The Adventures of Bass Reeves Deputy US Marshal Page 10

  “That’s kinda what I was thinkin’,” Bass said.

  “In such places, it does not matter how many guns you have, the advantage goes to the bushwhacker.”

  Bass could see that Joseph understood at least part of his thinking, but he was still not sure he was in agreement.

  “He got the advantage, if everybody’s ridin’ on the trail.”

  Joseph had been idly poking the ‘X’ with his twig. He stopped, and his head swiveled. He looked at Bass with an expression of slowly dawning understanding.

  “You are thinking of one of us cutting a separate trail? Riding up through the woods?”

  “That’s what I was thinkin’.” Bass pointed to the woods to the left of the trail. “That side of the trail, the land slopes up a mite, and the trees ain’t as thick as t’other side. Man could ride through that and might not be seen. ‘Sides, they wouldn’t be ‘spectin’ us to do that, so they might not even be lookin’ for anybody.”

  Joseph drug his twig through the dirt to the left of the line Bass had drawn. “So, the one riding on the trail is bait for anybody laying in ambush?”

  Bass shook his head. “Well, what I was thinkin’ is, the one ridin’ in the bush’d be out ahead a bit, and might be able to spot an ambush ‘fore it happens.”

  “You think your eyes are good enough for that?”

  “Me? ‘Course they is,” Bass said. “But, it ain’t gon’ be me ridin’ the bush line. You gon’ do that.”

  “Look, I know I’m a good tracker, and I probably have better eyes, but the one who spots the ambush can also stop it, and you are a much better shot than me.”

  “Yeah, but they see you, they gon’ know it ain’t me. If they see me, they likely gon’ try to take a shot. All I need you to do is see ‘em when they do, and give me a warnin’ so I can duck.”

  “You’d have to be pretty fast to dodge a bullet.”

  “When it comes to keep from gettin’ bullet holes in my hide, I can be pretty fast.”

  “I don’t reckon there is any way I can get you to change your mind about this?”

  “No, Joseph, and quit frettin’. I got me a feelin’ this is gon’ work.”

  Joseph didn’t look completely convinced, but he nodded his agreement. Bass had to admit that, thanks to Nellie’s dream, and his inability to figure its meaning, he wasn’t totally convinced himself. But, until something better came along, his plan was the best they had.

  Chapter 24.

  “Now, Hank, I want you to get over there, the other side of the trail,” Dozier said. “When you see that deputy comin’, you let me know, but do it real quiet, so he won’t hear you.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Garner said. “You got a good shot from there behind that tree?”

  Dozier pointed down to the trail, where it emerged from the brush and widened out to a space where two or three horsemen could ride abreast. He had his eyes on a birch tree that grew off to the right. “When that deputy gets even with that tree yonder, I’ll have a clear shot.”

  Garner nodded and trotted off across to a clump of bushes just off the trail. On a small hillock, the position gave him an unimpeded line of sight down the trail until it made a turn to the left about fifty yards in from where it entered the wide area. Other than a rabbit that hopped into the center of the trail, stopped and looked around before bounding off into the thicket, the trail was empty, so he settled down to wait.

  This was the part he hated, the waiting. Especially with Bob Dozier sitting across the trail from him with a Winchester repeating rifle in his hands. It had taken him a while to figure it out, but he’d finally put it together. Harley hadn’t fallen off his horse, at least not accidentally. He knew that Dozier had been unhappy with the man, and Harley had a bad habit of mouthing off too much, but until he saw him lying there on the ground with his head twisted around in an unnatural position, he hadn’t thought Dozier would go so far as to kill him. But, he was pretty sure that this is just what had happened. Of course, there was the bigger share of the bank loot; that wasn’t bad, but he was getting tired of being afraid to close his eyes at night until he heard Dozier snoring in his corner of the cabin, and waking up at every sound.

  He’d made up his mind. As soon as they’d killed the colored deputy marshal, he was grabbing his share and hitting the trail. He was putting as much distance between him and Bob Dozier as he could. Maybe he’d even use his loot to buy a small spread somewhere and get out of the outlaw business altogether. He’d have to get far away, though. Otherwise, Dozier might come after him just on principle.

  There had to be a way to stay in good graces with the mercurial outlaw, a way he could ease away from him without the threat of pursuit hanging over his head like a hangman’s noose.

  He saw his chance when the lone rider came around the bend in the trail. He expected to see others coming close behind, but as the man advanced up the trail, Garner saw no other riders. At first, he thought, this must just be some hunter or maybe a traveler who took the wrong trail, but when the man lifted his head to look at the trail rising in front of him, the dark skin, and the size of him, left no doubt in Garner’s mind; it was the deputy marshal that had been causing Dozier to be in such a foul mood for the whole time Garner had been riding with him.

  And, that was how he would protect himself from Dozier’s wrath, he reasoned. Dozier wanted this man dead, so, Garner thought, he would be favorably disposed toward anyone who killed him.

  He had a clean shot at the man who was riding in the center of the trail, not apparently looking for, or suspecting, an ambush. Without giving it much thought, Garner rose to give himself room to aim his rifle, and sighted down the barrel.

  The ‘hooo!’ of an owl distracted him just as he squeezed the trigger, and the crack of the rifle and the pressure of the kick into his shoulder caused him to wince and blink his eyes. And, in that second that his eyes were closed, he failed to see what unfolded.

  When he felt twin lances of fire in his chest, one from the front and one from his right side, his eyes snapped open.

  His vision was fuzzy, but he could see the stranger’s horse rearing, and the man tumbling off into the thick grass alongside the trail. Sounds came to him as if through a thick curtain, but he was pretty sure he heard Dozier yelling, “You dang fool, he was mine. You shot too quick.”

  The pain in his chest was increasing, along with pressure as if someone had dropped a bale of hay on him, and he realized that he was lying on his back, staring up at the tops of the trees and the sky beyond.

  His thoughts were muddled, and there was a buzzing in his ears. He strained to look at the bright blue, thinking, The sky sure is pretty, just before permanent darkness fell.

  Chapter 25.

  Bass rode tall in the saddle. Where he would ordinarily try to minimize his size to avoid alerting outlaws of his presence as long as possible, in this case, he wanted Dozier to know who was coming for him. He also rode loose in the saddle, his broad shoulders relaxed, the reins in his left hand, and his free right hand resting on the top of his left thigh, not far from the butt of his revolver. He kept his head facing front, but his eyes were continually sweeping the terrain ahead and to the sides, looking for any signs of an ambush. He was pretty sure Joseph was up on the ridge line to his left and slightly ahead of him, and that the man was slipping silently through the trees, or as silently as one could move on horseback, and hoping he wouldn’t be spotted.

  He’d seen no signs since he and Joseph had split up down at the bottom of the trail, but knew full well that any clump of bushes, large boulder, or stand of trees could conceal a shooter. He felt as if unseen eyes bored into him, following his every move.

  He saw the glint of sunlight off metal, up to his left front, in a bush, a fraction of a second before he heard the call of an owl.

  His right hand darted up, grabbed his revolver and pulled it out in one smooth move. His hand continued to swing in an arc until he was aiming at the vague shape behind the bush, an
d squeezing the trigger, all without much conscious thought. At the same time, he heard to his right a sharp crack, and he saw the puff of smoke from the bush.

  There was the sound of something hard striking wood, a crack, and bark flew from a pine tree on his right, pellets of the shattered wood spraying his face and right side.

  His horse, panicked by the sudden noise, and stung by the flying bark, suddenly reared and jerked to the left, causing Bass to tumble to his right, and fall from the saddle. He landed on his right shoulder, knocking the wind out of his lungs, and rolled over, face down in the mushy earth to the side of the trail. His right arm was flung out in front, the revolver at his fingertips. Dazed from the fall, he had trouble focusing on his surroundings.

  Chapter 26.

  Dozier watched, shocked and outraged, as Garner stood, aimed over the bush, and fired his rifle. He couldn’t see his target at that point, but assumed it was the deputy, Reeves, at the head of a posse. At the same time, there was the ‘bang’ of a handgun from the trail, and a ‘crack’ like an echo from farther away.

  Then, he saw the gray horse, its front hooves pawing the air, emerge from behind a large tree. Its rider fell to the right, head first.

  Garner clutched at his chest, where two dark circles, one in front and one on his right side, were growing larger and beginning to merge. He then pitched forward across the bush behind which he’d been hiding, and lay still, his arms splayed across the bush as if embracing it. Dozier knew he was dead.

  “Just as well,” he muttered to himself. “That deputy was mine, and that fool shot him. Looks like he got off a shot or two ‘fore he went down, though. Saves me the trouble of killin’ that idiot myself.”

  He continued to peer down the trail, where he could see the deputy’s body stretched out beside the tree. While he was happy to see him dead, he was disappointed that he hadn’t been the one to end his life. He was a bit surprised not to see a posse come bursting around the corner, then figured the damn fool had come alone. He’d heard that this Bass Reeves prided himself on being able to bring fugitives in without using a large posse the way many of the deputy marshals did. His taunting message left at the deadline must have prickled his ego.

  “Hell, dead one way’s just as good as t’other,” he said, and began to rise to go back to the cabin and secure his gear—and the entire bank haul—so he could go in search of another hideout.

  Then, he noticed a movement down below. The deputy’s hand had twitched. He ain’t dead yet. Figures. That fool, Garner, snapped his shot off too fast. Must not have hit him square. Dozier smiled. “Well now, looks like I get to do the deed after all,” he muttered.

  Holding his Winchester across his chest, he stepped around the bushes and into the trail. The downed deputy was about fifty feet away, sprawled out next to a big pine tree, and he could clearly see his hand moving.

  His smile widened as he stepped forward and began raising his rifle.

  Chapter 27.

  Bass’s head hurt and his vision was blurry. He felt like a mule had kicked his shoulder. Squinting, he saw his revolver lying a couple of inches from his outstretched fingers. Moving was painful, gut he slowly inched his hand forward until the tips of his fingers touched the butt. He raised his head off the ground, wincing as pain stabbed behind his eyes.

  For a few seconds, he didn’t know where he was, wondering how he’d gotten dirt and leaves in his mouth. His horse, idly grazing nearby, brought it tumbling back, tumbling as hard as he had when the animal bucked him off.

  “Ow,” he said, as a particularly sharp pain jabbed at the back of his eyeballs. “Dang you, horse, you done throwed me.”

  He remembered everything; spotting the bushwhacker in the bushes up to his left front at the same time he heard Joseph’s alerting call, squeezing off a quick shot as the bushwhacker fired, the tree next to him exploding splinters, and his horse rearing. The images ran through his mind a lot slower than they’d occurred in real life, slow enough for him to realize that the man who’d shot at him wasn’t Dozier, and that he was no longer shooting, so either Bass’s shot, or Joseph, had got him.

  Nellie’s dream also came back. Could this be what she meant about trouble? It certainly was a bit troublesome to be lying face down on the trail with his mouth full of dirt and feeling like he’d just come in second in a kicking contest with a mule. She’d talked of darkness, pain, and death. Well, he’d certainly seen darkness when he hit the ground, and the pain, oh the pain. Was it his death she saw? He was beginning to think not, or he would already be dead. The man who shot him was dead, so maybe that was the death she saw.

  He was still alive, so that was one problem solved, and the man who’d shot at him was dead. Which left him with one very big problem: where was Dozier?

  Raising his head a little more, despite the almost unbearable pain it caused, his vision began to clear enough for him to make out shapes up ahead. The low, dark shapes of bushes, slightly lighter colored rocks, and the tall, dark trees. And then, one shape detached itself from a cluster of dark shapes, and began moving toward him. He strained to make out this moving shape, and little by little, it resolved itself into a man, a man holding a rifle, and it was moving closer.

  Dozier, he thought. So, he was back there behind those bushes. He strained to reach his weapon, but only his fingertips brushed the butt. His left hand, he realized, was jammed beneath his body, near his right side. He wiggled the fingers of his left hand. No pain. Moving his hand forward, he felt his fingers go around the butt of the revolver he wore, butt forward, on his right hip. Slowly, he pulled it from the holster, and slid his hand up along his body until it emerged beneath his chin.

  The figure with the rifle was getting closer, close enough now for him to recognize Dozier from the picture on his wanted poster.

  He took a deep breath.

  “Bob Dozier,” he said in a cracked voice. “I’m Deputy Marshal Bass Reeves, and I’m here to arrest you. Best you drop your rifle and surrender peaceable like.”

  Dozier laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the trees and rocks.

  “You ain’t in no position to make demands, Deputy,” he said. “I got a gun, and yours is layin’ there, not doin’ you much good. Now, it’s time for you to cash in your chips.”

  “It don’ have to be that way, Dozier.” Bass kept talking, stalling for time until he could work his left hand from beneath his chin. “You give up, and you gets your day in court.”

  “Yeah, and then they take me out and hang me. Ain’t gonna happen that way, Deputy.”

  Dozier started to raise the rifle. Tensing, Bass raised his left hand, took quick aim, and fired.

  The bang of the revolver, being so close to both the ground and his face, echoed in his head, and the smoke blocked his view for a few seconds. When it cleared, he saw Dozier, standing in the middle of the trail, his hands clutching his bloody throat, his rifle on the ground at his feet. Bright red blood spurted from between his fingers. He wavered slightly from side to side, blood gushing from his open mouth. Then, he pitched forward, face down in the dirt. His right leg twitched once, and then he was still.

  Ignoring the pain, Bass began pushing himself up into a sitting position. He retrieved the revolver that had fallen on the ground, and placed both weapons back in their holsters. He looked up as Joseph’s horse came down the hillside.

  “Bass, you okay?” Joseph called.

  “Yeah, just a little shook up. Got the wind knocked out of me when my horse throwed me.”

  Joseph dismounted and looked around. His gaze lingered on Dozier’s still body. “I see you got Dozier.”

  Bass nodded. “But, there was three of ‘em. Wonder where the other one is.”

  “When I was up on the hill, I saw a cabin up yonder.” Joseph pointed up the hill. “Maybe he stayed up there, guarding their loot.”

  Gingerly, Bass brushed the dust off his clothing. He was still sore and woozy, but was able to stand. He took a few experimental steps, and nodde
d. “Let’s go up and check it out,” he said.

  “You sure you are up to that?” Joseph asked. He had an expression of concern on his face.

  Bass felt his right arm and side, and smiled wanly. “I’m sore, and prob’ly gon’ be stiff a few days, but ain’t nothin’ broke. I can do it.”

  He retrieved his horse, and winced as he mounted. Letting the animal walk slowly, he led Joseph up the trail to the little cabin nestled in a clearing just off the trail. Three horses, two saddled, and one with gear strapped to its back, were tethered to a tree near the cabin.

  “That is strange,” Joseph said. “Only two horses saddled for riders. I wonder where the third outlaw went.”

  Bass had his revolver out, in his left hand, not taking any chance of another ambush. Slowly, he slid off his horse and walked toward the cabin. Joseph, his rifle at the ready, dismounted and followed.

  Bass stepped aside and allowed Joseph to kick the door open, a job that he would normally do, but he still felt too sore on his right side. Cautiously, they entered. A single room, with two iron frame cots on the left and a small wood frame cot to the right, it looked like it had been stripped clean. Even the blankets were missing from the beds, leaving just the straw-filled mattresses.

  “Let’s look around outside,” Bass said.

  They began their search at the front, working around the left side of the structure, and out toward the trees in back. It was Joseph who first spotted the disturbed earth beneath the large tree, and the small piece of wood stuck aslant in the newly-turned dirt. He leaned down and pulled the wood free. There was carving on it, which he held up for Bass to see.

  “What’s it say?” Bass asked.

  “Harley Williams,” Joseph said. “Looks like this is the third man. He must’ve died. Maybe he got shot during the bank robbery and made it back here before dying.”

  “I ‘spose that’s possible. So, that means the one down there with Dozier is Hank Garner. That’s the name of the other man who was ridin’ with Dozier, accordin’ to the folks over to the deadline.”