FORTUNE TELLER part 4

Copyright (c) 2019 by Randall R. Peterson ALL RIGHTS RESERVED This is a work of fiction. All persons, locations and actions are from the author's imagination or have been used in a fictitious manner.

FORTUNE TELLER

Part 4

By R. Peterson

Clouds covered the moon and a hard rain fell just long enough for Sheriff Thomas Lang to lose the outlaw’s trail. But he knew where they were headed. The first rays of light were peering over the low mountains to the east when Tom loped his winded horse, Comanche, toward the tiny homestead on the banks of the Cottonmouth River. The air on the valley floor was stilled… as if holding its breath…waiting. A thick fog blanketed the wet ground and Tom couldn’t tell for sure if there was smoke rising from the single pipe on top of the two-room log-cabin. Elisabeth Walker was usually up before dawn, but not always. There had been times when he’d caught her still wearing a plush cotton robe but always smiling as she offered to make coffee. She never took no for an answer. He walked Comanche the last quarter-mile. As he drew near, Tom sighed with relief. He could see only one horse in the split-rail coral, the yellow gelding that the spirited young woman from Missouri rode. There was a faint scent of burning pine. Perhaps he was wrong. Maybe Ben McCoy and the other outlaw had ridden on.

The barn door was closed. Elisabeth kept the milk-cow inside at night. A hungry pack of wolves were roaming the area. A horse would jump the fence and run but a single cow would stand and bawl as it was eaten alive. The corn was about knee-high in the small garden she’d planted. There were several other leafy vegetables growing in the well-tended rows. “I won’t suffer a weed,” she’d smiled as she looked him up and down, “I’ve had too many in my life.”

Comanche sidestepped and jerked her head as he tied her to the hitching post in front of the cabin. “Easy now. You smell a coyote?”

Tom thought about drawing his gun but then how would that look? His horse needed a rest. Maybe after coffee and perhaps a bit of breakfast he’d try to pick up the trail. The ground to the north was rocky and not easily washed away. If the outlaws went that way, he’d find them. He knocked on the door and when there was no answer he knocked again. The door wasn’t locked but he didn’t open it. Just because a woman wasn’t home didn’t give a man the right to bust in uninvited. Her horse was in the corral but she might have ridden into town in a neighbor’s wagon.

Tom untied Comanche and was just about to swing into the saddle when he heard a nicker. That’s odd Tom thought. Sounds like it came from the barn. The barn was four times as large as the cabin with an upstairs loft for hay storage. Tom rolled back one of the two large doors and slipped inside. Even in the dim light he could see six horses tethered to a corn crib.

Tom drew his gun and started back toward the cabin. The first shot rang out at the same time he heard breaking glass. A bullet grazed his arm and two more burned past in less than a second with another lodging into his leg. Both windows of the cabin lit-up with gunpowder explosions.

Tom dove for the protection of a water trough next to the well then realized that other shots were coming from behind him. Two men were firing from the upstairs window of the barn. It was an ambush and he was caught in a cross-fire. He put two bullets into each of the cabin windows and then emptied his gun into the hay loft. Tom was reloading when shots once again surrounded him like a swarm of stinging bees. Something slammed into his head and the morning light faded for a few seconds then tried to come back. Something warm was running down his cheek … blood. That’s odd … I didn’t feel it he thought. The bullets were sliding into the Colt’s revolving chamber much too slow. Some appeared to be too small while others were too large. His hands were shaking. The ground was spinning. He heard voices and then laughter but couldn’t tell the direction they were coming from. The muddy ground felt surprisingly cool on his face as he fell forward. Then darkness came.

--------2-------

“Don’t kill him!” Ben McCoy ordered as he walked from the cabin. Three rough looking men followed behind. “I want my ex-wife to see him skinned alive when she gets back.”

What makes you think she’s coming back?” One of the two men from the upstairs of the barn asked as they walked outside. “We gots us a train to rob.”

“She left a note on the kitchen table for that Mex she hired to help her. She’s gone to town with a neighbor and will be back before noon.”

“What if he shows up?”

“He won’t. Not until we’re ready. All those south-of-the-border vaqueros are lazy. He’ll lay around eating tortillas and beans until mid-morning and then falls asleep on his donkey as it grazes its way over.”

“What we gonna do about him?” One of the outlaws kicked Tom.

“Bring him in the house,” McCoy ordered. “We’ll tie him to a chair and see how much of his skin we can peel off before my mail-order bride gets home.

The two men from the barn were lifting Tom from the ground when the hand crank on the well spun three times and then stopped. The rope went taunt. “What the …?” A pair of hands clutching metal appeared at the top of the rope and Elisabeth Walker came flying out like an eagle leaving a nest to guard endangered young. A gun roared in her right hand even as she reached for Tom’s gun lying in the mud. The man closest to Tom staggered back with two slugs in his chest with his fingers still inches from his gun. The other outlaw spun twice and then fell with a bullet-hole marking his forehead.

Ben McCoy and the other three had all brought their guns to level. Elisabeth shot three men dead center between the eyes before they could pull their triggers. She felt Ben McCoy’s bullet whiz past her ear as she aimed Tom’s gun. Click. It fired on an empty chamber. “Damn you!” McCoy screamed. He pointed and fired … his own gun was empty.

Elisabeth pulled the trigger two more times with only clicks. She fired again as the gun rose in his hand. Click.

 Come on Tom! You wouldn’t leave me with an empty gun!  McCoy’s gun barrel was pointing directly at her head.

Tom lay on the ground more than six feet away. The gun-belt with the bullet cartridge loops was still strapped to his waist. Elisabeth pulled the trigger again …. Another click. Ben McCoy had the cylinder of his gun open and was sliding in a shell.

Both guns roared at the same time!

-------3-------

Time appeared to come to a halt as smoke drifted up from both gun barrels. The birds in the walnut trees next to the river who had been chattering so noisily only minutes before were suddenly silent. The ticking of a wind-up clock in the kitchen could be heard as well as water drops falling from the handle of the well-crank as they fell with soft plunks into the cool, dark, cistern below. Ben McCoy smiled. Elisabeth felt dizzy and the ground began to tilt. Odd, I didn’t feel a thing. Her words seemed to echo back to her … only in Tom’s voice.

McCoy took two steps forward and then his eyes froze. Red foamy spittle ran from his mouth into his tangled beard. A patch of blood appeared in his left chest just below his shoulder and spread outward. He tottered like a sawed-through tree-trunk trying to find its balance, then swayed again before falling forward and hitting the muddy ground with a loud thump.

“Tom!” Elisabeth ran to where the sheriff sprawled on the ground. Thomas Lang opened his eyes when the first hot tears began to wash his face. “Where am I?” Elisabeth tried to push him back as he tried to sit up … then reconsidered.

“We’ve got to get you in the house.” She helped the sheriff to stand. He was bleeding from a head wound but it looked like just a graze. He was also shot in the arm and in one leg. She supported at least half of his two-hundred twenty pounds as they staggered into the cabin. Tom stared at the bodies strewn about the ranch-yard. “Who killed those outlaws?” he mumbled.

“You did,” she shook her head. “I’ve never seen a man so fast with a gun in my life!”

“I don’t remember,” he said. “Everything after I left the barn seems like a mixed-up dream.”

-------4-------

The sheriff had a makeshift linen bandage on his grazed head and one on his arm and leg. Luckily the bullets had passed through without hitting any bones or arteries. “We’ll have to take you into see Doctor Descombey when José gets here,” Elisabeth said. Luckily, her own head-wound was only a scratch.

“Where were you?” he asked.

Elisabeth walked to a broken window and looked outside. Something in the sky at the horizon seemed to capture her attention. “It’s a new day,” she muttered.

            “What?” Tom leaned forward.

Elisabeth turned and placed both hands on his shoulders gently pushing him back into his chair. Her face brushed against his. His day-old stubble made her feel nervous and excited … in a good way. Her eyes were directed at a year-old calendar hanging on the wall behind him. 1874 in Missouri seemed a lifetime past.

“When the outlaws rode up I’d already written a fake note to throw them off and went out the back door.” Elisabeth’s eyes were fluttering. She was thankful Tom couldn’t see. “When they broke in my house I hid down the well … I was so frightened.”

“That was smart thinking,” Tom said. “I’ll need to show you how to use a gun sometime. But with the rain and all the fog this morning … how did you know they were coming?”

“I didn’t have to see Ben McCoy … I could smell him,” Elisabeth snorted. Her tongue came out and moved across a chipped front tooth. “If someone handed that two-legged skunk a bar of soap … he’d probably eat it.”

Tom’s memory was foggy, but he seemed to remember more gunshots as he lay in the mud. Must have been echoes.

“Would you like a cup of coffee while we wait?”

Tom knew better than to refuse.

Elisabeth had just placed a metal camp-pot filled with water on the wood stove when they heard horse hooves pounding away from the ranch. Tom flung the door open just in time to see Ben McCoy riding away at a dead run. He reached for his gun-belt hanging on a peg next to the door. Elisabeth slapped away his hand. “You’re in no condition to ride any horse … or to shoot,” she said.

Tom sat back in his chair. He knew better than to argue.

THE END???