Hackett short story, part 4…

Confrontation and Departure

Rio’s hand slipped into his jacket as he loosened both thongs on his pistols and looked at the slovenly dressed small man. He wore a six gun low on his right side and was slipping a rifle with something on top into a scabbard on the saddle. His anger rising, Rio stepped to the side, clearing the area behind Stiles, and said loudly, “Stiles! You back shootin’ sumbitch, you killed my partner!”

Stiles shoulders hunched, and he spun, dropping into a crouch as Rio continued to stride toward him. He saw Stiles squint as if he was looking at something, then look quickly around as if searching for a way out. Rio, still striding toward him, said, “Can you face somebody standing in front of you, you low life sumbitch?” He’d closed to about 25 feet and wasn’t slowing down, as he saw Stiles hand twitch toward his six gun. “Afraid to draw, you sumbitch? I’m right here. Want me a little closer?”

Rio was about 15 feet away when, with a whining yell, Stiles started his draw. Rio sidestepped and crouched as he heard the crack of a rifle. His hat went flying. He drew smoothly and thumbed back the hammer even as he heard the boom of a pistol behind him, but all his concentration was on Stiles, who disappeared behind a wall of black powder smoke even as Rio triggered his first round. He saw dirt jump in front of him and sidestepped as he thumbed back the hammer again and again, putting round after round into Stiles, who finally sank to his knees, then fell forward. Rio walked up to him, kicked the six gun away, and used his toe to roll him over. Looking down at him, he saw Stiles trying to say something and crouched down.

Stiles, wide eyed, looked at him in wonder. “I done kilt you once. How?” He coughed, and blood bubbled from his mouth as he took a last breath.

Rio looked around in a daze and saw another body ten feet away, behind the horses. Getting up, he turned and saw Jack off to the side, his pistol in hand, and a rueful expression on his face. “You got a little too focused on Stiles. I had to kill Harvey to keep him from killing you.”

“What?” Rio shoved the six gun into his cross-draw holster and realized he was still holding his laundry in his left hand. He looked at it in wonder, then up at Jack. “Where was Harvey?”

“Hidin’ behind the horses. He tried for you with his rifle, but you ducked at the right time.” Jack walked back and picked up Rio’s hat, bringing it to him. He poked a finger through the hole in the crown, wiggled it, then looked closely at Rio. “You didn’t even register that, did you?”

Mexican Joe and others came out of the cabins since the shooting had stopped, and Joe walked up to him. “Fair fight. Jack, you beat me to Harvey. I was lining up to shoot his back shooting ass in the back just like he deserved.” Joe gestured to the laundry. “Ain’t never seen a gun fight where a man don’t even drop his laundry before.”

Rio looked down, then back up. “Well, I didn’t want to get it any dirtier. I heard Cruz’s wife does some washing.”

Joe shook his head. “Man, you are…crazy.” He yelled out, “Lupe! You got laundry to do.” Under his breath he said, “Be gone by tomorrow. Take what they have on them. I will take the horses.”

Cruz’s wife Lupe came shyly out of the cabin, and Rio proffered his bundle of laundry. “Can you do these for me by tomorrow?”

She took them, looked quickly at them and said, “One dollar. I do tonight.” Rio took a silver dollar out of his vest and handed it to her with a nod. “Noon tomorrow. Will be ready.” She disappeared back into the cabin with a smile.

Rio walked back to where Stiles lay in the dirt, pulled his shirt up, and grunted as he saw the holes in his chest, still leaking blood, Damn. No money belt. Where would he keep the money? He looked at the horses and saw saddlebags on both of them. He saw Jack picking up the rifle that Harvey had dropped and walked over to Stiles’ horse. Pulling the rifle out of the scabbard, he saw that it had a Malcom scope on top. He put it under one arm, then said softly, “Jack, get the saddlebags and the rifle. Joe is going to keep the horses.”

Jack looked at him sharply, but pulled the saddlebags off as he followed Rio back toward the cabin. “What’s going on?”

“Stiles didn’t have a money belt. I’m betting Harvey didn’t either, so the money will be in one of the saddlebags. And…Joe wants us out of here tomorrow.”

Jack stopped cold and stared at him. “What?”

“I guess I wore out our welcome,” Rio shrugged.

Jack started walking again and asked in an exasperated tone, “Where the hell can we go now? It’s damn near winter, and I don’t have the money to pay for—”

“I know a place where we can go. It’s…the ranch where I’m working over by Fort Collins.” Rio opened the door to the cabin and Jack walked in, then slumped into a chair, flopping the saddlebags onto the rickety table and leaning the rifle against the bunk.

Rio continued, “You’re a damn good hand when you want to be, Jack. And I’m down a…partner.” Rio slung the saddlebags he was carrying on the other bunk, lit the lamp and turned the wick up. Looking at the rifle, he saw some engraving on the action. Holding it closer to the lamp, he rotated it to read what it said. “Huh. Earl of Dunraven? I’m guessing Stiles stole this rifle from somewhere.”

Jack grabbed the rifle he’d picked up, pulled out his bandanna, and wiped the rifle down. He looked closely and said, “I’ll be damned. This is one of those fancy Winchesters. One of a…thousand.” He laid it next to the other rifle and continued, “Looks like these are almost new. These are both high grade rifles, so they were probably stolen.” He shoved it across the table. “You can have it. I like mine.”

Rio had been digging in the saddlebags he’d pulled off Stiles’ horse and finally found a heavy poke buried in the bottom of the bag. He bounced it in his hand, and it clinked loudly. Loosening the tie, he spilled the contents on the table and whistled as he moved the coins around. “That’s…six hundred dollars. So about half of what they got for the cattle.”

Jack pulled open the saddlebags he’d laid on the table and dumped them out, finding another poke on top of the pile. He swept the rest of the contents to the floor and opened the poke, emptying it on the table. He counted the money and looked up at Rio. “Four hundred eighty-six dollars. I wonder if Stiles made him pay for stuff?”

“Possible.” A knock on the cabin door startled them, and Jack swept the money into the saddlebag, kicking the rest of the stuff on the floor under the bunk as Rio stepped lightly toward the door. Jack got up and moved quietly to the other side of the door as Rio said, “Yes?”

A Mexican voice said, “We bring food.” Rio opened the door cautiously and saw a middle-aged Mexican, hat in one hand, a pot in the other, and a young Mexican girl, just budding into womanhood, standing there. “Come in, Señorita, Señor, por favor.”

.

The man walked in, followed by the girl who jumped when she saw Jack step out of the shadows, but she didn’t drop whatever was in her hands. The man set the pot on the table and in broken English said, “Thank you for…doing away with bad men.” He looked at Rio and continued, “He was…after little Juanita for…not good things.” The girl blushed as he went on, “My… esposa, wife, fixed these tamals, and we have eggs.” Juanita opened the rag in her hand and proffered four brown eggs.

Jack’s eyes grew wide as he very carefully took the eggs, setting them carefully in a pan next to the stove. ‘Muchas gracias! I haven’t had eggs in…weeks!” He pulled two plates out of the cupboard and dished the tamales into the plates, inhaled deeply, and said, “My thanks to you and your wife.”

The Mexican and his daughter left as Jack sat down and started unrolling the tamales. Rio saw them out, then closed the door. “Interesting.”

Jack mumbled around a mouthful of tamales, “I don’t care about that. These are good! If you’re not going to eat them—”

Rio flopped down and picked up a fork, miming a stabbing motion. “Touch my tamals and die!” Jack laughed as Rio dug into the tamales. After they’d finished, Jack was picking up the dishes to go wash them, and when Rio said quietly, “Keep the money Harvey had. You deserve it for saving my life.” Jack looked at Rio, then shook his head as he took the dishes and poured water into the washbasin.

***

The next morning, Rio and Jack enjoyed the four eggs, bacon, some fry bread, and coffee for breakfast. They cleaned out the cabin, packed their saddlebags, and checked the horses over before noon. Jack managed to buy some provisions and confirmed the word was out that they were leaving. He picked up Rio’s clothes from Cruz’s wife and brought them back right at noon. Loading the packhorse, he looked over at Rio as he tied the blanket roll stuffed with the two rifles behind Red’s saddle. “So, Fort Collins?”

Rio nodded glumly, “But I’m not sure how to get there. I know we’ve got to follow Vermillion Creek to its head and then strike off east, but I’m not sure of which passes we need to take. I think we have to go south of Sand Mountain.”

“I don’t think…naw, there’s got to be somebody that knows the way. But I’d like to get there before we get snowed in. Wonder who we could ask?”

Rio shrugged. “I’d rather they didn’t know where we are going, just in case somebody wants to rob us.”

They mounted up and rode south, without a word from anyone. As the sun touched the mountains in the west, they rode up to a bench on Vermillion Creek that offered good grazing and was at least a couple of miles from the main valley. They’d picketed the horses, and Jack was cooking beans and the steaks when a voice came out of the darkness. “Hello the fire.”

Jack dropped the spoon and drew as he dropped behind a log. Rio sighed. “Monte?”

Laughter echoed down the bench and the voice said, “Coming in. Yore pard is a bit skeered ain’t he?” Jack started to reply when four men rode into the firelight, and he quickly shoved his gun back in the holster.

The four were old mountain men, dressed in a variety of clothes and carrying very little on their saddles. Monte Henderson dismounted smoothly, belying his being in his late 60s. His long grey hair and beard fluttered in the light wind, but in his buckskins, he moved noiselessly to the fire. Pointing at Fat Jack Jensen, who was anything but fat, he said, “Figures, y’all don’t even have enough to feed company. We brought a deer Isom got. Hope you got salt and pepper.”

Fat Jack effortlessly flipped the deer off the back of his saddle, adding, “Hope you got some Arbuckle’s too. I truly hate cold camps.”

Jack looked at Rio in consternation, and Rio sighed again. “Jack, um… Texas Jack Hart, this bunch of…reprobates are Monte Henderson, Fat Jack Jensen, Isom Grissom, and Arapaho Joe, who if he ever had a last name, forgot it years ago.” Jack nodded as he scanned the group of old mountain men, then looked back a Rio, a question in his eyes. “I…work with these…reprobates.”

Arapaho Joe smirked. “I gots a last name, never use it. Ain’t no good nohows. Mizz Tammy done sent us to look for you when you didn’t come home. I talked to my boys, and they said two white men had ridden to the Hole, and two more were following. Figgered that was you and somebody,” he said, pointing at Jack.

Isom said softly, “We watched you take out two men. I assume they were the ones that killed Bear?” Jack’s jaw dropped open to hear the erudite elocution coming from an old black man in buckskins. Isom’s smile was interesting, and he said, “What, you’ve never heard a mountain man speak correct English?”

Jack gulped. “Um…no, sir. Actually, I never have. How—”

Isom’s laugh defused the tension. “Well, I was snowed in one winter with Plutarch, the Bible, and Shakespeare, along with a former professor of languages from the Sorbonne in Paris. We had many philosophical discussions on the meaning of life, and—”

Fat Jack finally interrupted. “Dammit Isom, we all heard that story time and time agin’. I’m hungry and the boy ain’t cookin’ listenin’ to you rattle on.” He patted his very loose clothing, adding, “I’m a poor starvin’ ol’ man. I needs my nourishment.”

Monte pulled a Bowie knife out of his belt and mumbled something as he dragged the deer to the edge of the firelight and began cutting it up for supper. The others got cups out of their saddlebags and poured coffee, then sat around the fire, looking at Rio and Jack. Arapaho Joe poured another cup of coffee and remarked, “Ain’t strong enough. You ain’t usin’ enough mother.” He shook the pot, “And it’s empty, too.”

Rio got up and took the pot with a disgusted look, heading for the creek as Monte brought venison steaks over to the fire, piled on the deer hide. Jack looked around at them and asked, “Who is…Tammy?”

Monte smiled. “She’s Rio’s wife. She’s been managing the ranch since he left, and she ain’t happy with him. He was supposed to be back three weeks ago. When he sent Juan back with the word about Bear, we told her he’d probably gone huntin’, so she sent us to find him, not that we wouldn’t have left to go kill the sumbitches that done for Bear ourselfs.”

“Wife? Ranch? But…he’s…you work for him?”

Isom chuckled. “Why yes, as a matter of fact we do. Along with the other fifteen hands. It takes quite a few cowboys to manage five thousand acres they’ve homesteaded, and over one thousand head of cattle grazing on an additional twenty thousand acres on any day.”

Jack shook his head. “Oh, hell. I thought he just worked on the ranch.”

Rio came back with the coffeepot, took one look at Jack’s expression and growled, “You…assholes told him, didn’t you?” He shook his head. “It’s a long story—”

Monte grinned. “We’ve got a long ride to get back to the ranch, plenty of time.”

Rio sighed. “Is supper ready yet?”

THE END

Comments

Hackett short story, part 4… — 15 Comments

  1. Years ago, before the internet, books were my vice of choice to pass long boring nights in the barracks in far away places. Especially Iceland. I read voraciously. Louis L’Amour was one of my favorite authors. I read everything he ever put in print, many times over. Your writing style is becoming very reminiscent of L’Amour. I hope you take that for the compliment it’s meant to be. Keep it coming, please.

  2. Thanks for sharing the story! Any chance of us running across Rio, Jack and the crew in the future?

  3. Hey Old NFO;

    Now that is like teasing a junkie with the taste for a fix…..

  4. Ed- Good! 🙂

    Ray- Thank you!

    Dave- Yes, this is the next series I’m writing. First book will be out in the fall.

    Bob- 🙂 I try!

  5. Wonderful end to a good story.

    ****

    ‘get the saddlebags and the rifle.’
    BUT Rio already has the rifle.
    UNLESS —
    ‘Pulling the rifle partway out of the scabbard,’

    ****

    ‘so they were probably stolen.’

    ‘so they were both probably stolen.’ ??

    ****

    There’s a stray couple of returns after the Mexicans bring food.

    ****

    ‘then looked back a Rio,’ —
    ‘at Rio,’

    *-*-*-*

    Didn’t spot any other errors.

  6. un tamal, dos tamales

    L’Amour with some William Johnstone.

    Love it, keep it coming.

  7. Thank you, very good story. I second the Louie L’Amour comment. Can’t wait for the book to come out!

  8. Good flow to the story, with a few nice reveals at the end. Justice was done, and he left on favorable terms and with clean laundry. Nice painting with broad character strokes, fine details when needed, likes Remington painting. I filled in a lot mentally, fine for a short story. The novel promises to be very good.

  9. Love a good western and this book promises to be a good one.
    Out in the fall you say, damn!