“
“Not now,”
“Just draw!” the man said in response as his hand came to rest on his gun. ‘I’ll kill him and walk away like it was nothing. I hope Lupe’s watching. She can tell me how I looked when I killed the great Johnny Mad . . .’ The man was surprised at the sudden blossoming bloodstain that appeared on his chest. He looked down at it, his mind wondering what it was it was. It was his last thought.
The deputy walked out into the street to stand over the dead man. The gunfighter joined him. “I hope he has enough money on him to bury him”, the deputy drawled. “The undertaker don’t like charity cases.” He beckoned to a man watching, “Run and tell Mr. Caverness he’s got a new client.” He lifted his sky blue eyes to the 
gunfighter’s face and studied him silently. The young man couldn’t be more than a couple of years older than himself, too young to have such a fearsome reputation.
It was a harsh series of lessons that Heath Thomson could understand. He continued to study the gunfighter as the dark-haired man reloaded his gun.
“Well,” the young blond drawled, “I WAS going to ask you what your business was in
The two men watched as the undertaker drove away towards his place of business, there to quickly lay the unlamented gunfighter to rest. “Why?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you want to know what business I had in
“Just thought you might be signing on with the McLeod outfit.”
They began walking back towards the saloon, the street traffic was returning to normal. “Why aren’t you worried about that now?”
“Cuz now you’re gonna leave
“I am?”
They paused at the doors to the saloon,
“We don’t need any more gunfighters around here. The town can’t afford to use up the space in the graveyard for you all.”
“Well, I’ll do my best to keep out of it. But let me tell you, I’m . . .” The sound of gunfire erupted from across the street. Both men turned towards the sound. Their hands dropped to their holsters, and they each drew their guns in smooth moves.
Neither man fired. People were now running in all directions and screaming. Horses were shying and neighing, but despite the general panic before them, both men centered their attention on the doorway to the town’s bank. They could see three men leaving it with guns drawn and their bandanas pulled up over their faces. The trio were firing their guns into the air, but one pointed his gun into the bank firing at someone unseen.
The bank robbers caught three horses and, mounting them quickly, began to ride down the middle of the street away from the bank. Deputy Thomson ran into the street, raising his gun to fire at the fleeing men. Before he could, his arm was slapped down by Johnny Madrid. “You’ll hit the wrong target!” he yelled at him over the din. “Come on!” He ran towards two horses still tied to the hitching rail in front of the saloon. Pulling them both loose, he threw the reins of one to Thomson and vaulted into the saddle of the other.
He didn’t look back to see if the deputy was following him; he couldn’t afford that luxury. If he looked away from the robbers now, he’d lose them too quick. He was a good tracker, but with all the horse traffic that had passed this way, it would be easy to lose the three they wanted. As it was, he could just see the cloud of dust their horses were raising. He wanted to maintain some distance between himself and them; he didn’t want to risk having them realize they were being followed so closely. No, he’d hang back slightly and wait for the posse that was sure to be gathering to catch up with him.
After forty-five minutes of hard riding, the bank robbers began to slow down, their horses’ strength now rapidly waning.
The bank robbers appeared to be heading towards a particular destination.
Johnny Madrid pulled his horse to a halt on the edge of a scrubby meadow. Across it he could see the horses the bank robbers had ridden, tied to a short rail in front of a small line shack. He scowled at the sight of the three winded horses still saddled. The young man had no use for people who didn’t take care of their mounts. He settled down to watch the shack. It seemed as if they would be here a while.
In the still quiet heat of the afternoon, he started as he felt a hand touch his right arm. “Deputy,” he hissed, more angry at himself for allowing the blond man to sneak up on him than he was at the deputy.
“Thought you might like some company,” the blond man drawled oftly. “I took a look around the shack. There’s only the front door and that one window. We only need to watch the front.”
“Got a posse?”
“Nope. It’s just you and me.”
“Where’s your horse?”
“Left him back there a ways. There’s a small stream and some grass. Want to take yours? I’ll keep watch for a while.”
“There’s just the three of them. They haven’t moved for a couple of hours.”
“Bring back my saddlebags.”
The dark-haired gunfighter moved away from the deputy as quietly as he could, to where his borrowed horse was tied. Standing slowly from the covering brush, he stretched his back and led the horse in the direction the deputy had indicated.
Another hour passed after Johnny Madrid and Heath Thomson finished eating the jerky the deputy carried in his saddlebags. While eating, the deputy filled the gunfighter in on what happened after he’d ridden after the bank robbers. The head teller in the bank had been shot when one of the robbers had fired back into the building as they were making their escape. He was still alive when Thomson left town, but his chances didn’t look promising. Heath stopped long enough to fill the other deputy in on his plans to track the robbers and grab his rifle from the gun rack in the jail.
“Why no posse?”
“I’ve learned not to expect help around here. McLeod’s got the townfolk scared. I guess they’re waiting for him to put together a posse,” Heath took a long look at the dark-haired man. “Do you want out?”
Two pairs of blue eyes met and each assessed the other: Is this a man I can trust at my back?
Heath Thomson had learned that sometimes you had to trust someone at face value. Was this man someone he should give that to?
Johnny Madrid had always tried to keep his thoughts and feelings hidden deep within him; when hired by someone, he performed the job, but didn’t give any more personal information than he needed to. This deputy seemed like a straight dealer, but was he someone he should trust?
“Nope, just asking,”
“Frank McLeod. Doesn’t have the biggest ranch. Yet. He wants to be running this area, so he’s trying to drive out all the little ranchers and hiring gunfighters to help him.” Thomson indicated the cabin with a nod of his head, “That shack belongs to McLeod.”
The blue-eyed gunfighter considered that last statement. He raised his eyebrows at the deputy who was silently watching him think.
“No, I don’t think HE had the bank robbed on his behalf,” the blond answered the unasked question. “He’s greedy, but not entirely stupid.” He settled back down on the ground after shifting his legs. “But his son is.” His mouth quirked up in a smile.
“And dumb enough to have his men hide out in his property.”
“Heath Thomson.”
“A little young to be a lawman aren’t you?” snipped Johnny.
“Old enough.”
He indicated the rifle Heath had brought with him, “You any good with that thing?”
“I don’t use it just to get rabbits.”
“I bet your pa taught you how to shoot.”
Heath shook his head, “No. Never knew the man.”
Johnny nodded his head at this. It was something they had in common. “Where did you learn?”
“Army.”
He raised his eyebrows at this answer, “You didn’t last long with them.” It was said mildly with no slight intended.
“It was during the war.”
Heath caught the appraising look and tried to hide his smile. “Gunfighters are usually better at hiding their thoughts.”
The gunfighter chuckled. “Just surprised me. But I can’t always tell how old you gringos are; thought you were younger than me.”
“You’re how old? Twenty, twenty-one?” Johnny nodded in confirmation of Heath’s assumption. “I AM younger than you.”
“Were they so desperate for soldiers that they took babies?”
“Right out of the cradle. When I got out of the Army I came here and pinned a badge on my diaper.”
Johnny turned his attention back towards the shack. “This junior McLeod, he's about thirty? Wears a dark brown hat and a bright white shirt that’s just begging for dirt?”
It was Heath’s turn to look surprised, “Yeah. Have you met him?”
“Not yet, but if he rides a bay horse, I think I’m going to meet him soon.” He pointed across the meadow at a horse and rider heading for the shack.
The gunfighter and the deputy watched Charles McLeod ride straight to the line shack. “He sure don’t care if anyone sees him does he?” asked
“Doesn’t look like it. It’s either because the shack belongs to his pa or he knows who’s in there.” He grinned at his companion. “I’m betting it’s the second.”
The two men watched as McLeod dismounted and entered the shack leaving the door open behind him. “Shall we see if we can hear what they’re saying?” asked Heath, his blue eyes studying the landscape between their hiding place and the shack. Up till now they’d been biding their time, waiting for night to fall to offer its dark cover before venturing closer.
“You first, you’re in charge”
Thomson moved quietly towards a small bush about one-third of the way towards the shack; it and the bush beyond it would bring them to the side wall of the shack. Since there was only one window in the shack and it was located to the left of the doorway on the front of the small building, there was little chance of their being seen, but Heath wanted to live a good many more years and had hoped to have more darkness to hide them. Their movements became slower and quieter once they’d neared the wall. Heath eased his way towards the front corner of the shack; he could hear the sound of conversation inside, but not make out the words.
There were no raised voices indicating anger or surprise on the part of either the bank robbers or Charles McLeod, confirming the suspicions that were forming in the deputy’s mind. As he continued to listen, trying to make out words and not just tone, he thought about whether he should just ride away. It was McLeod’s shack, McLeod’s son, McLeod’s problem. He shook his head at these thoughts. He could no more walk away from this than he could sprout wings.
Heath turned around towards where he thought
Johnny Madrid craned his head around the far side front edge of the shack, catty-corner to where Thomson was discovering he was alone. He looked at the bank robbers’ horses tied to the rail in front of the small shack on the side with the window. The dark-haired man cursed the fact that he was not at a better angle to see if anyone was looking out the window or the open door. ‘Oh well,’ he thought, ‘you only live once.’
Moving as softly and quietly as he knew how, he eased his way out from the shelter of the sidewall towards the horses’ reins. He reached the horses unnoticed; he quickly untied the reins and began to lead the four animals away to the open meadow. He almost made it.
Just as he dropped the reins and prepared to quietly shoo the horses away and deprive the robbers of their mounts, a shout from the shack told him he’d been discovered. Tearing the hat from his head he waved it at the animals, scaring them into a dead run away from him. In one smooth move, he turned back towards the building, pulling his gun from its holster as he did so.
The first man through the door shouted to his companions, “He’s stealing our horses!” He drew his gun from his holster and shot at the unknown horse thief.
At the shout and the sound of gunfire erupting from the far side of the shack, Thomson moved out from the other side of the shack. His rifle in firing position, he yelled, “Deputy Sheriff! Raise your hands, you’re under arrest!”
Two more men were now on the porch; they both turned towards the deputy and fired in unison.
Heath dropped to one knee as he fired two quick rounds from the rifle, killing both men before diving for the safety of the side wall. Catching his breath, he peeked from the corner of the building, grinning as he could see Johnny Madrid doing the same thing from the other side. He raised one finger and pointed into the shack.
“Inside the shack!” Thomson called from the corner of the building.
No answer.
“Give it up! Throw your gun out the door, and come out with your hands up!”
Silence.
Minutes ticked by. Heath Thomson and Johnny Madrid both watched the front of the shack from their respective corners. There was no hurry now; it was two against one.
Finally, a gun was thrown through the open door, followed by a shaky shout, “I’m coming out! Don’t shoot!”
The last of the four men who’d been in the shack slowly edged out onto the porch, his hands raised above his head.
“Move down off the porch!” the deputy instructed. He watched carefully as the man stepped over his dead companions, down onto the dirt.
Keeping his eyes on the man’s face, Heath stepped out from the corner of the building, the rifle raised to his shoulder. He approached the man cautiously.
Suddenly the bank robber dropped his hands and began reaching behind him, to where he had a gun hidden in his waistband.
“Get down!” yelled
Heath dropped straight to the ground in response, the bullet from the last robber’s gun passing over his head.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” The deputy got to his feet. He joined the gunfighter in checking the four men to ensure they were dead and not merely wounded. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Johnny reloaded his gun as he turned slowly and scanned the area for the horses he’d chased away earlier. “I’ll fetch our horses.”
When Johnny Madrid returned with their two horses, he found Heath Thomson surrounded by four armed men. The deputy was being stabbed in the chest by the forefinger of an older, bald man. Riding slowly and casually up to the shack, he called out as he neared, “Thomson?”
“I’m okay,” Heath answered. “Frank McLeod. Johnny Madrid,” he said in introduction.
One of the armed men, still seated on a rawboned gray horse, raised his head in recognition of the gunfighter’s name.
“Mr. McLeod doesn’t believe me when I say his son fired on us first,” Heath continued.
“Check his gun; you’ll see it’s been fired recently,” Heath was telling Frank McLeod.
“Of course it’s been fired, he was defending himself!” McLeod shouted. He backed away from the deputy sheriff. “Okay, tie him and his friend up. I know where there’s a good tall tree.”
Three of the armed men started towards the Heath and the Johnny. “Now, Frank, just wait a minute,” the man on the grayhorse replied sternly.
“Frank, he’s a sheriff . . .”
“He’s only a kid in short pants.” Frank interrupted.
“Doesn’t matter his age, he’s still a lawman. You can’t just string him up.” Culhane stepped off his horse, walking towards the angry rancher. “Let’s take them to town, let the sheriff investigate. If he finds enough evidence that they killed Charlie, then they’ll be put on trial.”
“The sheriff can investigate all he wants. I’m gonna hang these two now!”
“I can’t let you do that. You’d be guilty of murder.” Clay reasoned, "You want to be a leader in this community? Then do things in the proper order.”
Frank eyed the peacemaker on the lawyer's hip and decided to comply, he knew his friend’s ability with the gun, it was one of the reasons he’d invited the former gunfighter to
"Fine. Tie them up, we’ll have a trial, find them guilty, and hang 'em.”
McLeod regarded Culhane with contempt. “Ever since you took up them law books, you’re a pain to deal with,” he told him. “ You so worried about them, YOU take them into
The three men started forward again. Thomson looked at
“Naw, I got a fatal flaw.”
“Oh?” asked deputy Heath as he was disarmed.
“Yep. Just gotta meet new people and I don’t think I know any of these.”
“I’ll take the weapons,” said Culhane. Placing the guns in his black saddlebags, he re-mounted his horse but held onto the rifle. Clay turned to Frank, "You'll see that the dead men get identified and the money from the robbery gets to the sheriff?” Frank glared at Clay. “See you in town, Frank.”
Not waiting for an answer, he gestured to Thomson and
Once out of sight of the shack,
“My brother.”
“I know he has some family, but can’t remember the names.”
“Had. He’s dead.”
Johnny bowed his head, “Sorry to hear that. I liked him; he never sold his gun to the highest pay.”
Culhane nodded in acceptance of this statement. “My brothers, Ben and Dan, were killed in a shootout near
“Hate to break up this reunion,” Thomson broke in, “Are you working for McLeod?”
“No. I stopped at his place on my way back to
The three continued further when Clay's demeanor again became serious, “Mind telling me what went on back there?”
“Yes.” Thomson met Culhane’s assessing gaze. “I prefer to wait to talk to the sheriff.”
Clay Culhane pulled his horse to a stop, “Look, you’re in a lot of trouble. If you’ve been here any length of time then you know McLeod’s reputation, this is his town. He’ll have the sheriff investigate, find you gulity, and hang you before breakfast tomorrow. I’m a lawyer, maybe I can help.”
Heath Thomson exchanged looks with Johnny Madrid. The two young men were wondering the same thing: whose side was Culhane on?
Finally,
Deputy Thomson related the events of the day beginning with the bank robbery and ending with the shoot-out at the shack.
The three rode slowly toward town. “Do you really think Charlie McLeod was involved in the robbery?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know him well, but I don’t find it hard to believe.”
It was dusk when they reached the edge of town. Clay asked “Do you want my help? Do you want me to be your lawyer?”
Thomson and
“You’re in luck. I work cheap for those I think are innocent,” Culhane grinned at them. “When we get to the sheriff’s office, I’ll do the talking. You two keep quiet. I don’t want to give McLeod an excuse to break you out and hang you.”
The gunfighter and the deputy nodded their agreement.