbed his grizzled face, and stared hard into Sam's eyes. “Just as long as the money's good, pal. Me an' my boys will ride with you to hell as long as the gold keeps comin'.”
Sam smiled at him. “You can count on it, partner. That won't be a problem.”
“You remember our deal? Half up front?”
Sam walked over to his horse, and removed some saddlebags. He flipped them over his arm, and walked back to the other man. “Here ya are, just like I said. Half down, and the balance when we reach Kansas City.”
Leon snorted, took the bags, and opened them up. He picked up some coins, and let them slowly trickle back into the bag. “Okay, you got yourselves some cowpunchers.”
“Good. We're gonna camp here for the night, and ride hard the next day or two. Get your rest.”
Leon shook his head, and walked back to where his men were standing. Sam watched as they gathered around Leon, to check that all the money was there, no doubt. No honor among thieves, he thought, and smiled. He turned as he heard his name being called.
“Just thought you'd like to know, I saw a rider headin' out of town. Couldn't make out who it was, but I think we might need to check it out,” said John, sweat pouring off the chubby man. He had little black pig-eyes, and there wasn't any mercy in them, especially if someone was out to mess up their deals. He and Sam had been working together for going on five years now, and they still didn't trust each other fully. Sam looked at the other man, and stamped his foot into the dust.
“Well, get on it, what the hell you still here for, ya durn fool? Go after him!” He watched as the other man took off in a cloud of dust, heading towards town and going after the lone rider. Once he caught him, he would just kill him, simple as that, didn't matter who he was or what he was doing. They were this close, and didn't want to take any unnecessary chances.
He finished the chores, and sat back down at the table. His head was hurting again, and Molly got up to check the bandage. She knew she shouldn't work him too hard, with a head wound and all, but he was a stranger, and if he wanted to eat he had to earn his keep.
The noise outside caught her attention, and she stepped away from him to look out the window. A chubby man on a horse pulled up to the front and was getting down off his mount. She watched as he pulled his pistol from its holster and slowly approached the door. She slowly opened it, and stared at the man.
“What do you want?” she asked, noticing the gun barrel come up to point directly at her.
“I want your friend in there,” he answered, the gun never wavering from her. She stepped back and tried to shut the door, but he had a boot in the doorway before she could do it. He pushed her back, and she fell against the man inside, who caught her before she fell to the floor.
“Well now, we're a might cozy now, aren't we?” he snarled at the man. The woman backed up a little more, and watched as the chubby man pointed the gun in the direction of the stranger. He turned his attention to her, and that's when the stranger reacted.
His right hand shot out like a lightning bolt, knocking the pistol out of the man's hand. The chubby man swung at him with a hard right, and he blocked it, punching him in the stomach. She watched as the little man slowly fell to his knees on the hardwood floor, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The stranger reached down and picked up the six-gun, putting it in his waistband. He reached down with one arm, and yanked the little man off the floor, who was still breathing hard.
“What do you want here?” he asked him, not really expecting an answer. The man didn't disappoint him, and kept his mouth shut. He backhanded him across the face, his hand connecting with his nose. The stranger took a closer look at the man, a spark of recognition lighting up his face.
“This man was on the range down yonder earlier, with a group of men. They had a bunch of cattle they were moving, and I'd bet ten to one they're rustlers!”
The chubby man just gave him an evil look at that, and spat on the floor. “I'm not sayin' nothin'!” he said angrily, his features a mask of hatred. More horses sounded outside, and the stranger walked to the window, pulling the lace curtain aside to look outside.
“His buddies. You got a rifle or anything?” he asked Molly, who quickly walked over to the mantelpiece above the fireplace. She grabbed an older looking rifle, and handed it to the stranger. She dumped some shells into her hands from the box on top and handed them to him as well, and he loaded the cartridges in the magazine, waiting for gunfire to erupt any time now. Soon shots came through the window, breaking the glass and scattering shards every which way. He hollered at her to get down, but not before she got hit. She fell to the floor, and with pain in her eyes he looked her over. It was just a shoulder wound and had gone clean through, but someone who was willing to shoot a woman was desperate, and he needed to end this now.
He got up, aimed the barrel out the window, and fired. His first shot knocked one man out of the saddle, and he had to duck quickly from the hail of gunfire that came from the other two men. He kept down and just pointed the rifle outside and fired two quick rounds, not really expecting to hit anything. He slid over, and opening the door a notch, saw one of the men inching his way towards the front of the house. Taking aim, he fired and the man dropped right where he was. Two down, one to go. The short chubby man had his hands covering his head, seemingly afraid to get up. The stranger opened up the door all the way, and walking outside, fired at the last man, who was on his horse retreating. He hit him, and watched as the man tumbled backwards, and was dragged down the dirt road as his foot caught in the stirrups.
He watched for a moment, then went back inside to check on Molly. She had crawled towards a cabinet and was sitting up, a handkerchief pressed against her wound. The chubby man was still cowering on the floor. The stranger walked outside, grabbed a length of rope off a horse, and proceeded to tie the little man up. He trussed him up like a calf, and tended to Molly.
“You okay to travel?” he asked her gently. She nodded once, and he helped her get up. He brought her outside, helped her up to a horse, and mounted one himself. They made their way down the dusty trail towards town, and he looked at her and smiled.
“Bet you figured you wouldn't run into this kind of trouble when you got up this morning, did you?” he asked, a slight smile on his face.
She looked at him, and smiled back. “No, I didn't, but I'm glad you showed up. Even though I still don't know your name.”
He looked ahead of him, and then looked down. “That makes two of us, Molly. That makes two of us.”
