Back'At'Cha 2016

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 3

 

THE DAMMIT’S RIDE ON TOMBSTONE

 

The weary gunfighters found their way into the saddle then turned west on the trail leaving out of Chimney Rock. There was nothing spoken at first then Double Scotch says to Laylow serious as can be, “I thought we were going to Chimney Rock to get some rest, have some fun with the girls, imbibe in a couple of drinks, and sit in on a friendly game or two. Now we end up chasing after ADammit and end up in another gunfight with the Dooley’s.” Laylow looked around at the other men then back at Double Scotch with a sly grin across his lips.

 

“Whatever gave you that idea? You know riding with me usually attracts trouble. It seems like I bring out the worst in men. It just follows especially if I try to steer clear of it”

 

“I just thought we would actually get some rest and some fun this time to break the Laylow curse. I guess I was wrong again,” Double Scotch whimpered.

 

“Seems like to me you got all kinds of recreation down to Chimney Rock whilst the rest of us were getting ready for the fray,” Youngblood chimed in.

 

Double Scotch grinned and said, “Yup, them high desert gals don’t get to see the valley folks too often. A couple of them gals just wanted to see what somebody out of town was about and if they had all their teeth.” The men laugh heartily at Double Scotch as they rode steadily west towards home and a hot meal.

 

As they came to the trail that turned southwest towards the dugout they called home, Laylow pulled up, lit a cigar, then offered one to each his pards so they can all light up. “Boys, I know it has been a long row to hoe these last months and I owe you a good time. How ‘bout we ride up to Barstow Station for a couple of days. I know a couple of señoritas and there is an old Indian squaw for Youngblood to throw back a couple with and to knock the dust off his old hat.”

 

Youngblood started to protest but thinks to hisself, those kids don’t know what they are missing. Them Injun squaws are more woman than any three of those little scrawny señoritas Laylow is talking about. Course they needed to banter a bit but all agreed to a little side trip up to Barstow before they head back to the dugout. After all, they did deserve it, didn’t they? Besides, that old dugout was dirty and smelled like month-old buffalo chips when it was kept closed-up. At least it was winter so it could have smelled even worse.

 

The trail to Barstow Station was a rough, miserable excuse for a road that was covered with cactus, brush, broken boulders, and jumbled rocks. It seemed like around ever corner there was something to bite, scratch, poke, or jab at the riders so the going was slow and painful at times.

 

Jittery Jim heard the rattler’s buzz before it made its strike from the brush at his fancy hair-on chaps. He had tried to jump his horse out of the way but was too slow letting the snake close enough to get its fangs stuck in the chap’s hairy exterior. Now Jittery Jim’s horse was a bit skittish too and when that snake started whippin’ and buzzin’ against its side, all holy hell broke loose.

 

The horse started bucking and jumpin’ around whilst Jim was kicking his leg out of the stirrup trying to get the snake shook loose from his chaps. Youngblood, Double Scotch, and Laylow were all about to fall out of their saddles they were laughing so hard. The men knew they should try to help Jim out but this whole ride was just too hilarious and had them paralyzed with laughter.

 

The horse and rider made their way around the little clearing till they started coming past a Joshua tree. Seeing his chance, Jittery Jim was able to brush his chaps against the tree as he went by knocking the rattler loose at last, the snake hitting the ground, layin’ limp in the sand. The horse bucked another few times and then stopped, sweat foaming out from under the saddle, legs spread wide, nostrils flared, and trembling uncontrollably.

 

Now ‘Ole Jittery Jim is a little shaken from his wild ride but he was able to step down from the hurricane seat after a bit. Jittery tried to re-light the cigar that never left his teeth during his personal rodeo only his hands were shaking far too badly to get the job done. Old Youngblood eased over after a fashion and offered Jim a light before he set himself afire with all those matches. Jittery Jim was shakin’ so bad it was a bit of a challenge to get him lit but Youngblood finally got some smoke flying for him before saying, “Jim, I never knew you could ride like that.”

 

Jim’s voice was still quaking when he said, “I can’t, when that snake hit my chaps, I knew I was in for it and when that damn horse went to buckin’, I figured it was time to cash in my chips. Either I stayed on the horse and git that rattler kicked loose or I end up on the ground with a rattlesnake stuck to my leg with a bad attitude. It was just luck the horse went by that tree cause I was about to git launched offa him.”

 

Jim’s cigar seemed to burn out awful quick or was it he was puffing so hard, it was making it burn too fast. After a fashion, the horse and rider regained their composure and were breathing normal agin. Jim managed to get into the saddle so they could get back onto the trail for Barstow. It was just a fluke that the rattler was even out of its den since it should have been hibernating but Jim wasn’t going to be taking any more chances as he steered around the brush cause he didn’t want do a repeat performance for his friends.

 

The terrain surrounding the trail to Barstow seemed utterly devoid of life to the riders as they moved through the desert yet there was life in abundance unseen by most who traveled the rough country. All sorts of animals lived in the desert as was apparent by sign left in the sand seen only by those who took the time to look.

 

Jittery Jim knew at least rattlers lived in the desert but there were coyotes, deer, desert sheep, rats, birds, and all sorts of insects. Youngblood was the tracker of the group so followed the animal sign until it led the men to a tinaja where they were able to rest their horses and give them some water.

 

The huge wasteland seemed to be devoid of water to those who did not live in the desert but like the animals, there was water hidden in the tinajas. Youngblood had found the life giving nectar so they too could live in the desert. The desert was able to disguise life’s necessities for only the strongest and most experienced to find which made the desert definitely for the pioneer, not for the tenderfoot.

 

After a long drink from the tinaja, the riders slapped leather for the final leg of their journey. The riders made it to the top of the last rise before they could look down and see into Barstow. They looked the town over carefully before they rode in just in case.

 

Everything looked quiet enough so maybe they will actually get that rest and drink this time without finding trouble coming along with it. Once in town, the men headed to the first cantina they could find then made their way inside the cool adobe where they could lean up against the long bar to drink.

They threw their first drink back, barely more than a swallow, to wash the trail dust from their throats, parched from many miles of desert travel when an old Mexican came ambling into the saloon and made a beeline straight for Laylow and the boys.

 

“Señor, are you Laylow Curly?”

 

Laylow looked at the man through the partial haze that had begun to drape his eyes. The old man looked like he had been dragged for miles through the desert behind a Comanche pony. His clothes were in tatters and he was filthy but there appeared to be a look of urgency on his face so Laylow began to take his question more seriously.

 

“Yes, I am Laylow Curly. What is that to you?”

 

“Señor Curly, there is a message tacked to the board at the telegraph office with your name on it. Like most western towns, we have a notice board at the train depot, livery, or telegraph office for messages sent west hoping to find a rider. When I saw you ride in with your Segundos, I thought it might be you so I came to tell you of the message. We have heard of you and the Dammit Gang and know when it is wise to stay friendly with a man.”

 

Laylow handed the old man a five dollar gold piece since the old timer looked like he needed it worse than he did. Sliding the chair back, Laylow got up and eased down to the telegraph office where he rousted the operator out so he could get his message. Laylow was more than curious about the telegram because he had just left Chimney Rock and everything was quiet there when he rode out of town. More than anything, no one knew they were riding towards Barstow so wouldn’t have known to send a telegraph there.

 

There had been little going on in Norco at the ranch so to have someone looking that hard to find him naturally peaked his curiosity. The telegraph operator was a little testy at bein’ bothered after hours like he was but when he saw the look on Laylow’s face, he lost his attitude right away. Laylow opened the fragile piece of paper gently like he was expecting something to jump out and began to read:

 

DECEMBER 1881-STOP

 

LAYLOW CURLY, CT-STOP

 

TROUBLE BREWING-RANGE WAR-STOP

 

OLD MAN DOOLEY VOWS REVENGE FOR INSULT-STOP

 

GANG EXPECTED FIRST WEEK OF FEBRUARY-STOP

 

RANCH IS EMPTY, LAYING DOWN THE DG CHIP-STOP

 

BIG ED HOMESTEAD-TOMBSTONE, AT-STOP

 

Back at the cantina, Laylow poured another round for the men and said, “Well here it is boys, trouble has found me again looks like. Big Ed has laid down the Dammit Chip so the gang is going to need to ride to Tombstone to cover his bet. That Dooley bunch has to ride in from Texas though so we have a minute or two before we hit the saddle for Tombstone. Double Scotch, Jittery Jim, and Laylow sat back down at a table in the corner of the saloon soes they could watch the door just in case they had visitors while they finish their bottle, they would ride as soon as it was empty.

 

Where did Youngblood go? It didn’t matter none, he would be around when he was needed, he was always around somewhere. Little did the trio know, Youngblood found that squaw and he was trailing down to the Colorado with her to wait for Laylow. Youngblood knew full well they would be heading for Tombstone come tomorrow morning. He was going to head for the river where he planned on having a good night before they rode east.

 

The sun found its way down, ducking behind the hills to the west, while Laylow and his friends enjoyed the high desert air as it cooled the night with Cicadas buzzing in the darkness to break the stillness. Soon a Mexican minstrel begins to play a guitar and the men coax some local señoritas to dance. The saloon had started coming to life as the guitar player began to sing “El Paso”. The men began to look around and over their shoulders just in case of a jilted lover but they knew it was just an old song of times gone by.

 

What was that señorita’s name? Felena wasn’t it? The night spun into oblivion with whiskey, dancing, and music carrying the cowboys finally to their bedrolls in the wee hours of the early morning. Tomorrow would be soon enough to head for Tombstone and a showdown with T-Bone.

 

Laylow was the first up the next morning so he went to the Telegraph office and sent out a cryptic telegraph. The message, although brief, was simple and went straight to the point.

 

DECEMBER 1881-STOP

 

CAPTAIN JAKE CUTTER-STOP

 

ALL POINTS WESTERN TERRITORIES-STOP

 

NOTICE DAMMIT-STOP

 

TROUBLE DAMMIT-STOP

 

BIG ED AND THE DOOLEY’S-STOP

 

THE CHIP IS IN PLAY-STOP

 

I HAVE CALLED-STOP

 

LLC-D-STOP

 

The message was sent to the little stage stop in Norco, CT, to be posted at the Jersey Lilly. The gang would know soon enough and meet Laylow in Tombstone. Laylow returned to camp where he found Double Scotch had killed a Desert Bighorn and was broiling steaks. Jittery Jim was saddling the horses but where was Youngblood? He had better catch up, they had a long ride ahead of them.

 

The men sat down as Double Scotch dished up sheep steaks and frijoles until the men got their fill. When breakfast was over, the men filled their canteens and the spare gourds they had bought to carry extra water. They would trail down to the Colorado fer a day er two, then on to Wickenburg where they could rest up a day or so as well. The trip was going to take two weeks or better for the men had more than six hundred miles to cover and they needed to keep their horses in good shape in case they had to ride hard and fast from trouble.

 

The men rode southeast out of Barstow into the vast wasteland as the desert stillness swallowed them as if they had never been. The only sign left was the tracks in the sand and the dust whisking away from under the horses hooves. Soon the desert winds would take the tracks as well leaving no sign of their passing. The alkali dust rose like locusts from the parched desert floor so once an hour the cavalcade would stop to wipe the horse’s mouths and nostrils free from the choking dust.

 

The dust soon settled on each horse and rider like a blanket of white death. No more were there colors as each one had assumed the ghastly color of alkali and the desert. Hour by hour, mile by mile the troop headed east until the first night brought them to a hollow in the bend of a dry wash. There were clouds to the north over the mountains that could mean problems if it began to rain up there. At least there would be some respite from the desert brought on by the cool night air so the men made camp and put together a quick meal.

 

The bedrolls were quickly put to use that night for desert travel draws the energy from a man’s soul as well as his body. The stars were high and brightly shining when Jittery Jim heard a strangely familiar sound, a dull roar he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

 

Double Scotch sat up in his blankets in a daze as Laylow sprang from his bed and started barking orders, “Get up quick boys, we have to get out of this wash.”

 

The men didn’t question Laylow for he usually knew when he needed to run to save his skin. Saddles were slapped on weary mounts as the men ran wildly around camp picking up their traps. The men were in their saddles in less than three minutes, packed and ready for the trail. They rode up out of the wash and looked to the north as a foaming mass of brush, limbs, and dirt came boiling down through the very spot they had been camping. FLASHFLOOD! Laylow had saved their hides again.

 

The men rode into a full moonlit night since their sleep was finished for this day. It was cool and the dust had yet begun to rise for it would be several hours before the alkali would be dry once more. They would ride until mid-morning then stop for a quick meal and to rest the horses for a couple more hours. This was Youngblood’s time of day, no wonder he liked to get up early to enjoy the solitude. This part of the day is so peaceful with only the cicadas and the yapping coyotes to serenade a lonely cowpoke. The sun finally began to rise over the eastern mountains as the day was being reborn from the darkness of the night.

 

Long ‘bout 10:00, just like they had planned, the men pulled up under a short overhang of rock. They took care of the horses and led them into a shady draw where there was a small seep and a handful of grass. Double Scotch threw a quick meal together of sourdough biscuits and hardtack so the men grabbed a quick bite and retired against the sandy bank for a cigar. Each of the men is alone with his thoughts, drifting off to doze into early afternoon but along towards 2:00, the men are back in the saddle only the dust is with them now, haunting their every movement. At least the heat wasn’t a problem since it was late January.

 

Nearing nightfall, the band crested a long sloping hill heading down to the mighty Colorado River. There was a makeshift settlement near the river crossing with several tents and some ancient teepees. Scattered around the crossing were the desolate buildings of Fort Mojave showing considerable decay from when this was a thriving fort to the abandoned skeleton of what it once was. The horses picked up the pace on their own as they were able to smell the water by now. Once at the river, the men rode straight into the water to let the horses have their fill.

 

As they sat their horses, Laylow looked towards the Indian camp and said, “Well I’ll be damned. There is that old buffalo hunter right there.”

 

Youngblood stepped through the opening of one of the teepees and waved at the men. “It looks like he cleaned his clothes and took a bath even,” Jittery Jim said.

 

“At least we won’t have to smell him fer a while,” Double Scotch said happily.

 

A very round Indian squaw stepped out from behind Youngblood and stared at the new arrivals to camp. “Come on over boys, Walks with Buffalo has supper ready,” he hollered.

 

The men washed up in the river to get some of the desert grit off and made their way to the teepee Youngblood was staying in. “I knew you boys would want to pull a cork or two soes I just headed on over here to lay up with Walks with Buffalo for a couple of days ‘for you got here.”

 

Laylow looked at Youngblood with that whimsical look the two shared regular and grinned to himself. Why the old feller could still handle hisself around a gal, even if it was an Indian gal. He looks mighty perky too, hmm. There was venison steak, tortillas, and cornpone ready for the men as they made for their spot around the campfire. After getting their fill, Youngblood pulled the cork on a jug and passed it around while the men shared the trials of the trail. The home brew begins to burn the edges from their consciousness, drawing them towards some much needed sleep. One by one the men drifted off to their bedrolls only to roll out in a few hours when they would head towards Wickenburg and their next stop.

 

Youngblood was down to the river with the horses getting them watered when the rest rolled out of their blankets and found him there. “Bout time you boys turned loose of those blankets, we’re burning daylight. There’s a ferry up the river a little bit that will save the horses from having to swim. That river don’t look too fast but it will wear a horse out getting across it.”

 

Walks with Buffalo had tortillas, frijoles, and chorizo ready for the men once the horses were saddled and water containers filled. While the men ate outside, the squaw started breaking down the teepee and assembled it onto a travois. She hooked the travois to a boney old Indian pony and got prepared to ride. The men looked suspiciously at what she was doin’ but said nothing as she worked.

 

Youngblood offered, “She comin’ along to take care of me, at least as far as that village over to Wickenburg or maybe Prescott.” Laylow threw Youngblood a grin and had that glint in his eye once again.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 4

 

TRAILIN’ EAST

 

The ride to the ferry went quickly enough, even Youngblood’s mount didn’t give him any grief today. The men paid their fare and began loading horses and gear onto the ferry when the ferry operator stopped the Indian squaw. “No Indians are getting’ on this ferry, they’ve burnt me out twice and I’m not letting her on to do it a third time.”

 

“Not only are you letting her on friend, now you are going to help her get her things on the ferry,” a voice growled from somewhere behind him.

 

The ferryman looked up into the barrel of a Springfield rifle with an ornery looking buffalo hunter standing behind it. Youngblood eared the hammer back on the big bore rifle and pointed it at the man’s forehead then snarled, “I do mean now or you will never see how big a hole a Forty-Five Seventy will make in a man’s skull.”

 

The man was frozen in his tracks. He was as close to dead as anybody could be and might be still ifin’ he didn’t act right. This man was no pilgrim and he meant business, “And don’t get any ideas about being brave once we start across cause I can take the hangy-down part of your ear off at 1200 yards with this rifle.” The ferryman obviously believed Youngblood for his manner changed right around and all of a sudden it was yes mam no mam to the squaw as he helped her finish loading her horse and the travois.

 

On the other side of the Colorado, the men unloaded their animals and gear then quickly mounted up. Their start was late in the morning and they would have to camp several times before they made Wickenburg. They followed a dim trail up over hill after hill for four days, finally arriving at Beale’s Springs. Beale’s Springs was settled in 1859 when a roadwork party discovered and improved the site.

 

It was originally called Bishop’s Springs but in the ways of the west, reverted to the name of the leader of the work party. The site became a Way Station in 1864 for the Mojave/Prescott toll road and where the “Springs” served soldiers on military duty from ’66-‘70 as a military encampment. Later, the springs served as a temporary Indian reservation during the Hualapai War.

 

The water of the springs would eventually lead to the Pacific/Atlantic Railroad establishing a siding there and the inevitable growth from a water stop into the City of Kingman. The squaw went to work as soon as they pulled up setting up her teepee and began cooking the evening meal. After a bite, the men rode over to the settlement where there was a tent serving as a saloon for a cool brew to settle the trail dust. This night was to be uneventful for the men had bigger issues in front of them they needed to ponder on so they didn’t close the place down like they might have some other time.

 

The next morning brought the men the smell of frying pan bread and the bark of Youngblood’s voice as he brought the horses in. Breaking camp quickly after a simple breakfast, the sun was just peeking over the mountains east of the camp as the horses were led onto the trail to Wickenburg.

 

Wickenburg was founded in 1863 as a mining town and had a bustling population of frontier pioneers toughened by hard rock mining, intense heat, and isolation of the Sonoran desert. By nightfall on the second day, the band of men would make the town and would rest there for a few days.

 

The gang set up camp near to the Vulture Mine and away from town a bit just to keep folks from wondering too much about what they were doin’ there. The town was typical of the day with the ranch hands and miners hittin’ the saloons after payday and cutting loose for a rip-roaring Friday night. Laylow and his men stayed close to camp and kept much to themselves as they rested up for the next loop of their trip.

 

Wickenburg was nestled in the hills fifty miles west of Phoenix so it would not be advertised too soon that a group of Dammit’s were riding east. They didn’t want news of their location to hit Tombstone too soon either for the rest of the gang was still behind them. The Dooley’s would know soon enough they were coming, just not right now.

 

After a couple of days rest and the purchase of some supplies, the troop of gunmen headed out of town to the northeast. Laylow’s band was traveling through hill country now and pointed towards Holbrook some 250 miles away. The Dooley’s probably expected the Dammit’s were coming but would expect them to travel the easier desert trail. Laylow figured on them thinking that so was going to ride the hill route, at least part of the way, to give the illusion the gang hadn’t learned of the issues in Tombstone yet.

 

By the time the Dooley’s found out the Dammit’s were riding to Tombstone for sure, Laylow hoped to be ready to strike with this first group to catch them by surprise. Nightfall greeted the band a long way off from Wickenburg. The moon rose early and the trail was clear enough so they kept to their saddles for a bit longer to put a few more miles behind them.

 

There was no talking now, just the creak of saddle leather, the clatter of horses chomping on their bits, and the jingle of spurs. Just before midnight, the riders stopped in a low wash for night camp. A hasty camp was set up and some coffee brewed for those not too tired to drink it. Two hours before sunup found the gang back in the saddle and by mid afternoon they would be in Prescott where they could pick-up some much needed supplies and let the horses rest a bit.

 

As the band crested the mountain trail leading to Prescott, they held up in a spike camp while Youngblood ghosted into town to check for the Dooley’s. The rest rolled into their bedrolls for some much needed rest then sometime in the early morning hours, Youngblood slipped into the squaw’s teepee, only not to sleep.

 

Dawn was breaking into a new day as Laylow crouched near the fire with Youngblood. “The town is clear Laylow. Hear tell the Dooley’s know you’re coming though but they are waiting for you all along the desert trail.”

 

“That’s what I was hoping for Youngblood. We should be able to rest up here a bit then head over to Jerome.”

 

“Jerome,” Youngblood quizzed, “that is too wild a town to keep from being noticed if’n we want to stay low.”

 

“Here’s what I’ma thinking ‘Blood,” Laylow continued. “They are going to find out we were in Wickenburg then headed for Prescott and Jerome. They’re gonna think we don’t know nothin’ ‘bout Big Ed and his trouble with them and they’re gonna wonder about that telegraph seein' we’re heading the wrong way. That might pull them offa the desert trail soes the rest of the gang can get through unannounced. Anyhow, the boys need to let some steam off and Jerome is just the place to pull a cork the let their hair down.”

 

“I see how yer thinkin’ pard. That will help the others if’n they are watchin’ to see what we are doing. I knew you had a plan that would work,” Youngblood replied.

 

The men drifted into Prescott and bought the supplies, mostly whiskey, they needed. Tonight they would languish in the hotel in a real bed for a change, maybe get a bath, and a shave. Laylow and Jittery Jim headed to the saloon for a drink and to make sure they were seen about since this was the Arizona Territorial Capital, at least for now, and there were a lot of folks in town that needed to see Laylow was not coming through stirring trouble for folks around.

 

They quickly got into a game of cards with the locals to ply any information they could about the Dooley’s. No one knew much or at least wasn’t sharin’ what they knew or had heard. After a few hands of cards and enough whiskey to dull their senses, Laylow and Jim head back to camp. Come morning they would pull out for Jerome.

 

The rest of the boys had made the rounds of Prescott, well at least the rounds of all the saloons on whiskey row. Every town had a whiskey row and usually had a backstreet full of cribs where men could go to spend some “time” with the sporting gals who hung around the western gold camps. The last of them had finally made it back to the hotel an hour before dawn so didn’t even pull their boots off, just laid across the bed to get a few minutes sleep before the sun came up.

 

Youngblood would be pounding on their door in a bit to get them moving for the day. It was mighty pretty up there nestled against the pine covered mountains and it would pain them some to leave here but there was a lot of work to do in Tombstone and the men needed to get there soon before all of it was done.

 

NO LUCK, NO LUCK AT’ ALL

 

The next morning, Red was looking out of the hotel window and saw Catherine come into town instantly knowing her man had failed in his mission up on the mountain. What is wrong with this place? Red was used to getting her way and never had this kind of problem before in getting things done. Obviously she was going to have to do this herself.

 

After Catherine left town, Red and the other Texas riders went back up on the mountain trail to wait. She had heard enough in town to know someone from the cabin would be riding that trail again and they would get them this time. They were waiting silently when they saw the rider come up the trail. The rider might not be expecting them to be back so soon after their first failed kidnapping attempt so they could have the element of surprise if their luck held out.

 

As the rider passed, Red’s man had a loop out and it was in the air, settling over the rider’s head within seconds. Red knew this was it, she had them at last and her plan could finally come together. Suddenly though, her man is jerked off his horse and was sliding down the hill holding desperately onto the saddle horn. He finally let go and skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust watching his saddle bounce through the brush behind the rider he had hoped to capture.

 

Red was livid, slashing the other men with her quirt as she tried to chase the rider down herself. There was too much brush for her to fight through so it wasn’t going to be done like this no matter how hard she tried. Well if that is how it’s going to be then so be it Red thought. That left her with no choice but to take her remaining riders down to Bear Valley and tear that cabin up till they found that bible. Since this was becoming a lot more trouble than they had bargained for, they would drive off the horse herd as well for their troubles.

 

Returning to the cabin in Bear Valley, Red and her men checked to see if anyone was inside before they got off their horses. This was going to be easy, or so they thought. Red went into the cabin first and started pulling stuff out of the Armoire and throwing it on the floor with no regard to her sister’s property. One of the other men had come in behind her and was tearing up the kitchen clearing shelves with the sweep of a hand, can goods clattering as they hit the floor.

 

Outside the cabin where another man was standing guard, they heard a muffled cry and some shuffling of feet so Red naturally looked out the window seeing an ancient Indian dragging the bloodied Dooley rider behind the horse trough. Her man was obviously dead from the looks of his head where the war club had struck him for no man could live with that kind of wound to his brain.

 

Red shouted to the other man to get outside as they both ran for the door. The old Indian dropped his first victim, lifted the war club, and ran towards Red and her man shrieking some unrecognizable, blood-curdling war cry as he pulled out a knife with his other hand. The old Indian was surprisingly fast, covering the ground between them in seconds. Red’s man was taken back by the swiftness and ferocity of the attack so didn’t react quickly enough. The Indian was on him in a second so there was no time to draw a sixgun.

 

The old man’s first swing with the club narrowly missed the rider’s head, striking him a glancing blow on the shoulder while his knife went through the rider’s vest cutting a line across his stomach, drawing blood almost immediately. Red wasn’t so slow as the man in front of her. Her rifle was up and on target as the Indian turned back towards her. The old injun took the first slug low on the side and the second in his right shoulder, spinning him around and into a low creek running behind the cabin.

 

Waiting for only a moment to see if he was going to get up for another attack, Red watched closely for the old man to reappear. Seeing nothing, she warily moved forward as she looked for a body finding that he was GONE! There was no one there. The old man had escaped. There was blood where he had hit the ground but nothing else. The old Indian had slipped away, badly wounded as his was, leaving no trace for them to follow him. Never mind, he wouldn’t be any more problem with those two bullet wounds but they would have to move a little quicker now for he may have friends close by.

 

Red didn’t know that the old man’s grandson and Carlitos were watching from the shadows of a pile of wind blown branches just a little ways away. They had found the old one and were helping him back to his teepee. Against the old man’s wishes, Carlitos mounted his pony and raced into town for the doctor and the Sheriff. The old man needed a doctor to get that bullet out of his shoulder and the Sheriff needed to come to the cabin.

 

In town, the Sheriff listened to Carlitos intently, especially when he described the woman since the description seemed vaguely familiar. He figured to get a posse together and head out to the cabin to see just what was a goin’ on. When they got there, the marauders had gone and the place was torn from hell to breakfast like they were looking for something and hadn’t had any luck. The Sheriff looked over the body that was layin’ outside the cabin checking his pockets for identification. There wasn’t much more than “Dooley” scratched on a pouch.

 

The Sheriff shuddered as he read that name knowing full well he did not have the courage to follow them. He would make up an excuse like they needed to get the old one to town for medical care and that it was more important right now to keep peace with the Indians. At the old one’s teepee, the old man looked at the Sheriff with hard and knowing eyes as the doctor worked on bandaging his wounds for desert travel.

 

The Sheriff would not need to avenge the damage to his friend’s property for the old one would go himself as soon as he was able. The doctor tried to give the old brave some laudanum to ease the pain as he probed for the bullet with no avail. The old man just looked into the doctor’s eyes, showing no sign of pain or weakness the entire time he worked on him.

 

It was somewhat un-nerving to the doctor but he had seen this before with other Indian Soothsayers so half expected him to do that. Once the bullet was out, they loaded him into a wagon along with Catherine’s dog and the Dooley man’s body, then headed back into town so the doctor could finish fixing the old man up.

 

True to their word, the Dooley’s had torn up everything inside and outside the house. They tore stones out of the fireplace, pried flooring up, and dug chinking out from between the logs looking for anything resembling a bible. Finding nothing in the cabin, they trashed the barn too, finding even less for their efforts.

 

The bible was simply not there. Completely exasperated by now, Red ordered the men to gather the horse herd and they would head east without the bible. At least she would get something out of this mess.

 

Red rode silently fussin’ over the obvious failure of their mission hoping her men down near Chimney Rock had better luck than she did. Red didn’t know it yet but her five handpicked killers were no more than worm motels now for they had run up against Laylow and his gang. Tangling with Laylow and his Segundos was not what they had expected. They found they had roped the winds of hell dragging them straight into the Devil’s lair.

 

Driving the horses across the Tehachapi’s was uneventful so the Dooley’s made good time. Red liked being in the saddle, especially herding horses, reminiscent of when she was a young girl on the ranch of her foster parents. There were many good memories from those years, that is until the Jayhawkers hit the ranch and murdered her folks.

 

She had been off into town with the hired man getting supplies when the outlaws hit the ranch. When Red returned, the ranch house was burnt to the ground and few outbuildings were left. There were bodies of the Jayhawkers layin’ near the body of her foster mom so at least she didn’t go easy and took some of them with her. Her foster dad was hanging from the gnarled old oak tree in the pasture, showing obvious signs he was tortured before he was hung.

 

She and the hired man buried them on a hill overlooking a lazy stream they had so loved to watch on warm, late summer evenings. Bein’ sixteen at the time, with no family she knew of, Red sold the ranch to a neighbor and took out after that bunch of cutthroats herself. She had learned in town just who they were and knew where they would be goin.’

 

Very few people knew it at the time but Red tracked every last one of those Jayhawkers down and killed them. Red didn’t just shoot them down easy like neither. Ya see, Red had a powerful mean streak in her that has no mercy. Every last one of those men begged for her to just kill them and be done with it but Red showed a powerful lot of favor in torturing the men before they died.

 

They paid for their killin’, paid in full. Just how, when, and where Red learned how to kill so easy like is still unknown cause she would never tell. Like many of the pioneer women of the day, they fought Indians and outlaws alongside their men but torture, that was more of an Indian thing, not something a woman, specially a white woman, would show any favor for doin’ to a man. T-Bone was the only one who knew of Red’s really dark side and only part of what had happened in her youth so even he didn’t know the darkest depths of her viciousness.

 

Red and the drovers skirted Needles and crossed the Colorado a little further south as to not cause too much commotion. They kept to the hills when they could find ample water so fewer folks would know they were moving through or asking questions. They would eventually have to slip into Beale’s Springs for a few supplies but would hold the herd some distance away in the hills.

 

Red figured on selling the horses in Wickenburg so T-Bone would be no more the wiser of their less than lawful adventure out west. After the fourth day, they slowed their pace looking for a spot with enough feed to hold the horses near town where they could be sold on the sly. After a fashion, they found a little box canyon on the northern edge of the Sonoran Desert that had some sparse grass that could hold the herd for a few days.

 

From the box canyon where they held the horses, they could drive them to a secluded spot on the Hassayayampa River daily to water them with ease without raising suspicion of the locals. One of the drovers went into town and located the local horse traders giving them directions on how to get out to the holding area. As each trader came into camp, Red would meet them to look the herd over and talk money.

 

More than one of the traders looked hard at the brands then at the makeshift Bill of Sale Red produced but only Bean Pot seemed willing to make some sort of deal since he needed horses real bad for the mines. He would be back the next day with an offer for her so Red was feelin’ pretty good about that news. She didn’t worry none about being followed cause Catherine would be in Chimney Rock still so she didn’t put out any sentries. The nighthawk would be satisfactory as a lookout in that desolate part of the desert.

[Blackwater 53393]

Hey, Jim!! Thanks for putting up the story here!!! Great so far!!

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Glad you like it :-)

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 5

 

DOOLEY TROUBLE!

 

Laylow and his Segundos were languishing in a Prescott hotel taking a rest as a horrific scene is unfolding at the little cabin in Bear Valley. While the battle at Chimney Rock was being fought, the Dooley’s had come to her cabin. The old Indian had tried to fight them off but was severely wounded. They ransacked the cabin worse than any thought possible and showed the signs of a vendetta being paid up by the wanton destruction. They had even pulled stones from the fireplace, chinking from the logs, and pried floorboards up knowing full well a bible could not be hidden in those small places.

 

Catherine had returned home with her husband from Chimney Rock and naturally was devastated at the destruction of her home. Not one to cry about adversity, Catherine began salvaging what mementoes she could and started cleaning up the mess while her husband rode to town to see the Sheriff. He would get to the bottom of the attack and would make them repent for what they done before he was done.

 

As Jailhouse Jim rode into town, the Sheriff met him in front of his office. “Figured you’d be along when you got back Jim. Doc has your dog and is taking care of the Old One.”

 

“Who did it Sheriff?” Jim asked impatiently.

 

“Near as we can tell, it was them Dooley’s. The Old One kilt one of em. The body is over to Gravedigger’s.”

 

Jim didn’t speak for a minute then said, “Dooley’s! Are you going after them Sheriff?” The Sheriff didn’t answer yet had a pained look on his face that said it all, he was scared. “Dammit Sheriff, these men tried to kidnap my family twice and trashed my home. They bought into a game they have no good chance to win and had no reason to bother us.”

 

“Sheriff, you’re a worthless coward. If you won’t do your job and bring these people to modern justice, I guess it’ll be settled on the prairie, just like the old days.” He turned his horse towards Boot Hill riding slowly away from the Sheriff, repulsed at the thought this man was living off the good people of Tehachapi, afraid to do his duty.

 

As Jim rode up to Boot Hill, he stopped and tied his horse to a hitchin’ rail. He walked slowly through the ghosts of the town and up to Gravedigger who was getting ready to lower his latest charge. “Can I see the body?” he asked quietly not really relishing the idea of looking at a dead man?

 

Gravedigger opened the box and showed Jim the grisly remains within. The Old One didn’t leave this man in any good shape for even his own mother would have trouble recognizing the remains.

 

“He certainly got paid for his trouble, that’s for sure. This man was dressed as a Texas man and his pouch had the name Dooley on it but no first name,” Gravedigger offered. “He was riding with another Texas fella and a mighty pretty woman with red hair. I didn’t hear no names mentioned but it sounded a lot like Red Dooley was the woman. No one came around and offered up for him so they don’t seem to want to be connected to his killin’ I would guess.”

 

“I know those Dooley’s some,” Jim said, “and this just isn’t how they normally do things, leavin’ their kin and such. Something must have changed with them to bring them here cause we have been getting’ on with the Dooley’s pretty well until now. Something or someone brought them here and to my cabin specifically. Thanks for your time sir, I am sorry to have taken you from your work.”

 

Jim went by and visited the Old One before he picked up their dog from the town doctor. He paid the doctor for caring for the old Indian and made sure he did not want for anything. The old man was healing quickly and would be home soon since it was not yet time for him to sing his death song.

 

Jim stepped back into the saddle and headed over to the general store where he handed Maggie Tom his store list and asked if it could be delivered.

 

“Half Pint will be out with your supplies in this afternoon,” she said.

 

Jim rode slowly out of town, carefully mulling over his next dilemma. As he got back to their little mountain ranch, he pulled up next to the corral, reluctant to open the door to his barn fearing the destruction that waited. Finally, he unsaddled his horse and carried it to the barn door, pausing as he reached for the latch.

 

So much time and effort had gone into building this place up to a working ranch only to be defiled by a sorry bunch of no account Texans. Not that he had anything against Texans but these weren’t the normal Jayhawkers. They were more like border scum who would trash someone’s home when they weren’t there just like what had happened during the war. When he finally opened the door, he was taken aback. Everything was in order, a little worse for wear but everything in its place.

 

He turned towards the cabin and spied Catherine standing on the porch wiping her hands on her apron watching for his reaction. A whimsical smile graced her lips and he knew she had been busy. He put the saddle on the rack, led the horse into the stall, and forked some fresh hay into the manger. Closing the barn door and latching it, he walked up to the cabin where his wife waited for him. Looking into her eyes, Jim could see that mischievous twinkle he had seen so many other times.

 

“How did you get it all done?” He asked.

 

She grinned again, “I asked the Old One’s grandson and Carlitos to help me. I knew you would feel better if your tools were put up. Was I right?”

 

“Catherine, you are the greatest,” he said as he took her in his arms.

 

Jim knew his woman was the anchor of his life and knew he could never be happier. She led him into the cabin where even the cabin was put back together. Dinner was ready and on the table so he washed up quickly and set down for a hot, home cooked meal. As he forked the first piece of venison into his mouth, he realized how hungry he was. He ate like it was going to be his last meal, wolfing down everything and goin’ fer seconds.

 

“Save some room for pie,” she said smiling for she liked to see a man enjoy his food. “Maggie Tom sent one out with Half Pint when she heard about the cabin.” All this and pie too, he had it good tonight.

 

“Did you find out who did it?” She asked.

 

“It looks to be them Dooley’s agin’ although something doesn’t set quite right how they are going about this. Gravedigger said there were two men and a purty woman riding together. The woman sounds like Red but neither description of the other men sounded like T-Bone. The old Indian killed the one and tore him up something fierce so I couldn’t recognize him other than to know it wasn’t Bone”.

 

The old one got hurt pretty bad but is mending quick. Them Dooley’s couldn’t find him so never tried to get him to tell them anything but you and I know what they were hunting for even though no one else in town has a clue. I think they were tryin’ fer the boy so they could blackmail us for it too. When that didn’t work, they came hunting fer it themselves. They didn’t find it though and they won’t no matter how hard they try.”

 

“Do you think they will be back?” She asked.

 

“That no account coward we call a Sheriff thinks they lit out fer Texas but I don’t think they’ll get that far, especially driving our stock. I think they will be stopping along the way to sell them. Down at Chimney Rock, I heard some talk about the Dooley’s and Big Ed having some kinda trouble in Tombstone so I think they are heading there with their poke full of money from our horses.”

 

“Are you going after them?” She asked quietly.

 

“Yes I am. I’m goin’ after our stock cause the Sheriff won’t and I will not have my property destroyed without offering them the chance to repent for what they did. After that, I’ma goin’ on to Tombstone to meet with Laylow cause he’s put out the call to help Big Ed. This whole thing is right peculiar cause we had no truck with the Dooley’s and for sure Big Ed didn’t never cross anybody. He might be a little contrary at times but he never wronged anybody a purpose.”

 

“Them Dooley’s started something with Big Ed to get Laylow and the gang down to Tombstone for some reason I ain’t figured out, YET! Hell, Laylow is a Dooley his ownself and couple of his Segundos are too so that makes it that much stranger. I heard tell some of those Dooley’s are Dammit's soes this is like family riding against family. There can’t be a good way of ending this.”

 

“Well then, it’s settled, I’m coming too. They’ll rue the day they crossed me and tore up my home.”

 

He grinned to himself knowing what she said was true and that it would do no good to try to talk her out of going. He was sure glad she wasn’t on the prod and huntin’ after him. Bein’ Choctaw, Irish, and a woman make for real bad medicine when her temper gets riled up. Sides, she would be a great help in bringing back the herd cause the old Indian wouldn’t be able to travel that far or be of much help on a drive. It should be easy enough to trail them since the animal’s tracks would be hard to cover, although he would need to watch out for a trap.

 

Within a couple of days, the rest of the little cabin’s damage was repaired and everything was back in order like nothing had happened. It was time to ride after those Dooley’s. This time though, he had company, the best kind of company. That night he cleaned his guns and oiled them carefully. Tomorrow, they would ride out at daybreak towards Arizona and the Dooley’s.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 6

 

FROM THE HUNTED TO THE HUNTER

 

Before the sun began to warm the valley floor, they were up and getting set to leave. There was smoke curling up out of the cabin’s chimney for Catherine had breakfast going and was packing provisions for their trip into the desert. Jim had saddled two horses and put packs on two mules for the trip since they would be packing somewhat light this time to travel fast and to not be held to the open roads.

 

The mules were big Southern mules that could pack a heavy load and were able to keep up with the fast pace of their cow horses. He packed the food, extra cartridges, and a tent for sleeping for this time of year could bring snow on their route and they would need protection if they got caught in a blizzard. His woman would not complain but would be grateful she had some kind of shelter.

 

They did not know it at the time but they would cross Laylow’s trail within a week. Laylow and his band were still heading east towards Holbrook staying well out of the reach of the Dooley’s. Catherine and her husband would be going southeast from Beale’s Springs, right into the middle of them. As he led the pack animals up to the cabin, his wife stepped out in her doeskin riding clothes and tacked a note to the door of her cabin:

 

IT’S NOT HERE, I HAVE IT, COME GET IT FROM ME IN TOMBSTONE.

 

His gal had sand, a lot of sand and the Dooley’s would rue the day they rode to Bear Valley. Jim made sure the cabin was closed up tight then they made ready to ride into the morning sunrise. The morning ride through Bear Valley was met with crisp mountain air, sunlight shining off the frosty crystals clinging to the native grasses, and with all the beauty these mountains had to offer.

 

Catherine’s little cattle dog “Mikey” was trotting alongside her horse lookin’ up every now and then to make sure she was still there. Usually whenever you would see her, that little dog wouldn’t be too far away from her. Her old dog Smokey couldn’t make a long haul like this so he was gonna stay home with the Old One this time.

 

Looking towards the south, there was that big 4-point buck near the base of the mountain and there was a small herd of cattle feeding in the lush grasses of the alpine valley. It wouldn’t be long though until they would be headed into the Mojave and sights like these would be few and far between until they returned to the Tehachapi Mountains.

 

It was bitterly cold as the winds whipped against their winter coats with the horse’s muzzles becoming covered in frost. By mid-morning the frost would be gone as the desert landscape dried from the wind whipping through the valleys where there were no trees to slow it down.

 

Since Jim planned on traveling as light as possible, they would make several stops along the way to keep stocked up on supplies. They reached Barstow by the second day so figured to lay-in a few supplies and spend the night before heading towards the Colorado. The cook let it slip Laylow had been through about a week before and had headed east across the Colorado. So, Jim thought, they are behind him. Now at least they knew which direction Laylow and the gang were heading. They sat in the boarding house and chatted happily as two rough looking men came in.

 

The riders were hard-bitten Texas men who looked to be on the prod as they glanced towards the couple and whispered to themselves something indiscernible from that distance. Mikey saw the men looking their way and started growling that low guttural growl he had when he sensed something or someone was up to no good. Catherine had learned to trust the dog for he had kept her out of many a scrape while riding alone in the wild country.

 

The men sat at a table in the corner and ate quickly, glancing towards them many times before they left. There would be trouble with those two later on Jim thought and he sensed Catherine knew it too.

 

The trail out of Barstow was going to be a miserable ride across the windswept desert to the Colorado River crossing near Needles. The animals were holding up well given the sparseness of available feed for them but knowing how hard the desert was on horses, Jim kept up a steady mile eating pace rather than try to make too much time pushing them hard. They topped the rise where they could see the river on the third day then rode the last mile swiftly. They slowed as they entered the little settlement looking to have a hot meal and a regular bed before heading off once again.

 

Jim was a watching man and as they hit the edge of the settlement, he saw those same two Texas men, the ones he had seen in Barstow, loafing around the saloon. He made a mental note of them being there when they arrived but mysteriously, they were not in sight as he and Catherine headed to the boarding house for supper and a bed. After a day’s rest at the Colorado, they crossed the river on the ferry and headed east across the hills following the stage road.

 

Each day Jim would ride off the main road and check the progress of the rustlers pushing his herd of horses. They were still headed southeast towards Phoenix and didn’t seem to be in too big a hurry. Jim didn’t want to follow directly on the animal’s tracks in case they happened to be watching for a posse on their back trail. Maybe they wouldn’t think they were being followed if they saw just one man riding alone. They were catching up to the herd fast and needed every bit of surprise they could get if they expected to get the herd back without being killed trying.

 

Knowing they were getting close now, they would stop at Beale’s Springs for a day to rest the horses and get some decent feed into them before they continued on. After resting a day at the makeshift settlement, they rode east out of Beale’s Springs then after traveling about ten miles, turned southeast towards Wickenburg.

 

Icy winds blasted their tent at night in that cold lonely desert but they were warm wrapped in buffalo robe blankets as they lay together. Miserable as the weather was, these long cold nights were some of the best these two will have ever experienced together and would remember for many moons after they returned to their mountain cabin.

 

They finally caught up on many nights spent alone longing for the company of the other and talked of hopes, dreams, and what the future held in store for them until the wee hours of the morning before dawn. It wouldn’t be long now before they caught the herd. Until then, they could live a relatively uncomplicated life and relished their time together for it would be soon enough they would speak to the desert scum who stole their property and desecrated their belongings at the cabin in Bear Valley.

 

The trail towards Wickenburg was cut through a series of shallow canyons where it was rocky, dry, and covered with Saguaro cactus or sparse brush. The trail had been well used though for it was the main stage road from the northern western corner of Arizona to Phoenix during the winter. The herd was being pushed along to the south slower now at about forty-five miles a day, which, for horses, is a pretty leisurely drive.

 

Were the rustlers trying to save the animals or were they waiting for someone or something close by? Time alone will tell but Jim was starting to get a feeling the time for gunplay was almost upon them. Jim was checking the herd’s trail daily for the sign was only a couple of days old. When he came up on the herd, it was suddenly and almost un-expectantly. The herd was being held in a box canyon about five miles outside Wickenburg where the rustlers had set up a makeshift camp near the mouth of the canyon.

 

Jim made it back to Catherine and got her off the main trail so they could make camp some five miles away from the herd in a hidden cave far off the stage road. Being wary now, he brushed out all signs of their travel leading off of the main trail and all the way to the cave. There was water in the cave from a small trickle along the back wall and some sparse grass for the animals to feed on in a hidden draw just past the cave entrance.

 

Thorny brush growing around the edge of draw formed a natural fence that not only kept the animals in, it kept the predators out, four-legged and two-legged. The field of fire from the cave entrance was good but he built up a parapet of rocks and sand at the mouth of the cave for a more defensible position where they would be safer from ricochets than had they held up further inside. At sunup and then again at dusk, Jim slipped up to a low ridge above the herd to reconnoiter the rustler’s camp as he came up with a plan.

 

Several riders could be seen coming and going at random and it looked as if horse traders were being brought in from Wickenburg to look the herd over. Thinking back to the trail though, there were only two riders pushing the herd at any one time and now there were more than a half dozen in camp. Where did these other riders come from? Chances were this was a rendezvous with other Dooley men from Texas but Jim was only guessing now.

 

From the looks of the camp, it had been there longer than the herd so there might could be something else going on here besides holding stolen horses. From what Jim could tell after the second day of watching the camp, it appeared there were never more than seven riders, including one woman, near the camp at any one time, long odds for one man even with an uncommon woman to try to take that camp alone.

 

Jim needed to make sure these were Dooley riders so he figured to slip down to their camp that night after dark and check brands to see just who these riders are. Until dark, he would wait and watch, calculating his odds which never seemed to get any better no matter how he put things together. After the light was gone, Jim slipped into his moccasins and ghosted down a shallow depression where the rustler’s horses were picketed. As he eased up to the animals, he spoke to them softly so as not to spook them into giving his position away. He felt for each horse’s brand then traced it intimately with his fingers till he knew what brand it was.

 

Dammit, these were Dooley horses but why are they here? Why had they resorting to rustling and why are they rustling California horses? This was not normal for them to rustle that far from their home base in Texas. Mexico yes, Colorado maybe, Arizona yes, California, definitely not.

 

Jim found what he was looking for so slipped back into the brush to think this mess out. All of this seems to be an elaborate act in something infinitely more far reaching than stealing a few horses. Well, he was not going to be a pawn in their game and he was going to take his property back.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 7

 

STAMPEDE

 

Suddenly, as he watched the camp and the herd, he had an idea. The camp was not well guarded at all as if they weren’t expecting anyone to try anything against them. That arrogant Texas attitude was what Jim figured to use against them and was gonna bite them this time before it was all over with. Jim’s plan was pretty simple if it worked. Sneaking around behind the camp, Jim would use one of their own horses to ease into the box canyon like he was one of their riders coming out to relieve the nighthawk.

 

If he could, he planned to spook the horses straight down the canyon, into and through the rustler’s camp, then on into Wickenburg where he could expect help from the Sheriff. If he managed to get through and get the horses running, he would throw their camp into total chaos.

 

No one cottoned to horse thieves in western country so they wouldn’t try to follow him if he got into town. No one would dare put his neck into a rope for thievin’ from a band of thieves especially since these were his horses. Jim just needed to get through camp and he should be in the clear. Jim slipped down to the rustler’s remuda just like he had done earlier, picked out a long-legged sorrel gelding, and threw a saddle on him. He stepped into leather like he was heading out to ride night herd and eased around the horses looking for the nighthawk.

 

He finally spotted the man, waved, and rode up as if to be relieving him early. The nighthawk’s eyes flared wide when he realized this man wasn’t friendly, just before the Colt came crushing down on his forehead. One man was down and out now, one less hombre to worry about when the shooting began. Jim dragged him out of the way so he wouldn’t be crushed when the horses took off and tied the man’s hands with knots that could be loosened after a little fight. Taking the rustler’s guns and his horse, he eased around behind the herd and got ready to spook the herd. He started by riding around the herd slowly to get them turned towards the outlaw’s camp.

 

There was little movement in the camp so they wouldn’t be suspecting anything was amiss until it was too late. Red and the drovers had set down for a good meal of beef and trail stew. Everyone was happy to be headin’ back to Texas soon so the mood was very upbeat. After supper, the men sat around, told whoppers, and smoked a cigar while Red turned in for the night since she wanted to be up early the next day to be ready for Bean Pot when he came in.

 

One by one the blankets drew the men under them until there was no one left awake in camp. Somewheres around two o’clock in the morning, there was a whoop and several rifle shots then all of a sudden there was the deafening thunder of horse’s hooves as the herd tore through the camp. Horses were racing through the camp, running through tents, and pulling up guy lines for others. Red’s tent went down with her still in it and all that could be seen was some mad scrambling under the canvas until a knife cut through the material.

 

Red came out of the mess in her nightshirt holding a knife in one hand and a Colt in the other screaming hysterically at the men to catch the horses. Two men went down under the horse’s vicious hard-hitting hooves while others were firing at ghosts and dodging for cover. Searching rifle fire from the ridge kept the men moving from their hiding places back into the path of the stampeding horses.

 

Red’s tent was in shreds and another one was on fire with everything else in camp left in shambles. It was over in less than a minute, almost as quickly as it started, leaving nothing but dust in the air and a bunch of breathless gunfighters standing around with a dazed look on their faces as they listened to the hoof beats fading away into the darkness.

 

Red was barking orders at the men but there was nothing they could do except take her rath. Their own horses were being run off with the herd. They could only catch horses that were already lamed up so there was little that could be done. The only thing left to do was to watch the dust fly into the air as they hunted for their boots and drawers.

 

Even if they did follow the herd, they were headed towards Wickenburg where the sheriff would not be their friend. There would be questions as to the brands and a fake bill of sale that couldn’t be answered so they were holding an empty hand after all that work.

 

Red was looking around at the destruction with a frown sorry enough to melt gold, this should not be happening to her. There was nothing to be done now but wait till dawn and try to pick up what they could. The horses were gone, most of their traps destroyed by the stampede, and them left holding the bag. One of the men found a dented coffee pot so began to start a fire to at least have some hot coffee to start the morning with. Most of their food was trampled but he was able to find a partially spilled bag of coffee and a little sugar in the mess. It was little enough but it would get their day started.

 

Using the nighthawk’s rifle, Jim had begun by firing into the air, stampeding the horses out of the canyon, down, into, and through the rustler’s camp. There was absolute pandemonium in the camp as the horses came thundering through with men and horses lunging in every direction. Somewhere on the ridge, a rifle was firing into the camp pushing the men out of their hiding places leaving them little choice but to die.

 

The men in camp were shooting at horses and shadows while running around in their long handles trying to dodge plunging animals and the bullets coming off that ridge. Two more men were downed by the herd as the animals raced through the camp. As another man leveled a Winchester at him, Jim snapped a shot off, splintering the stock and shattering the rustler’s hand, four down he thought.

 

Jim watched as a tent is knocked over by the herd and there is mad scrambling inside for the sleeping rider didn’t make it out before the herd hit camp. A knife darted through the canvas and out stepped the woman he had been watching from the ridge dressed only in a nightshirt with the knife in one hand and a six-shooter in the other. Jim could tell that gal was mad plumb through as he went racing by but he noticed too, she was awful purty up close especially when she was mad. He couldn’t place her face but would be reminded later just where he had seen this woman before.

 

Jim shook out a loop from his lariat and tossed it over the ridgepole of another tent, dragging it over as he rode. There must have been a lantern burning inside for the tent because it suddenly began burning, flames licking at the tattered shreds of canvas.

 

Jim thought about the saddle stock so circled back around and cut the line holding the remuda between two trees. The horses were panicking from the stampede already so it didn’t take much to get them to follow the big herd leaving nothing but dust hanging over the camp like a fog. The remnants of tents were nothing more than crumpled piles of rags strewn hither and thou with disoriented men stumbling about looking as if still in a daze. Their thoughts of the easy score had been dashed into the hoof-pummeled earth.

 

Two men were dead and one had a nasty flesh wound to his hand filled with splinters from the gunstock. There were a couple of lame horses standing three-legged near camp, useless for any type of pursuit of the raider. Off to one side, there was a crazy woman who was barking orders at the men to catch some horses so they could mount a chase but her orders were met with the look of defeat from the faces of her men.

 

As soon as it began, it was over it seemed as Jim raced behind the horses until they began to tire. Within less than an hour, the horses had closed the distance to town so Jim circled them just outside Wickenburg and waited for dawn being it was only minutes away. As the sun lifted its shining face over the mountain to look into the valley, Jim drove the horses through town shaking many of the town loafers out of their drunken stupor to the sound of thunder from the galloping hooves.

 

The horses went into the corrals willingly while Jim closed the gate behind them getting them to be still at last. The Sheriff had come over to see what the commotion was for it was unusual to have herds driven through town at that hour.

 

“Sheriff,” Jim said, “I’ve been trailing this herd, my herd, from California. It was taken by a band of men riding Dooley horses. You’ll find their horses mixed in here and what’s left of the rustlers in that box canyon northwest of town.”

 

The Sheriff looked a little more than angry since now, not only did he have to arrest a bunch of horse thieves, Dooley’s at that, he was going to miss breakfast too. He stomped off in the direction of the hotel, he was at least going to have breakfast first, the Dooley’s can wait cause he was hungry.

 

If matters weren’t bad enough for Red and her men, the Wickenburg Sheriff came riding into their camp come mid-morning as they were tryin’ to gather up anything that wasn’t torn up, trampled, or dead. Red had seen him coming from afar and had changed into her blue gingham dress to look more presentable to the western man. As the Sheriff rode into the disaster zone that once had been her camp, Red stepped up real close to him as he dismounted from his horse.

 

In her best southern belle voice Red said, “Why Sheriff, what brings you ‘all out to this place? Did you come up here to go after the thieves that stole our saddle stock last evening?”

 

The Sheriff looked into those purty eyes and innocent looking face thinking, how could that other rider accuse this gal of bein’ a horse thief? She sure had the look of Southern grace, breeding, and the dignity of a lady even under the adversity of her current predicament. After some light conversation and a cup of coffee, the Sheriff decided he wasn’t going to arrest her for even if she was involved in some part of the horse incident, she had plenty of her own worries in getting home. Since the owner had gotten his horses back, there was no real harm done here as far as he was concerned.

 

Long after the Sheriff left camp, there was a huge sigh of relief for one problem was sidestepped at least. Now, for the next issue, where were they going to get some more horses? Wickenburg wasn’t going to be a good choice, even though the Dooley horses were probably in the stock corrals, because of last night and the visit from the Sheriff. Chances were that Jim was still there and he might push the sheriff to do something else so they had to steer around that town at any cost, even if it meant walking.

 

Phoenix was the next best bet so they gathered up some canteens and the lame horses for that long walk into the city. They made it to the main desert trail and had walked several miles before a freight wagon pulled up alongside them. Adam Cartwright was driving the team and fortunately for him, none of the Dooley’s knew who he was or who he rode for so he was in no immediate danger.

 

He offered the weary hikers a ride on into the settlement and chatted happily with Red all the way, very wary of what he said in front of her. Adam knew who the Dooley's were and what they had done to his friends but he couldn’t just leave them in the desert to die. Thinking back to Apache Leap, Adam thought long and hard about leaving them in the desert to die hard and slow but couldn’t bring himself to stoop as low as the Dooley’s.

[Korupt Karl]

T; Has the list of shooters been put together and where can it be found?

 

Thanks

 

KK

 

PS: Will any of the Dooley's be at Vegas in December?

[Chickasaw Bill SASS #70001]

K K

 

I kinda doubt that will be accurate , being BaC , is full and so far out , time wise

 

Chickasaw Bill

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 8

 

HORSE TRADIN’

 

Jim was waiting by the corral fence as a man in a business suit came up to the pens and introduced himself as Bean Pot, a horse trader. Jim was instantly alert, “I saw you in their camp yesterday. Are you with that bunch of horse thieves?”

 

“No Sir, not at all. They came into town wanting to sell horses and I was buying that’s all I have to do with them. I am wondering if I could make you the same deal on these horses, that is, if they are yours. We need horses real bad right now and I can make you a deal hard for anyone to refuse.”

 

Jim thought for a moment at the prospects of driving these animals five hundred miles to Tehachapi or selling them here for a good price to save him and Catherine a bunch of work. “One condition and I’ll sell my horses to you, I want to know who you were dealing with down in that camp,” he asked.

 

The man looked sick for he knew if he was too liberal with information, he too might be in for a hard time or a bullet from a Dooley Colt. Bean Pot looked around to see if’n there was anyone close enough they could hear and said quietly, “Red Dooley was runnin’ that show up there. I don’t know any of the others but they let on they were all Dooley’s or at least Dooley riders. I can’t say no more or I’ll be in real trouble with them, probably am already but like I said, we need these horses bad.”

 

The men looked the herd over again and again as they bartered and bantered back and forth until a deal was struck. For what he sold those horses for, Jim figured he could restock his own range two-fold plus he had a contract for more horses to be delivered to the mines in just a few months. After he and Bean Pot had finished their business at the bank and had wired the funds to Jim’s bank in Tehachapi, Jim stepped into the stirrups to ride back to camp where he and Catherine could celebrate. He was pleased with the day’s events and thought his wife would be thrilled as well.

 

About a mile from the cave, Jim spotted fresh tracks, familiar tracks. Fear instantly grabbed his throat. Had they found his camp with his wife left alone? Terror jabbed at him as he slapped spurs to his horse and raced the last mile bounding over boulders and through the brush. He slid the horse to a stop just outside the cave surveying the scene before he went inside.

 

There was a riderless horse standing in the brush with blood on the saddle and there was more blood in the sand near the mouth of the cave. He was suddenly terrified of what he was going to find. He drew his Colt and walked his horse into the battleground.

 

Against a Saguaro was one of the men from Barstow. He had dried blood on his shirt from a shoulder wound someone had crudely bandaged up. On the outcropping above the cave, extended the lifeless hand of the other man from Barstow but where was Catherine?

 

“Howdy!” Jim jumped as if jabbed with a red-hot poker, whipping his Colt towards the voice, ready to fire as he turned to face the voice.

 

“How are ya? Uhhhh, can you point that thing somewheres else besides my head?”

 

“Is that you Howdy Doody?” Jim asked, nearly breathless from the scare. “What a relief. Where is she?”

 

“Oh she’s over to the spring washin’ up,” Howdy sniped.

 

“What went on here last night?” Jim asked.

 

“Well sir, near as I can tell, yer woman went over to see where you went to and saw the commotion with the herd. She knew it was you behind the herd and started firing into the camp to make them think there were more riders than just you to confuse them some. They saw her firing from that ridge and tracked her up here. Come daylight they rode in trying to catch her a nappin’ only she wasn’t nappin’, she was ready fer em like you taught her to be.”

 

From behind him he heard her comin’, “Hey there cowboy, missed ya last night.” Pretty as a picture and seemingly unfazed by the morning gun battle or the bodies strewn throughout her camp, she said, “These here fellas came to pay a visit while you were out. I helped them with what they needed though cause I didn’t want them to think I was inhospitable.”

 

He grinned the whole time as she told her tale of their gracious meeting. “Looks like you done right well with it too I might add. Did either of them talk?” he asked.

 

“That one over yonder is a Dooley. The other one on the ledge is, was a hired gunhand they picked up on the way west. I couldn’t get anything else out of them ‘cept they are the ones who was at the cabin. There’s a third one over near to the bluff, he’s dead too. Now, they can only tell their story to the devil when they ride into hell.”

 

“When you didn’t come back like normal last night, I figured I’d ease on up there and see what you were up to. I couldn’t see much but when that herd got spooked, I figured it was you and thought if I threw a little lead their way, you’d have a better time of it goin’ through their camp. I was afraid somebody might try to follow me if they saw me shootin’ up the camp last night so I didn’t sleep much and had my guns ready if they came. They came in on me just after daybreak this morning. Mikey started his growlin’ but I had already known they were a comin’ for me. The one by the cactus was tryin’ to draw me out when I saw a shadow in front of the cave so I knew somebody was up on the ledge too.”

 

“I stayed behind the parapet until that one over yonder made a dash for me so I let Mikey loose. He jumped the man biting him in the behind something fierce while I got lined up on him and gave it to him in the shoulder. The old Indian killed the one up on the ledge. He and Carlitos had followed us all the way from Tehachapi and were settin’ out in the brush. The man the old one killed is the one who had wounded him at the cabin. That man didn’t die none too fast for I think the old one wanted to give him a little something to remember him by before he died. I could hear him screaming up there for a good long while but I figured he drew that card and needed to play it out.”

 

“Carlitos caught up to the other one trying to get above me on that bluff. The man had seen Carlitos coming and figured on getting the drop on him soes he could use him as bait to get me out of the cave. The outlaw must have figured Carlitos for a pilgrim and would be easy to catch. What he didn’t know was while Carlitos is still very young, he handles those 45’s like Billy the Kid. The man slipped up on Carlitos’ left flank trying to catch him unawares. What he found was the business end of two Colts staring straight at him.

 

Carlitos had hollered, “The jig is up fella, drop your guns and you can cut tail or run.”

The man was a little taken back bein’ surprised like that but figured to still have the upper hand since he was old enough to be Carlitos pa. “Now you better watch out for those big guns little boy. You don’t want to go and shoot yerself accidental.”

 

Carlitos stood his ground and held those Colts rock steady, centered on the fat man’s belly. Clearly this was trouble for him since his own gun was still in his holster.

 

Howdy chimed in about then and said, “I heard that hombre telling Carlitos to put his irons down before he went and hurt himself or somebody else so I slipped around behind him soes I could watch in case Carlitos needed any help. The outlaw’s mouth dropped open like he was hit with a ton of bricks when ‘ole Carlitos dropped his Colts into their holsters. The outlaw could not believe this young boy had the sand to draw on him. Well, he learnt real quick about Carlitos after he went for his shooters. Carlitos drew both Colts at the same time as the outlaw fumbled with his. Carlitos waited until the outlaw’s gun came up level then fired both his at the same time.

 

The outlaw was knocked back and onto a rock, his gun firing harmlessly into the gravel. Carlitos didn’t even flinch as he shucked the empties and reloaded his guns whilst I went over to check on the outlaw. There were two holes in his chest you could cover with a double eagle. Blood was foaming from the outlaw’s mouth when he tried to say something. His mouth moved but only the sound of gurgling came through his lips as he shuddered and died, shot to doll rags by a kid.”

 

“I went out to that other fella,” Catherine said, “patched him up a mite and tried to get him to talk but all he would say is we’ll get ours when we meet up with his kin. I asked him who he was but all he would say is Dooley. When I went back to the cave for more bandages, I heard some scufflin’. I looked back and the old one had him mashed up on that Saguaro with the spikes a pokin’ into him somethin’ fierce. I’ll give it to that Dooley though, he didn’t let out a peep the whole time the old one had him agin’ them spikes.

 

The old one said this Dooley had showed considerable bravery, uncommon for a white man, and that’s why he didn’t take his scalp. The old one told me these were the two men at the cabin but he didn’t recognize the third man. Now he was only lookin’ for the woman to finish this up but I asked him if he would leave the woman to me as a favor and that I would see she settled up for her deeds. I didn’t think he was going to let me handle it but he reluctantly did since I was the one asking. He said if we saw her again, she would be wearin’ a red hat more ‘n likely. I sent him and Carlitos back to take care of the ranch till we get there.”

 

The three old friends buried the rustlers so as to not have ‘em stinking up the camp then sat down to a hot meal and talked of old times and old friends until the sun went down. The subject never came up but they knew tomorrow they would all be riding south towards Tombstone, to Laylow, the gang, and into a lot more trouble with the T-Bone Dooley and his family. Howdy was following the same call to arms what had got the rest to riding east. Luckily, they crossed trails riding for Laylow and could have each other for company on the long trail ahead.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 9

 

COWBOY GATHERING

 

Far to the southwest of Barstow, cowboys gathered around the billboard at the Jersey Lilly to read the telegraph posted by Captain Jake Cutter. As each man read the cryptic message, they know it is Laylow’s way of calling the gang together.

 

Captain Jake is the first to speak up saying, “I’m going to meet Laylow as soon as I can get my traps together. Anyone else?”

 

Ricochet Roy, Black Spur, Marshall Phil DeGrave, Jonny T., Long Colt, Bangtail, and Anaheim Kid all throw their names in to ride east as well as several others who figured to get into the gang. Up the coast all of two hundred miles away, SLO Wang Shootist and Filthy Lurce are throwing their traps together to ride to back the chip. From Texas, Rocky (Shush Dammit) Meadows is coming hell bent for leather for the fearful leader or is she? Shush Dammit is also a Dooley so she would need watchin’ but then, there were many who would be watchin’ her no matter what and won’t be caring if she is a spy for T-Bone.

 

How many more will be slappin’ leather to ride for Tombstone before this is over with? There would be a reckoning in Tombstone and there were many who wanted to get in on their piece of the fight.

 

All over the southwest, cowboys and cowgirls are building ammo stocks, cleaning weapons, and putting a poke away to make the pilgrimage to Tombstone. The Dammit leader has put out the call to all Southern California Dammit's to prepare to ride for the brand. Along with the southwest Dammit's came the rest, Dammit's from all over the US Territories who ride for the brand, the brand of Laylow Curly. Big Ed Douglas had laid down the Dammit Chip and the Fearful Leader has been called to back the bet.

 

Dammit’s from the four winds are getting set to ride with the Devil, spouting fire and brimstone, straight into the bosom of the Dooley den. On more than one occasion, Dammit’s have been heard saying, “I’m coming and Hell is coming with me!!!!!!!” On every occasion the call has been made, the fury of hell is brought against the Dammit enemies.

 

They will come, no matter what the hardship, they will come. Jittery Jim and Youngblood have already got the wheels in motion. Telegraph wires are humming, Pony Express riders and stages are bringing the news to all the Dammit’s. Soon, very soon the Dooley’s will meet head-on with the Dammit’s, a meeting that will surely go down in the annals of history.

 

Having just ridden in from Thunder Valley at Chimney Rock, many of the cowboys had to take a little time to repair their wagons, tack, and set in a store of supplies for the trip to Tombstone. The sheer distance has got the cowboys teaming up to share expenses to travel the six hundred or more miles into Arizona Territory.

 

Spirits are high even though many of these men and women are battle weary and thread bare after Thunder Valley, The Gunfight Behind the Jersey Lilly, The Ambush at Mill Creek, The Shootout at Five Dogs Creek, John Wayne, as well as little local skirmishes fought a day at a time here and there. One by one though, they will get their traps together and get lined out for the trail to be there before the first shot is fired. The northern-most cowboys must travel even further but were going to try to rendezvous with their southern brethren prior to getting to Tombstone.

 

Filthy and Solvang got their horses hitched up to the wagon for a long ride south to Los Angeles where they would turn east towards Arizona Territory. They planned to travel down the coastal route as far as possible to take advantage of the good grass and abundant water before heading into the Sonoran wasteland.

 

Solvang may have the most difficult trek of all the Dammit’s because not only did he flirt with the hazards of the desert trail but from traveling with the “Laughing Limey” whose British roots put him seemingly at odds with the western pioneer. Filthy acts a little funny and has unusual friends (TP Dammit) but he is among the first to ride into the fray and the last to lay down his Colt after the fighting is done. Wait! Is that TP Dammit trailing along behind Filthy? Trouble is coming to Tombstone.

 

Once they turned inland from the coast, water and feed will be scarce and supplies expensive when purchases have to be made so great care must to be taken to ensure there will be enough supplies for everyone to make the trip. No matter though, resources will be pooled so that all can make it with no one being left behind who was willing to fight.

 

The wagons are heavily loaded with supplies of “Apple Pie,” Tequila, Scotch, Rum, Bourbon, Ale, and other forms of adult refreshments along with literally tons of steel, brass, and lead with the guns and ammunition needed for the fight. It seemed to some there was plenty of hooch to go around but looked limited as to making room for actual food staples. Some worried about how Laylow and his few riders will handle the Dooley’s until the bulk of the gang and guns get there. He will find a way to do it since he had little choice.

 

The trail through Southern California was at least a reasonably level trail where the teams could make good time. It is however open desert allowing for difficult concealment and left the wagon train open for attack by reengage Indians or Comencheros. Dry bogs hide in plain sight in the desert and plague the wagons, sucking them down to where teams will need to be doubled-up and harnessed together to pull through the soft spots.

 

Horses and riders will begin to tire, tempers will be short, and time will be wasted when there is none to spare. Water and feed will be a precious commodity for much of it will have to be carried on the wagons for the stock even though tinajas or hidden springs might be found along the way. There will be a scant few stage stops along the trail to replenish their meager supplies and conservation will be mandatory to keep the animals in good traveling condition.

 

The first leg of the journey would be the easiest for there were several settlements along the trail to pick up last minute items as the wagons rolled towards the California border at Blythe. Once into Arizona Territory, there were vast expanses of open desert where the train will have to travel for days without respite. Fortunately, February may have seen enough winter rains to fill the hidden tinajas and allow for the short desert grasses to grow supplementing the meager grain supplies carried in the wagons. Temperatures should be tolerable for desert travel to help reduce the need for water but there still would be plenty of hard work in the bogs.

 

There were hunters in the group who would be able to supplement the meager food stores with fresh game found out in the foreboding desert. Most wouldn’t suspect it but there were javalina, desert sheep, and desert mule deer hidden in the vast arid wasteland. They would be surprised when those skilled hunters ambled back into camp with carcasses of fresh meat draped across their shoulders. Fresh game will be good for morale as well since the stores of hardtack and bacon will get as old and dry as a week old sourdough biscuit.

 

There will be plenty guns and gunhands to wage off any attacks by the local savages looking for an easy mark as if this was a train of pilgrims heading back east after failing at the new life in the west. Unbeknownst to the desert people, the men on this train are experienced desert fighters who are fresh from the battlefield so action rather than reaction will be the strategy.

 

The anxious group of gunmen finally got everyone banded together and headed the lead teams out onto the trail east to the border. Mile after mile begins to fall away behind the strung out train of hard bitten Dammit soldiers as the men and the animals settle into life back out on the trail. Fortunately, there has been rain over the last few weeks so the alkali dust is light so far and is not slowing the group much.

 

In the early days when the cavalry first came to the west, camels would have been used to cross the desert rather than horses making travel faster with the animals needing less water. Day after day the hopeful troop drives into this huge wasteland of scorpions, coyotes, and rattlesnakes hoping to get to Tombstone with Laylow before it is too late.

 

There was a hidden threat that no one had talked about as of yet, T-Bone Dooley and his brothers. Word had trickled down from the Tehachapi’s that the Dooley’s had attacked Jailhouse Jim’s cabin so there was every likelihood the train would be attacked somewhere along the desert trail when they least expected it. At least there had been no sign of the Dooley’s, yet, so they were safe, relatively speaking, for now. The Dooley’s would probably be hiding near to Phoenix and civilization rather than to try something on open ground. The Dooley’s would be at a disadvantage to the organized wagon train in unfamiliar country, especially the Sonoran desert.

 

The train had made several days travel already without seeing much more than a few trail hands heading to town for their Friday night drunk. Most likely T-Bone had gotten word the Dammit Train was heading east but at least for now, none of the Dooley brethren had been seen or heard about as being in the territory.

 

There would be sign of their passing if it was any other time of year but for now, the desert is swallowing all signs of their existence with daily dust storms that age, distort, and conceal the deep ruts of heavily loaded wagons with rawhide tough men giving the Dammit’s some degree of secrecy that would help them get to Tombstone undetected.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 10

 

BOOM TOWN

 

Adam had made his way to Phoenix way ahead of the gang on the old trail without any real bother. He was rolling empty and didn’t expect problems since he had nothing worth stealing. Still a day or so out from the city, almost due south of Wickenburg, he found a group of two men and a woman walking, leading a gimped up horse.

 

He hallooed the group and stopped alongside them. The group looked mostly torn up from long days and nights on the trail with little to drink and even less to eat. They looked like they were in pretty dire straits but he still played his cards close to his vest since there were Dooley’s around and trouble in the wind.

 

“What happened to you folks?” He asked.

 

“Injuns we figure,” the gal said. “We were waiting fer some friends to come in from California when we got hit just north of here. They done run off most of the horses and the ones left once the dust cleared were crippled with most needed put down. We headed out to go into Phoenix and get some fresh mounts for the rest of our clan.”

 

“Clan,” Adam asked, “What Clan you from?”

 

“Why, my name is Red and we’re of the Dooley’s from east Texas. Most folks have heard of us down there but not so much so out west like where we are now.”

 

Adam’s heart jumped and he thought he lost a bit of his composure for a second or two but tried to act like the name Dooley meant nothing to him. “Well, git on in the wagon then,” he said finally, “I kin give ya a ride into Phoenix. This desert is a long ways from Texas gal, are ya hunting somebody?”

 

“Well, I’ll tell ya friend since you asked,” Red said, “T-Bone Dooley is huntin’ fer a fella that goes by the name of Laylow Curly cause they have some kind of business to take care of from the old days. That isn’t the whole reason why I came west but you’ll most likely hear some scuttlebutt about T-Bone and his deal with Laylow. He asked that we keep an eye out on the trail since we were gonna be traveling through but we weren’t to do anything else other than to wire him if we saw Curly or anything else that looked suspicious.”

 

T-Bone is gonna be powerful mad when he finds out the injuns hit our camp and took our horses makin’ it soes we couldn’t watch the trail like we were supposed to. Now I don’t rightly know what that fella done to T-Bone to set him off but I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes right now. Ole T-Bone is meaner ‘n’ a spring grizzly bear with a toothache and has the disposition of a polecat. Where you coming from pard?” Red asked trying to change the direction of the conversation to something else.

 

“I’m comin’ from the Tin Horn Ranch over south of here for our monthly supply run. I like making the supply run since I always tend to meet up with folks along the trail like yourselves. It shore is nice to get to see new folks out here cause there isn’t many to conversate with on the trail ‘cept an occasional sheepherder, an you know what a cattleman thinks of a sheepherder in these parts.”

 

Adam and Red just chatted away as they rode the last few miles into Phoenix about this and that. Now who would have thought Adam could talk to a gal like that, much less keep her interested that long. Once Adam let the Dooley’s off at the livery, he headed towards the dry goods store as he mulled over the little tidbits of information Red had given him. Laylow was gonna be in for it if he was found by any of the Dooley’s cause they didn’t look like wanted anything but a piece of his hide.

 

Adam lazed around the dry goods store whilst the storekeep looked over his list of the normal supplies needed for desert survival. He eyed Adam when he got to the ammunition list but didn’t say anything even though twenty-five boxes of rifle cartridges is a big order round these parts and when you add another fifteen boxes of shotshells, somebody is going to war.

 

The rest of the order was the normal bill of fare items like lard, flour, sugar, coffee, hardtack, whiskey, bandages, liniment, and some other dry goods most ranchers would order to keep a good sized crew workin’. The supply order wouldn’t be ready until the next morning so Adam looked the town over a mite as he lazed around thinking he might just head down to the saloon for a glass of rye.

 

Adam was setting out on the boardwalk near the saloon on a barrel of pickled pork when Red came riding by on her newly acquired saddle stock, poor as it was. Adam could tell it was forced but she smiled anyway and waved as she passed him going out of town. It was likely she smiled at him more because he had given her a ride to town more than anything else. Adam watched them until they had ridden out of sight then limped back over to the dry goods store where he paid for his order so he could take his time getting around in the morning and wouldn’t have a lot of extra money on him if he spent some time in the saloon later on.

 

The storekeeper was a friendly kind of fella who offered to let Adam leave his wagon in the alley overnight so they could load it early once he got done with breakfast and could get onto the trail before it got too hot. Adam thought that was a good idea so took the wagon around and parked it off to the side out of the way so other folks could get through if they needed then unhitched the horses and led them to the livery that was just across the street.

 

There wasn’t much doin’ in town that night so Adam made it to his room fairly early considering he usually was in bed shortly after the sun went down when he was to home. Come morning, Adam took his time loading up the wagon soes he could look the town over a bit more as it was waking up for the new day.

 

There was the town drunk settin’ off to the side of the store lookin’ mighty sorrowful as Adam loaded the food and whiskey onto the wagon. Adam studied the man and could tell he had seen better days for sure. His clothes were in tatters, his boots run down at the heel, and he smelled like he had been sleeping in the bottom of the outhouse for a month. Adam, seeing him there lookin’ poor and broken down like he was, offered him a drink then asked, “Anybody strange around town pard?”

 

The old drunk perked right up when Adam dragged that bottle of kerosene-cut whiskey out as he looked at him through those blood-shot, all knowing eyes that used to belong to a top hand ‘round these parts. His hands shook so bad he had to use both of them to hold the bottle to get himself a drink. It took a bit but he was able to gulp a good slug down and his hands started to steady just a little bit.

 

“No sir, not too many strangers through here and not much of anything special happening around since the Earp’s rode out to Colton. Hear tell it there is a surly fella up in Jerome creatin’ quite a stir fer himself though. He got himself into a fight with a miner up there an' pert near tore the town up. Somebody said his name was Curly er something like that,” he said as he passed the bottle back to Adam. “Jerome is wide open and they get a lot more action than we do down here in the valley.”

 

“Seen that Dooley bunch that I brought in yesterday before? Here, have another, you look like you could use it.”

 

The tore-up man took the bottle eagerly and took another good looong drink before saying, “Heard of ‘em and nothing I’ve heard has been good. I hear T-Bone is the worst of the lot but his gal Red ain’t no better. I heard tell she’ll touch a match to a town as fast as she can strike it and don’t care who might be in the buildin’ when it goes up.”

 

“You didn’t hear it from me but I think Red’s the worst one of the bunch, worse than T-Bone hisseff. Goatneck Clem and Shotgunner are his brothers and will violate the wimmin’ folk faster ‘n’ a rattler can strike and they’ll probably be runnin’ with Nuttin’ Graceful, Nuttin’ Honey, Ringo Fire, Cowhand, Spur Roberts, Ben Scalped, Cowtown Billy, and a passel of others from Fort Worth and English over in East Texas. If’n they’re riding this way, you watch out if you want to live very long.”

 

“Another one you’ll want to watch out for is a yeller-haired gal they call Rocky Meadows from Houston. She’s mighty purty and seems to have all the tools she needs to charm most any man to do her bidding. She’ll pull a cork with the best of any man and keep up to them till they go under the table whilst she watches. You mind her too cause she can ride and sling lead with the likes of Harden or the rest so it’s best not to get on her bad side.”

 

“When she’s done slinging lead or showing the men how to tip a bottle back, you might could find her at the barber shop cutting some of those old cowhand’s hair with them a donating a month’s pay to some widow or orphans home to help them through a hard time before she’s done with them. She’s almighty knowin’ and you might find her doin’ just about anything you could imagine and a lot you would never think a woman like her would do.”

 

“Worst thing might be is you’ll fall in love with her, like all the rest, and git yer heart broke with the best of them. She’s a Dooley fer sure but I heard some talk that she runs with the low down no good bunch from out west they call the Dammit Gang. Never could figger out how that attraction came about but hear tell she was smitten by an old drover called Youngblood but don’t know fer sure.”

 

“It’ll pay for you to stay shut of that bunch friend. They are poison mean and tend to leave a lot of bodies stacked around before they leave town.” The loafer looked real serious about the whole Dooley subject as he passed the bottle back.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind friend,” Adam said. “Have you heard what the Dooley’s are doing out of Texas? It’s mighty strange they would be botherin’ with us over to here unless there was to be a lot of money involved.”

 

“No sir,” the drunk drawled, “I haven’t heard too much on that neither. All I can tell ya is they went to California to get something and didn’t have no luck getting it. Rumor is there was some woman involved down in some no account town called Chimney Rock and the Dooley’s were sent out of town a packin’ with Spur Roberts’ twin brother and some others getting’ turned into a worm hotels before the fightin’ was over with.”

 

“I heard tell they HAD a herd of horses the Dooley’s had “acquired” from California Territory too but lost them up towards Wickenburg a day or so ago. ‘Ppears the owner of them horses followed them all that way from California and took the horses back, just him and his woman against six or seven Dooley’s. Then, a miner I know from up that way said some marauders hit ‘m agin’ yesterday evening and run their saddle stock off again.”

 

“He said that Red Dooley is hoppin’ mad and she’s a takin’ it out on her men somethin’ fierce. They weren’t able to buy good horses when they were here the first time because the mines are snatching up everything good so now they’re heading back here on a couple of old crow baits and a used up mule they got from him.”

 

“They’re gonna head for Benson in a wagon and try to get mounted again, that is if they can get any good horses there so they can ride to meet up with T-Bone who is supposed to coming this way from east Texas pretty soon,” the worn out loafer said looking at the bottle in Adam’s hand with a yearnin’ written across his face.

 

Handing the bottle back to the man Adam said, “Keep that bottle friend. It’s been good talkin’ to ya. What was your name again?”

 

“Why, my name is Wily Yankee from Tombstone, glad to meet you too and hope to see you down the trail.”

 

Adam got his horses, hitched them up in short order, then stepped into the wagon seat and headed west out of town to meet up with the wagon train full of Dammit’s. A few miles out of town Adam turned off the main road when he saw a cairn alongside the trail. Under it was a poker chip to show the gang had left a sign for him to know how close they were to the settlement. Adam looked around, spotting a faint trail through the brush, then followed it with his eyes to get an idea of their direction.

 

Adam followed the trail into the brush until it turned into a dim wagon road leading south into the chaparral. It wasn’t long, maybe a half hour or so, before he met up with Captain Jake and the rest of his party camped in a shallow canyon where they had found a hidden spring with enough water to take care of their stock and to get themselves washed free of the alkali dust. Adam was quick to relate the information he had learned from Wily the wino to the group of gunmen. There was a sense of urgency now for they knew who was involved and knew it was going to be worse than they had originally thought.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 11

 

NOT AGAIN DAMMIT!

 

In Phoenix, Red had only been able to buy some used up old crowbaits not worth much more than just ridin’ slow and pretty much worthless for herding horses or riding hard and a couple of stubborn old mules. She kind of cottoned to the mules though because they reminded her of T-Bone especially on those contrary days when he wanted to scrap. The tack she found wasn’t much better. There was an old McClellan and some other kind of homemade outfit that wasn’t much good, barely better than riding bareback so now Red was in another one of those black moods she got when things weren’t goin’ her way.

 

All the way back to their torn up camp, the drovers steered clear of her for there was a death wish to anyone sayin’ anything to her right now. They would start back for Texas tomorrow with no money, no horses, and no bible. Can it get any worse? If she only knew Bangtail and Ricochet Roy were out in the brush even then, waiting for dark then she would know that it could get worse, much worse.

 

The second attack came as suddenly as the first although the stampede was not nearly as spirited cause the only horses they had at present were the mules and old nags that weren't as excitable as the fresh broke cowponies they had left Texas with or the ones they had “come across” along the trail. One of the nags ran, well kinda loped, past Red’s tent during the stampede cutting the lines holding it up and causing it to collapse while she was still inside, again! All that could be seen was something thrashing around under that canvas sounding like a wild bull fighting a pack of wolves.

 

Just like before, a Bowie knife came through the material like butter cutting an opening and Red came a boilin’ out of that mess fit to kill. The men came over to try to help her but the look on Red’s face was more than enough to make them retreat at a dead run. The devil herself could not have made a more hateful face or have become more deadly than that one woman was at that very minute. There wasn’t any part of her that wasn’t mad, ready to bite, scratch, kick, cut, or gut-shoot anybody or anything standing in her way. Well, there was the answer to her question, it could get worse and did.

 

“That cuts it, twice in one day is too damn much for me,” she said, “I’m taking the train to Abilene and riding to home from there. The rest of you men are going over to Tombstone and wait for me to get back with T-Bone. He’ll put things to right when he gets here, Texas style.”

 

Red crawled back into her tore down tent and found some clothes that weren’t too beat up then went and got dressed for the trail. Walkin’ again she thought. Well, might as well get started while it’s still cool. Something else worryin’ Red was, how is she going to explain all of this to T-Bone? He wasn’t gonna be none too happy about this, no, he was going to be down right miserable to be around because of this “little” miscue in judgment.

 

Well, T-Bone’s been mad before and Red knew how to handle T-Bone all right. Once the remnants of their torn up camp were assembled, the rag-tag bunch headed off towards Phoenix, finally back towards T-Bone and East Texas. This time there would be no wagon a comin’ along to give the worn out rustlers a lift to Phoenix. They would have to walk all the way into the city, some twenty miles, over the next several hours so none of them would be fit to be sociable when they hit town.

 

The Dooley’s were nearly done in when they happened by an old worry hole with a grizzled miner settin’ in front of a makeshift lean-to. He was a friendly sort of fella who had a couple of pack horses and a jackass they could have for a price so they were once again a horseback, although bareback this time, on stock so poor they might be lucky to make it to Phoenix.

 

A very foot-worn, butt-tired bunch finally straggled into the Phoenix train depot late the next day to see Red off at last. There weren’t too many of the men sorry to see her get on that train considering what torment she put them through as they made their way to town. To reward themselves for getting her there safely, the men would hit the saloon before hunting down more horses or a wagon to get mounted for Tombstone.

 

The liquor would ease their own parched thirst and would soften up the chewin’ Red had given them all the way to town for losing the horses. Course the loss of the horses wasn’t really their fault but that didn’t matter none cause when Red was on the prod, it was everyone’s fault but her’s.

 

Once settled onto the Train, Red got cleaned up and began returning to her normally congenial self as the southern belle from East Texas. She was deep in thought as the train made its way east for she had to come up with a believable story for T-Bone before she got back to Texas. Horses, men, time, and money had been lost on this trip and T-Bone wasn’t fool enough to believe the truth or at least the part of the truth Red wanted to remember.

 

Miles fell away quickly behind her leaving the death, destruction, and her bible in some distant memory that she hoped had been a nightmare. Red watched out the window hour after hour contemplating her problem and why she had gone west in the first place.

 

A couple heading for St. Louis sat across from her for a time and tried making casual conversation but she was distant and obviously distracted. Red had tried her best to be above the hatred she felt at her predicament but it obviously must have showed for the couple moved on finding another seat some distance away from her.

 

In Abilene, Red got off the train and was able to get a good horse with a decent saddle for the last few miles back to the ranch. It would still take three more days to get to the ranch but that would be fine with her since she was in her country now and was safe enough for camping alone.

 

Back in the saddle of a good horse is what Red needed to soften her temperament a mite for it was her favorite pastime to ride with her face into the wind and her hair flying wildly behind her. Miles on the prairie meant nothing to her for riding was to her as opium is to an addict.

 

On the last night before riding onto the ranch property, Red camped on the banks of the South Sulpher River. The soft rustling sounds of the water did as much to calm Red’s tired nerves as did the many miles in the saddle.

 

The following morning, Red found a secluded pool near to some huge boulders where she bathed for the first time in days it seemed, washing the dust of many miles from her hair and her clothes.

 

It was a warm day so she basked against one of the larger boulders while the sun dried her and warmed her tired muscles. From a distance it seemed Red was at her most venerable, lying there naked in the sun. For those who knew her best, also knew there would be a Colt close by and the nakedness would mean nothing to her in a fight. She might end up with a powder burn or two in unmentionable places but anyone trying to molest her would end up with a belly full of lead for their troubles.

 

The nights of solitude on the prairie had been good medicine for Red for they were pure, quiet, and problem free. Morning would break each day with Red waking as the sky just started turning gray. The sun would slowly peek its bright face over the distant horizon showering the new day in bold sunlight.

 

Red would watch the sun slowly gain altitude, warming anything its gentle rays could reach. Ahhhhh, she thought, this was her favorite time of the day, and everything was right with the world, at least for a little while until the evils of man would taint it.

 

Red’s peace was about to come to an end for when she came riding into the ranch yard come mid-morning on that third day, she would be needing to settle up things with T-Bone over this whole mess. Red had taken her time to cover that last couple of miles to home but finally topped the rise looking down to the ranch. She pulled up on the ridge one last time as she gazed upon the holdings surrounding the ranch house.

 

Something was wrong at the Badlands Bar-3, men and horses were standing three-legged everywhere about as if waiting for some command to ride. It was clear there was trouble here but was it at the ranch or was T-Bone riding against someone like he had done in the old days when Texas was still wild.

 

Red rode through the ranch yard and over to the corral where she handed the reins to her mount over to the wrangler as if she had just been out on a morning ride but then she heard him start yellin’.

 

“RED! Where and what in the wholly blue blazes have you been up to?”

 

T-Bone seemed a little ticked but there was just as good a chance he had been worried about her since the telegraph wires had been burning up countryside with the happenings of the Dooley’s in California Territory. Now Red knew it was kinda normal for him to be rough around the edges and to growl a bunch but T-Bone appeared to be in rare form today. Well Red thought, news of her exploits must have gotten here before she did and from the way T-Bone is acting, he wasn’t taking what he had heard all that well.

 

Red hesitated for just a moment or two by the corral before she headed for the house where ‘Ole T-Bone was a standin’ on the porch stompin’ around like a coyote ready to jump on a three-legged jackrabbit. He didn’t much like being kept waiting but that was one thing Red would do to him just to keep the suspense up for a while longer. Red looked over at him worrying the death out of that porch and thought to herself, “I’ll be your huckleberry T-Bone Dooley,” then strode off straight into the throes of his wrath.

[T-Bone SASS #36388]

Jim,great story. Can't wait till the Gang reunion in Tombstone next year. What is the best time of the year for the Dammits? I talked to a few few of the old Dooley Gang and they are ready to ride.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Jim,great story. Can't wait till the Gang reunion in Tombstone next year. What is the best time of the year for the Dammits? I talked to a few few of the old Dooley Gang and they are ready to ride.

We had such a great time in Tombstone didn't we?

 

I wish I could say the gang would make the ride to Tombstone but most lost direction with no one to lead them after Laylow made his last ride. The Tombstone Ghost Riders doesn't exist anymore either. We did have a Dammit reunion with about 40 folks a couple of years ago at Chorro Valley but now even they have mostly moved on.

 

So, all that being said, a Dooley/Dammit reunion is not likely to happen. Now watch out cause yer probably gonna see a few Dammit badges at Winter Range. There are a few of us that still come together to ride the rimrock and come to town from time to time to consort with lewd wimmin' and have a snort or two .

 

 

 

[Griff]

Y'all better watch out at Back At'Cha 2016... Them chickens now have eyes, and don't have to rely on ninja like reflexes to avoid yer bullets!

[Tyrel Cody]

Y'all better watch out at Back At'Cha 2016... Them chickens now have eyes, and don't have to rely on ninja like reflexes to avoid yer bullets!

We'll have to put down a heavy layer of smoke then, so they can't see the bullets comin'.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 12

 

TIME TO FESS UP

Red took her own sweet time strolling over to where T-Bone was a standing cause she knew she was in for an a$$ chewing or at least a lecture for being gone so long. Now ‘Ole T-Bone had never been accused of being a patient man or one who held anything back when it came time to say something what was on his mind and today wasn’t going to be no different from the way he started out.

 

“Red! Dammit, what have you been up to and where is Shotgunner, Ringo, Spur’s twin brother, Goatneck, and Cowtown Billy? For that matter, where’s the other men who rode out with you as escorts? And what’s this business with Big Ed Douglas and him a callin’ me out? I won’t have no two-bit cowhide puncher callin’ me a no account poor excuse for a Texan hidin’ behind no girl’s petticoats. The jig is up missy, you better pony up some answers mighty fast.” T-Bone was as antsy as a schoolgirl in a whorehouse and waiting for Red to spill the beans was wearin’ on him something fierce.

 

“Whatever are you talking about darlin’?” Red said acting totally innocent of doing anything wrong. “I haven’t seen the men going to Tombstone since I left here a month ago. You just pull those horns back in and we’ll have a cup of Arbuckle’s to sort this out.” With that, Red just brushed past T-Bone matter ‘O’ factly and went into the ranch house without sayin’ another word.

 

T-Bone was fit to be tied and had that balled up look now not knowing how to let off some steam with Red just blowin’ him off like she done. He knew he had men dead in Arizona and California since he had gotten the wires from the local Sheriff in each county telling him where to send for the men’s traps or their bodies if’n he wanted them to bury in Texas.

 

He pulled the makin’s out of a vest pocket and started rolling a quirly while he mulled the whole thing over. Red was up to something and he was going to get to the bottom of it. It probably would be best not to do it in front of the men though T-Bone thought to himself. Red didn’t like getting dressed down in front of anyone much less the ranch hands. He finished his home rolled, turned on his heel, then went up the steps he went and into the house after Red to finish their little talk.

 

At the door he turned and barked back to Nuttin’, “Get the horses saddled and keep them that way. We’re going to riding to Tombstone soon as I get some answers from Red.” Nuttin’ turned and headed for the barn smiling to himself cause he knew Red Dooley was in charge here, not T-Bone.

 

Red was coming down the stairs slow and graceful like a true southern belle making her first appearance at the spring ball as T-Bone stepped through the threshold of his kingdom. She had changed out of her riding clothes and into the more gentile look of that southern royalty she tried so hard to emulate. Her hair is all curled now and there is the fragrance of some new toilet water in the air.

 

He had always liked that dress for Red made the dress move like no other woman could. There seemed to be a sashay in that dress even when she wasn’t movin’, all she had to do was put it on. Damn that gal, she is trying to confuse him agin’ and get his blood ‘ta boilin.’ Problem was, it was workin’ and she knew it.

 

No matter how hard T-Bone wanted to stay mad at Red for her little escapade out west, she wasn’t gonna let him be. Wellllllll T-Bone thought, it’ll be all right. He’ll just fix this little thing for her once again. Course, he’s a gonna get a little sugar from her by playing mean and hard to get, least fer a little while, before he let her off the hook for getting Dooley men killed. Seein’ T-Bone comin’, Red turned towards the kitchen for that welcome cup of Arbuckle’s.

 

After a fashion and a cup of coffee T-bone said, “Alright Red, time to come clean. I know you’ve been up to something you’re not telling me about and I need to know what it is before we ride to Tombstone and the killin’ starts. Don’t make me jerk a knot in your tail to find out.”

 

Red lifted the coffee cup to her lips, sipping the steaming Arbuckle’s, savoring the taste of fresh brewed coffee. She looked at T-Bone over the edge of the cup with those big puppy dog eyes of hers then took another sip of coffee before she began to tell her story.

 

“Bone, I am gonna give it to you straight cause I know you like it that way. Big Ed sold the deed to a silver mine I wanted to a gambler who lost it in a game to another man named Adam Cartwright. He is also known as ADammit who rides with your nemesis, Laylow Curly. I made up a story ordering Big Ed out of Tombstone and signed your name to it because your name carries some weight around the territory where mine doesn’t.”

 

“Course to make sure Big Ed knew this wasn’t a game, I had the men put a little more on it before they left town and rode out behind ADammit to “convince” him to sell the deed to me. I didn’t figure Big Ed would connect me to it but he figured it out right quick. I knew he would be putting a call out for Laylow Curly but who knew he would come a running to Tombstone for him so quick like he is doin’. I didn’t want the other men to have to deal with Laylow before you got there cause you know how he is.”

 

“That dog don’t hunt woman,” T-Bone barked. “There are five dead men over to Apache Pass, Dooley men. Laylow and his gang killed them after they tried to dry-gulch that miner Cartwright instead of buying him out. The Sheriff over there sent me a wire laying it all out.”

 

“I got another wire from a Sheriff in Tehachapi with two more Dooley bodies pushing up daisies after they tried to kidnap some kid over there and then something about stealing a herd of horses. Come clean gal, I know you are up to something you ain’t saying.”

 

Red was uncomfortable on the hot seat like she was and a bit miffed T-Bone had found out all of those things so fast but started her tale again only this time she was going to cut a little closer to the truth. “I went to Tehachapi myself to get something from my sister. I lied to you cause you didn’t know about her and I thought it better that a way. When I couldn’t get what I wanted, I let the men drive off the horses to sell them soes we could come back with a little something.”

 

“It had gone pretty well until we were attacked by Indians north of the Sonoran Desert and lost the horses. We got attacked again even after the horses were gone before I finally had enough and got on the train for home. There were a couple of men killed in the attack but the rest of the men are in Tombstone waiting for you.”

 

“Red, there’s no Indians raiding near to Phoenix. They are over towards Wilcox, Deming, St. David, and Benson. What makes you think you were hit by Indians?” T-Bone quizzed.

 

Red was clearly puzzled, “The men said they saw moccasin tracks near to where the horses were picketed.”

 

Red realized she had been taken by one of the oldest tricks in the book and she started to get mad when T-Bone started laughing, “You got took girl, just like the rest of us have been taken in the past.”

 

“So what was so important you couldn’t tell me about your sister? Why didn’t you tell me you even had a sister?” T-Bone asked.

 

“I can’t and won’t tell you T-Bone, I can’t tell anyone, ever.”

 

“Girl, I think there is a lot more to this little adventure of yours that you are leavin’ out of the story but no never mind. You are my woman and I will stand up for you. There better not be any more surprises from you or there will be some come and uppin’s from somebody. We’re riding for Tombstone in the morning to settle this up with Big Ed once and for all.”

 

Red was relieved T-Bone wasn’t wanting anything more from her. This whole thing has gone sour from the git go but maybe he can get it a flowing the right direction once they get to Tombstone. Leastways Red didn’t think it could get much worse but then she had thought that before at the rustler camp after they had been hit once already. Red knew she was in this way too deep now to try to backtrack out of it and she still didn’t have that bible.

 

The conversation finally turned to the more mundane topics of getting ready for the trail and what they were gonna be doing along the way across Texas. The cook had come into the kitchen by now and had started getting supper ready. Once the smells of food drifted into the air, Red realized just how hungry she was after the long trail back from Tehachapi. Before long, they were setting to the big table with several of T-Bone’s brothers as they ate and planned their trip.

 

Once supper was over, Red retired to their bedroom while T-Bone and the boys went out onto the veranda where they sat smoking a cigar to settle their stomachs. They may not get too much chance to relax on the trail so they were taking advantage of the little time they had now. Come early tomorrow morning, they would be riding west into the unknown of the desert not really knowing why they were going. It wouldn’t matter in the end cause a good fight, a bottle of rye, and a pretty prostitute would be waiting for them when the fighting was over in Tombstone.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 13

 

PARTY TIME DAMMIT!

 

Jerome, AT, was perched on top of Cleopatra Hill looking down into the Verde Valley in north central Arizona. The area was first settled in 1583 with the first Anasazi and Yavapai Indians then the Spanish a few years later in 1598. The Indians and the Spanish mined copper from the mountain to make much needed goods but the Spanish thought the mines were too poor because they showed too little silver or gold. Little would they know 800 Million dollars worth of ore would be excavated from that copper mountain mother lode.

 

The mass migration west after the ’49 gold rush found Jerome in 1876 needing men when full scale copper mining was being pursued in earnest. The town, like many boomtowns out west, was divided into two distinctly different social sections. The socialites lived up the hill in their aristocratic mansions while the miners, prostitutes, gamblers, and the like lived on the hogback leading down the hill towards the Verde Valley and Clarkdale.

 

The trail from Prescott pointed east into Jerome and led down a narrow trail cut alongside the mountain below and through the socialite area to a switchback by the church then down to the working district. Youngblood’s squaw had stayed on in Prescott so it was just the four men riding slowly down the narrow trail leading into town, the sounds of the horse’s steel shoes echoing through the silence of the mountain air.

 

They were trailing a single packhorse they had picked up in Prescott to carry supplies for their trip and looked like any other bunch of punchers who rode from ranch to ranch on the grubline. They found the livery, got the horses stabled, and fed them a generous bait of corn, rare to be found in the desert. Once the horses were taken care of, Laylow and his men strolled down the main street as they watched the bustle of daily life in the wide-open boomtown.

 

At Belgian Jennies Bordello and Saloon, Laylow turned in for a meal and a drink. Double Scotch was looking the Cribs District, Jerome’s infamous Prostitution Row, up and down with keen interest while Youngblood was turning into English Kitchen for his dinner vowing to meet up with Laylow later on for a drink. Laylow could see Jittery Jim was suspiciously eyen’ the Cuban Queen so he didn’t really think any of his men would be along anytime soon.

 

It wasn’t but just a minute before Belgian Jenny, Jerome’s most famous madam, spotted Double Scotch eying the girls so snatched him up on her arm and was leading him to the cribs in the back alley. It looked like everyone was settling in for a good time so Laylow sidled up the bar for his first bottle. He ordered a dinner of steak and potatoes then headed to a table in the corner of the room until a perky gal brought him his food.

 

He was hungry and ate with the deliberation of someone whose stomach thought their throat had been cut. Laylow finished his meal about the time Youngblood showed up so the men were ready for a good time of their own now. Jittery Jim and Double Scotch had already found their diversion for the evening so now it’s Laylow and Youngblood’s turn.

 

Whiskey flowed in rivers through Jerome’s saloons every evening when the miners came up from the depths of the mountain and into town. The miners worked brutally hard during the day and were working equally as hard at night in the saloons or the cribs as a reward for a good day’s effort.

 

The miners started rolling into the saloons in droves by early evening with whiskey beginning to run as the two gunmen began to loosen up, washing the trail dust from their throats. Laylow and Youngblood had started playing a few hands of cards with the locals to relax a bit and to fatten their poke even just a little if they could. The miners were known to be foolish with their money and lost it readily to the two strangers.

 

Soiled doves perused the crowd plying their sport with any of the men who showed some interest in a “good time” with the cribs in the alley quite literally rocking all night. A popular prostitute in Jerome could make as much as twenty-five to thirty dollars in a night, more than the miners or cowboys could make in a month slaving behind a rope or a pick. Life was good to doves in Jerome.

 

The tin-panny sounds of the saloon pianos echoed into the mountain air as men drank and danced with the girls, rot gut whiskey lifting their spirits away from the miserable, treacherous work in the mines. Soon enough, Laylow and Youngblood had built up a big poke, mined from the pockets of the drunken men and were getting ready to take their leave when a big Cornish miner took exception.

 

“You strangers aren’t going to leave this town without giving me another chance to win my money back!” The big man bellowed.

 

The miner had been drinking heavily but the effects of the alcohol were showing little affect on him as of yet. Laylow could see where this was going so handed his winnings to Youngblood then stood up to meet the miner’s challenge head on.

 

“Friend,” Laylow said, “I have no quarrel with you but if you feel cheated, then let’s get this settled outside soes the furniture in this bar isn’t damaged when you fall on it.”

 

Now maybe the alcohol was talking for Laylow or maybe he was itching for a fight, a good fight for the Cornish man was huge with fists as big as tree trunks. There was no doubt Laylow had imbibed aplenty for he and Youngblood were feeling little pain at that point or he may have reconsidered fighting a man who showed the scars of many other “contests” in the past.

 

The miner showed a huge grin with several teeth missing for he had been at these same crossroads many times before. Heading for the batwing doors, the miner motions Laylow towards the street where they would take their personal duel. As Laylow stepped past the table, he handed Youngblood his gun belt for safekeeping.

 

Once outside, the two men started circling like two raging bulls waiting for the other man to charge. Laylow was the first to move as he charged up to the big man like a madman swinging a left jab and a right uppercut to his still smiling face. Laylow had put just about every bit of energy he had into his fists yet the miner was unfazed. Uh oh, Laylow thought, this might be a little more work than he had expected. He put everything into those punches and it did little more than to tickle the man.

 

It was the miner’s turn now so he struck out with a jab that jarred Laylow through his heels and to the ground. That huge fist connected on Laylow’s right-side jawbone like an ax handle hitting an oak tree. Laylow saw stars like never before with pain exploding into his brain. His brain was barely working in a fog as the miner worked him over like a punching bag. He couldn’t seem to remember ever getting hit that hard in any of the fights he had been in before.

 

Then came a smashing right that sent Laylow through the hitching post and into the water trough where he came up sputtering with a barrage of gutter language. Oh lord, Laylow thought as his feet left the ground, this is going the wrong direction and fast. Laylow might have passed out from the blow but the cold water kept him conscious, at least for now so he could suffer a bit longer.

 

Laylow leapt from the trough, shaking the water from his hair, and waited as he tasted the blood on his lips. It tasted good and it was like giving Laylow a second wind. The miner was getting over confident now and waded into Laylow with both arms swinging. Laylow was wary now for he knew he couldn’t take that kind of beating for too long and survive this fight. He would have to fight a lot smarter than he had in the past and he would need to start getting smarter right now. Laylow was waiting for the miner this time and caught him coming in, driving a right fist into the miner’s solar plexus that staggered him.

 

Laylow cracked him in the jaw with a stiff upper cut and another to the miner’s ribs as he staggered back a little then circled warily. So the cowpoke has got a little fight left in him then, that’s good the miner thought. The miner charged in suddenly and got Laylow in a bear hug. He began to crush Laylow with his huge arms clamped around him like a vise. Laylow could feel the cartilage in his chest begin to pop and ribs start flexing as the air was being squeezed from his lungs.

 

Laylow knew he needed to get free from the man right now so he jabbed at the miner’s eyes with his thumbs while he clawed at the miner’s ears with the rest of his fingers. The man roared with pain as he threw Laylow across the street into the large crowd of onlookers.

 

Laylow landed on his back but was up as quick as a mountain cat. Both men were breathing heavily now for the battle was starting to wear on their stamina. After just a few seconds, they walked into each other driving punch after punch into each other’s bodies. It was a slugfest now with each man taking a beating, giving a beating. Blows rained into each man as if Satan was driving them to destroy each other. Laylow could taste the blood without licking his lips now for his lips were bruised and battered to a pulp. Did he start to detect less energy in the miner’s punches?

 

This man was hardened by the mine and unusually strong but he was used to his strength overpowering other men quickly however, rarely needing the stamina for a prolonged battle against a really tough man hardened by the wind and sun of the desert. He had limited stamina for fights since they were usually over quickly. It would end up costing him dearly this time for he was gasping for air now, not just breathing heavily.

 

Laylow could tell the man was tiring quickly and knew he could win now so drew on some hidden reserve of energy to keep fighting on like a madman. The miner had a different plan in mind though and, if he could only get a hold of Laylow once again, he would finish him off now like all the others. The miner circled then charged into Laylow with his head down trying the butt him. He was a fraction too slow so Laylow was able to get set up and caught the miner coming in using a rolling hip block to deflect him, knocking him soundly to the ground.

 

The miner hit the ground hard but came back surprisingly fast. He kneed Laylow in the groin and hit him with a roundhouse to the side of the head knocking Laylow’s face into the dirt. Laylow rolled to his left at the last second as the miner’s boots landed where Laylow’s head was just a fraction of a second before. Instantly both men were back on their feet, bloodied and battered but still full of fire. The miner had given it his best and now was just trying to stay alive for his desire to win was gone along with most of his energy.

 

Laylow stepped in again and punched the miner repeatedly to the wind to a point the miner had started to wheeze. The miner’s left cheek was laid open to the bone and his eye was swelling shut but he kept coming. Laylow stepped back for a moment then charged in again with a right and left to the solar plexus, the miner staggered again. Laylow licked his lips again tasting the fresh blood to charge him up for the kill. This is it, he thought as he walked forward driving more punches to the miner’s wind.

 

Right, left, right, left, pause, right uppercut to the point of his chin. Left again to the solar plexus and another right uppercut, this time lifting the miner up onto his tiptoes. The miner’s eyes glassed over but he still stood on wobbling legs for nearly a minute before toppling onto the street in a heap. He tried to lift himself off the dirt street to get back into the fight but could not so sagged limp where he fell.

 

Laylow stepped up to the miner once he had come around and offered his hand to help him up. Once he was standing, Laylow said, “You’re too good a man to beat to death, let’s have a drink.”

 

“That sounds damn good to me,” the beaten man said then both men staggered to the bar, arm in arm, where Youngblood had two stiff drinks waiting for the men.

 

The whiskey burned their battered lips but it tasted good mixed with the blood from battle. Laylow and the miner relived the battle over several bottles of rye, laughing and lying until the wee hours of the next morning. Upon parting, the men shook hands heartily for now they would be lifetime friends.

 

The miner said, “You ever need anything, anything at all while you’re in this territory Laylow, you jest send me word and I’ll get to you or get you what you need. You’re a hand Curly, a real man who whupped me fair and square. I shall always call you my friend.”

 

Laylow loved a good battle, no matter the weapons, and this fight had been one of the best ever so would be remembered and talked about throughout the country. Word of it would spread through the territory to stretch the legend of Laylow Curly and would make it to the Dooley camp soon enough.

 

The Dooley’s wouldn’t be looking for them yet, Laylow thought but they would hear of this fight so would think the gang was heading in the wrong direction and may not know about Big Ed yet. As Laylow looked around, he saw Double Scotch and Jittery Jim who had been watching from a distance. They were in the crowd if needed but now they had a different sport to finish playing so moseyed back to the cribs. He would see them tomorrow when they were done.

 

Late that night, Laylow finally staggered off to bed or was it a bed? It might have been one of the Double Scotch Hotel enterprises. All he seemed to remember was some kind of blue tree with funny looking palm frond type branches. Where had he seen this tree before? Laylow was asleep before his head hit the pillow for he had finished his work for the day and had earned this night’s sleep. He was going to take full advantage of it cause he was tired and he had to be in the saddle bright and early tomorrow morning.

 

The gang was looking a little rough around the edges when they hit the trail out of Jerome the next morning heading towards Holbrook. Jittery Jim and Double Scotch had stupid grins on their faces that didn’t seem to change too much. Just what did they get into in those cribs last night?

 

Laylow looked the worst for the wear of the whole bunch. His lips were swollen and tattered, one eye was nearly swelled shut, and he had knuckle bumps all over his head. How did he even get his hat on today? Youngblood was the only one who looked normal, well normal for Youngblood. The whiskey never seemed to bother him or at least he never let it show but then you never could tell what was going on with an Indian behind those eyes.

 

It would be three easy days ride to Holbrook or two, if’n you didn’t want to spare the horses. They would be climbing to over 7000’ through the Kaibab as they drifted towards Holbrook so given their current condition, Laylow and his gang chose to save the horses as much as it would save the pain in their heads.

 

As they traversed through the Kaibab, the men soaked in the intense beauty surrounding them with elk and antelope bounding through the trees in front of them. Majestic mule deer would stand and watch the group while coveys of quail flushed as they rode steadily east, the forest teeming with many such game animals in abundance. Laylow shot an antelope along about mid-afternoon so there will be steak tonight (for the eye and the stomachs).

[T-Bone SASS #36388]

Jim, so sorry to hear about the old Gang. We still have our memories about the last ride to Tombstone. Looks like we will have to join up with our Gangs and ride north in the spring. This all makes for a great story and remember our youth of yesterday.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Jim, so sorry to hear about the old Gang. We still have our memories about the last ride to Tombstone. Looks like we will have to join up with our Gangs and ride north in the spring. This all makes for a great story and remember our youth of yesterday.

Yer right about that my friend. :-) Course ya know, after all this storytellin', we might just make some new memories at Winter Range that will need to be chronicled. :-) There will be a few Dammits there like Howdy Doody, TopCat, Jacked Up, George Baylor, and a few more Texans what got inducted whilst we were in Tombstone. :-)

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 14

 

SOMEBODY IS WATCHING

 

The high mountain air was cool on their faces, clearing the fog from their brains from the previous stage-stop’s adventures. The men talked amongst themselves, reminiscing the good times they had during their misguided adventures since the gang got together.

 

Night camp was made in a cool hanging valley under a shelf of rock. The camp could not be seen from above or below unless a rider came into the valley along a hidden trail that rounded a steep cliff.

 

Once in camp, Double Scotch built a fire in a blackened pit showing the signs of many ancient fires. He used powder dry limbs to make the fire almost smokeless and broiled antelope steaks that really hit the spot after so many nights of dried jerky and cold sourdough biscuits.

 

The men headed to their bedrolls with full stomachs and not a care in the world since there was little chance the gang would be found in this high lonesome country. Hours before daybreak, Youngblood slid out of his blankets and slipped off into the darkness. A long time later, Youngblood returned to the camp as the men were starting to wake-up and roll out of their blankets.

 

Laylow was up early and saw Youngblood coming back into camp just before dawn so asked, “Where’d you head off to this morning old timer? Have you got another squaw hidden in the woods?”

 

“No squaw, thought I heard something out there last night whilst everyone was asleep so I went out there to see what I could find before the rest of you woke up and started making noise. There is something or someone following us Laylow. Don’t know what it is yet but its there and is keeping its distance.”

 

Laylow listened closely but was still nursing his thumped up body from the hoorah in Jerome and would be just as happy he didn’t have to scrap with nobody for at least a day or two till he healed up some.

 

The men took their time with breakfast and in saddling the horses for this was a pleasant place and peaceful for a change. Finally, when they couldn’t put it off any longer, they stepped into their saddles and turned their horses up the trail out of their hideout. The ride was uneventful for several hours as the men rode quietly towards their fate. At dusk, camp was made in a small grove of trees that would diffuse the smoke from their fire.

 

They weren’t really trying all that hard to be un-noticed but it never hurt none to pass quietly through the wilderness, especially now when they thought they were being followed. The men naturally placed their bedrolls away from the fire so no outlines could be seen from whoever might be following them. As the last man rolled into his blankets, Youngblood made his bed to look as if someone was in it then slipped out into the night to see if he could find the thing or person what was shadowing the night riders.

 

Along about midnight, everyone in the camp was woken up with a start. Just out of sight of the campfire they could hear something thrashing around in the brush something awful. After a minute or two, the men could hear some of the most blood-curdling profanity any of them had ever heard since they had come west across the big muddy. The men grabbed up their Colts and closed in on where they thought the noise was coming from when the caterwauling stopped, for a second anyway.

 

Youngblood stepped out from behind the brush about that time holding onto a scrawny little spitfire of a girl dressed in dirty buckskins. She was kicking and a clawing at Youngblood something fierce and cursing him for every breath he took and the day he was born. Youngblood’s hat was off in the weeds, his jacket torn open, his face was all scratched up, and he looked like he had been fighting with the devil.

 

Jittery Jim started laughing hysterically as he looked at the aging cowhand, “You let that little slip of a gal tear you up like that Youngblood?”

 

All the other men were laughing too until Double Scotch got a little too close for comfort. Bein’ the she-devil she was, that gal reached out and grabbed him by the hair and went to yanking. Double Scotch naturally went to hollerin’ like nobody’s business as he grabbed at her hands to get hisself free.

 

Laylow had been watching the fray with amusement then after he had enough of the fun, walked over to the girl, keepin’ his distance, and stared at her. He had his feet wide apart with his arms crossed with one hand scratching his goatee. He was giving her that look he gives Youngblood sometimes for no real reason. The girl slowly became mesmerized with Laylow and stopped fighting with the men.

 

“Catalina?” Laylow asked at last.

 

The girl’s look transformed from hatred, to terror, and then to relief as she finally seemed to recognize the man standing in front of her. “Yes Laylow, it’s Catalina,” she said softly.

 

Youngblood was dumbfounded and totally speechless as he watched what came over that girl, mind you Youngblood is never speechless. The girl had stopped fighting him so he was more than happy to let her go. As soon as she was loose, she ran to Laylow and jumped onto him, straddling him with a white knuckled grip and legs wrapped around Laylow’s waist like a vise. The girl was crying, Laylow was laughing, and nobody had a clue as to what this was all about. After several minutes, Laylow carried the girl over by the fire and sat down with her on a boulder.

 

“Catalina,” Laylow said, “I thought I would never find you. I have been looking for you for the last six years. I think I have traveled over every trail in the southwest hunting for you.”

 

“I knew you would never stop hunting for me Laylow. I was trying to get close to see if it was you at last but that old buffalo hunter snatched me out of the brush soes I went ta fightin’ just like ya taught me to,” Catalina replied.

 

“You taught her well Laylow,” Youngblood piped in.

 

“Now are you gonna keep us in suspense or you gonna tell us who this gal is?” Double Scotch asked.

 

Laylow looked a long time into the eyes of that gal then turned to his men to introduce their new guest. “Catalina, I want you to meet the original DAMMIT Gang. Youngblood and Double Scotch you already met and that’s Jittery Jim Jonah over yonder. I don’t know really know where to start fellas. When the war was over, I headed up to Montana and down to the Dakotas trying to get lost to forget all the blood and death. That bunch I got hooked up with down there that left me for dead had kidnapped this young girl on one of their raids.”

 

“She was very young at the time so I didn’t do anything about it because they were leaving her be. When I could, I would spend a lot of time with her showing her how to protect herself with fists, feet, claws, and weapons just in case she needed to. She was young and learned fast so I taught her about how to live off the land and how to hunt with traps and snares before the showdown.”

 

“When I got into the gun battle with that bunch, I had Catalina hidden away. I was planning on taking her with me when I left that day to get her as far away from them as I could get her. I got shot up real bad during the fight and couldn’t think about going back to get her then but when I could, I came back.”

 

“By the time I healed up enough to ride, she was gone and there was no sign of where she went or might have been taken. I taught her how to survive off the land so I knew she would be OK alone although I was haunted by the thought she might have been re-captured by that murdering bunch and turned into a slave for them.”

 

“It wasn’t for the longest time before I even knew she was Carlitos’ sister. I never said anything to anyone about her but have been hunting for her all these years of traveling through these mountains. The only one that ever knew anything was ‘Ole Youngblood cause I never could keep anything from him anyway but not even he knew everything or he might have been expecting her. Now that she is here, she is going to stay with us until I can get her back to Carlitos and his grandfather in California.”

 

The men naturally welcomed Catalina into camp then went on about their business letting Laylow and Catalina talk much of the rest of the night to catch up on her time alone in the mountains and how she survived out there all those years.

 

The rest of the camp had gone back to sleep for morning would break soon enough and it would be time for the sun to send them on their way up the trail. Holbrook was just a day away now and was where they would lay in a load of grub and maybe find Catalina a horse with some tack.

 

Jittery Jim seemed to have an affliction for “pretty” things and was a pretty good hand at locating stuff so he would be sent around town once they got there to find her some new clothes soes she could dress like a gal again.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 15

 

THE DOOLEY’S SLAP LEATHER FOR TOMBSTONE

T-Bone was awake long before sunup the next morning and in no kinda mood to be toyed with. Something had been brewin’ betwixt Laylow and T-Bone for a long time and it looked like it was finally going to get settled one way or tuther in Tombstone.

 

Not many folks knew the real story and they were being real closed mouthed about the little they did know. All anybody would ever say is Laylow and T-Bone had split over some land deal but by the end of this thing, everyone would know the truth.

 

Red was up with ‘Bone’ and was nearly ready for the trail. The men and packhorses were tied outside with several hands waiting for the orders to ride. Within the hour, Nuttin’ Graceful, Knifemaker, Cowhand, Ben Scalped, Red, and T-bone slap leather from the -3 headin’ for Dallas to pick-up Spur Roberts then on to Fort Worth for Cowtown Scout.

 

Rocky Meadows was said to be riding from Houston to meet up with the gang in Arizona, which would ordinarily be good news. The mood was somewhat subdued however because the news that Spur’s twin brother, Shotgunner, Goatneck Clem, Cowtown Billy, and Ringo were killed at Apache Leap along with a couple of others in Tehachapi, CT. had finally made it back to Texas. T-Bone was going to make someone pay for those killin’s although no one really knew if they were dead or not cause no one had seen the bodies. Sometimes those Texicans just won’t stay dead and show up just when you least expect them.

 

The raunchy Texas outfit took to the saddle and rode at a pretty decent clip for several hours for it was over a thousand miles to get to Tombstone. They needed to ride hard and fast if they wanted to get into some action, any kind of action. The route they would travel took them southwest through Sulpher Springs, County Seat for Hopkins County, where they took a half days rest while the horses grazed on the lush grasses watered by artesian sulpher springs common to the area.

 

Early the next morning found them riding through Greenville and on towards the Dallas, Fort Worth area where they will pick-up Spur and Cowtown at the stockyards. From Fort Worth, T-Bone led the gang west to Abilene. They would stop in Abilene for a day or two to rest the stock and let their hair down a mite while T-Bone sent out a telegraph or two. Abilene was always a good stop for the Texas boys to “relax” a mite.

 

Now Abilene was quite a town with a lot of history, not all of it good, built along the Smokey Hill Trail at the crossing of Armistead Creek. It was the county seat for Taylor County but was partly in Jones County. The area originally belonged to the Comanche’s but with the construction of Fort Phantom Hill, the takeover by the white settlers had started. The Fort was abandoned by 1854 with the permanent settlers coming into the country by the 1870’s able to protect themselves since the Indians were pushed onto reservations some distance away.

 

Abilene was a booming cattle town and was the destination of many huge cattle drives by 1867 when McCoy’s Great Western Stockyards welcomed the big herds with open arms. The railroad was waiting to ship the cattle and the town, well the town was ready for the money to flow but they weren’t always ready for the Texas drovers.

 

The Drover’s Cottage was "headquarters" for the Texans and the cattle buyers from the East so the Dooley’s were well known there and welcomed. By 1882 Abilene was a no gun packing town of sorts because the half-wild Texas cowhands ripe off the range had been getting a lot too much poison whiskey and would shoot up anything in sight, including the law.

 

The law had started west and the days of old where the green-broke Texans rode roughshod over the local town folk was not being tolerated any longer regardless of the amount of cattle and money they were bringing in. The civilized folks were coming and settin’ down roots trying to live peaceable for a change. There were several confrontations during the time when the western lawmen had to manhandle these young drovers who had gotten as wild as a March hare giving legend to the likes of Earp, Milton, and a host of others as the cow towns were getting tamed at long last.

 

The girls of the night were made to stay south of the railroad tracks in an area known as the Devil’s Addition. Naturally that would be where most of the Dooley drovers were heading when the horses were taken care of so they could wet their appetite and their whistle. Hopefully they wouldn’t draw the attention of the local law even though this town was still pretty much wide open. Marshall Tom Smith, Marshall Wild Bill Hickok, Ben Thompson, Phil Coe, and John Wesley Hardin were all well known names in Abilene and T-Bone didn’t want that kind of trouble, at least until after he dealt with Big Ed.

 

T-Bone made double darn sure the men knew they were not to start any problems while they were in Abilene. They would be no good to him rotting in a frontier jail and he wasn’t about to bail anyone out who could not follow his orders. As the Dooley’s strode into the “Addition”, the doves flocked onto the boardwalks to welcome them. The Dooley bunch was well known in Abilene and naturally had their favorites but it didn’t hurt none for the new girls to give them a whirl either. After all, a girl had to make a livin’ somehow in this unforgiving land.

 

T-Bone and Red had stayed over to the Drover’s Cottage and played like they were East Texas socialites on holiday. Red was always a lot better at acting respectable than T-Bone was, not that anyone in Abilene much cared about social prominence, and seemed to pull off their ruse pretty well.

 

Abilene had never been known for being a high fullootin’ town anyhow but Red had a reputation she wanted to maintain no matter where she was. Abilene was always better known as the railhead for shipping cattle and for the wildness of the Texas cowhands riding in with those herds, not for people of importance like Red wanted to be.

 

The young, wild hands were tolerated in town for many knew of the trails and how hard it had been for these men to get the herds to the railhead alive. The herds meant money and the railroad, which were far more important than a few broken windows or bullet holes.

 

There were not many men who could move that many cattle, ride herd all night, fight Indians, dodge stampedes, and deal with rustlers day after day month after month, drive after drive, and not be plenty wild from their exploits. They needed somewhere to let their hair down and Abilene was just that place, at least for the time being.

 

Two days later found T-Bone and his brothers reassembled at the livery looking a little worn from working the Devil’s Addition. Today they would ride out of Abilene heading to Midland then on to Odessa where they would take a short stop for supplies.

 

Even though Odessa is now the county seat for Ector County, it was really nothing more than a siding for the railroad in 1882. After the horses were watered and limited supplies replenished, the gang was on the trail for Socorro, New Mexico. Socorro was located on the Rio Grande Trail and was a busy mining town in the early 1880’s with over two hundred ore trains coming off of Socorro Mountain every day.

 

Lead and silver were the main ores coming from more than 3000 strikes in the area of Socorro and Magdalena. The area was not stable or civilized though and suffered Indian attacks on a too regular basis, some as late as 1881 when several townspeople were killed. T-Bone didn’t want to stay too long in Socorro for the mines brought money and money brought problems from the miners. That and with the Indians still raiding the outlying areas, there were more pressing problems than to stay in this town any longer than necessary.

 

Down in Houston, the word of the legendary Dammit chip being laid down agin’ T-Bone Dooley had made it to town and was being told to a buxom yellow-haired gal everybody knew as Rocky Meadows. At first, Rocky couldn’t figure out how relations between the two “Families” had deteriorated to the point where this could happen for while she is staunchly loyal to the Dooley clan, she is a well known member of the Dammit gang along with some of the other Dooley’s.

 

There were also Dammit’s, including their fearful leader Laylow Curly, who were Dooley’s. Who or what has happened to cause such a rift between the longtime friends? Soon, stories of the attempted murder of Adam Cartwright at Apache Leap and the trouble in Tehachapi bein’ tied to the Dooley name started filtering into town keeping Red’s name tied into the trouble out west so that explained some of the problem.

 

Rocky kind of had an idea what was goin’ on after she heard the latest rumors but knew there was probably something else since Laylow had left Texas on bad terms with T-Bone. Rumor was there was bad blood between them now and that there would be gunplay if they ever met face to face agin’. Most folks around town knew Rocky had spent some time in the jungles but they didn’t know when, where, or to what extent.

 

Rocky never denied her past but kept those “adventures” private, known only to a select few. Red never even knew until later that Rocky was at one time a best friend to her mother and was with her when she passed. Rocky also knew Red’s sister in California, having traveled there at the request of Elizabeth to relay the news of her passing and to deliver the family bible.

 

The challenge by Youngblood for any or all Dooley’s to come to Tombstone and settle the feud was more pressure than Rocky could bear so she raised her hand as the first Dooley to accept the challenge without even considering what T-Bone might say. This feud had already gone on long enough and was going to end in bloodshed if it kept heading in this direction.

 

Now Rocky had never been accused of being bashful or from backin’ down from any kind of challenge whether it be shootin’, drinkin’, or lovin’ so it was no surprise to the Dammit hierarchy when they heard she was a comin’ to Tombstone, alone if need be. This was one Dooley who could handle the whole Dammit gang her ownself, she knew it, and Youngblood knew it.

 

Word went out to the other Dammit’s that T-Bone was sending a woman down to defend his honor for he had been pretty darned silent as to Youngblood’s challenge. That had not been necessarily so, T-Bone had been waiting for Red to return from her trip to get the real story as to what had gone on in California.

 

T-Bone was mad plumb through about all of this and was fretting somethin’ terrible cause this was twice now he had been accused of hiding behind a woman’s skirts and he wasn’t havin’ no more of it. No woman would be fighting T-Bone’s battles for him, with him maybe, but never for him. Red’s little adventure had put T-Bone at odds with the Dammit’s and tested his reputation of being a bad, bad man. He was going to have the last word in this affair, albeit in Tombstone but then what better place could it happen than in the MECCA of the gunfighter.

 

T-Bone put out the call to his brothers to ride to Tombstone to defend the honor of the Dooley name. What neither T-Bone nor Rocky could know is nearly the whole Dammit gang was riding to Tombstone along with a bunch of the Cowboys from Norco as back-up to meet the Dooley’s head on.

 

The streets of the sleepy little California cowtown of Norco would be filled only with dust devils rather than the usual cowboys off the range for a time because they would be in Tombstone with Laylow Curly. The doves will be lonely and the bartenders without customers for as long as it takes to clear up this Tombstone deal.

 

The poor loafers and drunks will be left without any choice but to sober up for the free drinks will have vanished and the saloons a vacant wasteland without the Dammit’s. This was the way it was whenever Laylow put out the call to arms. These cowboys were so fiercely loyal to Laylow it did not matter what needed done at home, they were going to ride to hell and back if Laylow needed them.

 

Thankfully for these early gunfighters, the womenfolk knew their men were riding for the brand and Laylow would not have called unless he was in dire straits. Unfortunately, Laylow skirted the ragged edge and was in dire straits most of the time.

 

Rocky knew she had to get to Tombstone and talk to Big Ed before the rest of the gang got to town and before there was gunplay. There had to be a way to deal with this before the lead started flying. Rocky had a heart as big as the State of Texas and wanted no harm to come to either of her “families”. She would find a way to keep them from killing each other since she could not choose one side over the other in this fight for she is not one more than the other, she is a Damn-Dooley. She needed to get packed and head up there quick ‘fore T-Bone and Laylow hit head-on.

 

It was over a thousand miles to Tombstone so she had to get to goin’ right now. Rocky figured on taking the Butterfield Stage to Socorro then going in a horseback from there. The stage would be running almost straight through with only two or three overnight stops between Houston and Socorro so she could sleep while still on the move rather than spending nights in Apache territory alone. She would be far safer on the stage. Women in the west could travel freely since western men simply did not molest women or allow them to be molested.

 

The sooner she got started, the sooner she can get to Big Ed and get this mess stopped. She needed to get word to Tombstone on the sly though and let Ed know she’s a comin’ so she sent a cryptic telegraph to her old friend in Tombstone. He could get to Big Ed without anyone giving him a second look.

 

Rocky locked her door and walked the short distance to the telegraph office. She scratched out a short message, handed it to the telegraph operator then waited patiently while he sent it on to its destination. The message was simple enough but unless a body knew Rocky, they wouldn’t understand what she had written.

 

The man looked at the message and promptly started working his key. Rocky thought to herself, Wily will get the message to Big Ed, even if he is still drinkin’, Wily will get it done for her. Rocky thought back to the early days when Wily cut a wide swath as one of the top hands around who could do pert near anything when it came to punching cows or mining in the territory. Too bad he started drinkin’ after his buddy got killed.

 

JANUARY 1882-STOP

 

WILY YANKEE-TOMBSTONE, AT-STOP

RIDING TO UNCLE’S OVER TEXAS BUSINESS-STOP

TELL UNCLE I’M NOT COMING ALONE-STOP

BROTHERS EAST AND WEST ARE RIDING-STOP

EXPECT ARRIVAL FEBRUARY 8, 1882-STOP

ROCKY-HOUSTON, TEXAS-STOP

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 16

 

BIG ED GETS A MAN

 

Far to the west in Tombstone, Arizona Territory, a telegraph key begins to click as the local agent grabs his pen. The agent stops writing momentarily when he sees the name the telegraph is addressed to. Who would want anything to do with that old loafer? No matter, his job is to take down the message and to deliver it.

 

Once the telegrapher had taken down the message and acknowledged it, he found his runner to take the message to Wily Yankee. The runner found Wily in his usual hangout for that time of day, Wily was sleeping it off in the jail’s drunk tank like he did every Thursday.

 

The young boy shook Wily, gently at first, then more violently until he woke up. Wily sat up trying to shake the fog from his brain as the runner gave him the telegraph and hurriedly left the Marshall’s Office. Wily tried to focus on the writing but simply could not make it out. Exasperated, Wily asked the jailer to read it to him.

 

As the man read the message, Wily suddenly became alert, more alert than he had been in months. He took the message from the jailer and read it himself, his eyes finally clear. He gathered up his dirty, torn clothing and hat then marched out of the jail to the water trough in front. He dunked his head under the pump and pumped water over his head to wash the rest of the cobwebs free so he could think.

 

It didn’t take Wily long to meander around town a bit then head over to Big Ed’s saddle shop like nothing was out of the ordinary. Nobody paid him no never mind so no one would be suspicious cause he swept up for Big Ed occasionally for a meal and no one knew Rocky called Big Ed ‘Uncle’ so the telegraph wouldn’t be connected to the big trouble riding towards Tombstone.

 

He knocked on Big Ed’s door. It was opened in short order by Big Ed’s wife who welcomed Wily in. Wily tipped his hat to the misses and headed straight back to where Big Ed was working on burnishing the edge of a holster.

 

Ed looked up as Wily entered the room and said, “Why the serious look Wily? You can come in early to clean, it’s all right with me.”

 

“This ain’t about cleanin’ Ed, this is serious business,” Wiley replied anxiously.

 

Big Ed stopped what he was doing and looked at Wily in his dirty, torn, and ragged clothes remembering him when he was at the top of his game. Where there used to be a strapping young man with every pretty girl in town chasing after him to the emaciated shell of a man he was now. Ed wished there was something he had been able to do to turn this poor fool around. Hmm! Ed had an idea. Maybe there was something that could be done. First he had to get sober and get shut of those tremors then some clean clothes and a bath.

 

Big Ed needed to be a little deceitful and a lot devious to fool Wily, course in his present condition, that wouldn’t be too hard to do. Mebe they better start off with a bath. Ed whispered something indiscernible to his wife just before she scurried out the back door. Getting back to business, Big Ed looked the telegraph over and smiled, Rocky is coming to town to see her old uncle. Wily looked at Big Ed curious as to why he isn’t more worried about the news.

 

Ed finally looked over at Wily and said, “Wily, the whole family is coming to Tombstone and you’re right, this is serious business. I’ve got a big favor to ask Wily and you’re the only one who can do it for me. There is only one man I can trust in this town and he has been down on his luck of late. I need you to get to him and get him to me. It’s going to be one of the hardest things I have ever asked you to do. Will you do this for me Wily? It is a lot to ask, I won’t be offended if’n you say no.”

 

Wily looked at Ed through bloodshot eyes pinched off by the swollen red face of a man having spent too many years in the bottom of a whiskey bottle, “Ed, more times than I can count, you have saved my life from this rabble in town. If I can do it for you, I will or die trying. I owe you that much.”

 

Ed replied, “Then let’s do this.” There was a rustle of feet from the back room and four young men came rushing into the room.

 

“What the hell?” Wily exclaimed.

 

They surrounded Wily with each one grabbing a leg or an arm and out the back they went with Wily fighting like a madman trying to get loose but those young fellers were too strong for him in his weakened state. On the back porch was tub of hot, hot water. Wily’s rags were torn from his scrawny frame and he was dumped into the tub then held under water for a few seconds. Ed had made it to the porch by then and was standing near the tub when Wily came up for air.

 

Wily came to the top a sputtering and spouting a gang of obscenities all directed towards Big Ed, “Ed you sorry no good coyote chasin’ owl dung eatin’ miserable excuse for a friend. What are you doing to me?”

 

“Wily,” Ed said, “You told me you would get to that man I need if it killed you, right?”

 

“You didn’t say I needed to take a bath to do it though. I just said I would get your man to you. Gol dang it Ed, you made me swear in front of yer Misses and these boys and what not. Now I don’t even have any clothes cause they done tore ‘em up and they’re no good no more.”

 

Wily was clearly lost as to what Ed had started here and had yet to figure out that the man was Ed was hunting was sitting in a tub of hot water at that very moment.

 

Big Ed grinned and said, “Wily, you remember Rocky.” Wily nodded. “She is coming to town and even though she is right handy with a gun, she needs to have one of the very best gunfighters we have to offer to stand alongside her when the showdown starts.”

 

“What does that have to do with me? I told you I would find your man for you,” Wily replied.

 

“Yes Wily, you did tell me that and I told you it was going to be real hard to find the man, right?” Wily nodded agin’. “Let me show you a picture of this man Wily.” Ed reached into a pocket and produced a picture. He had his hand in the other pocket as well as he neared Wily. “This is a picture of the man Wily. You know him well enough I think and you promised me you would find him no matter what. This is a picture of him just a few short years ago. In my other hand Wily, is what he looks like this very day. Are you ready?”

 

Wily took a really long time to answer. He was looking powerful uncomfortable sitting there in that tub especially when the Misses came out with another hot bucket of water pouring it over his head. Wily started sputtering again and yelled, “Alright already as long as you stop with the water. I’m allergic to it.”

 

Ed stepped closer to Wily and showed him the old photograph. Wily’s face went blank then to a pasty white. “I know you recognize him Wily,” Ed said. “Here is what he looks like today, this very minute.”

 

Wily had started shaking whether it was from the water getting cold, the delirium tremors, or something else altogether and had closed his eyes. As he opened his eyes again, Wily was aghast at what he saw. He was looking at an emaciated man with several days of unkempt beard growth, the breath of a sh#t eating jackass, and a mop of hair that looked like it had been combed with a hay rake that was missing about half of its tines.

 

Wily had seen cadavers that looked better than the one he was looking at. Big Ed was holding a mirror up to Wily’s face and in the other hand, Ed held a photograph of him taken not two years ago in front of the mine with his best friend just before the shot that killed him. Wily couldn’t look any longer at the wasted man in the mirror. He closed his eyes and started sobbing uncontrollably.

 

Ed felt bad for Wily but knew this would be for his own good. Hopefully, this would be the day Wily turned back on life’s road, holey as it was, it was better than the one he had right now. When Wily stopped sobbing, Ed threw him a bar of lye. “Here is the start Wily, don’t waste any of it.”

 

Wily looked worse off than after the worst beating he had ever taken from over at Whiskey Row. His head was down and motionless. Slowly he picked up the soap and began scrubbing his well used hide. Ed limped back into the house, returning shortly with a wrapped parcel. Wily looked at the parcel on the table with interest.

 

“Wily, when you sold this stuff for a bottle, I went and bought it back and have been holding it for you till now.”

 

From inside the package, Ed pulled out fresh drawers, long handles, socks, a pair of purple trousers, a pink shirt, a pair of boots, and a green derby. Under the clothing was an oilcloth wrapped package. Inside the oilcloth was a pair of meticulously cared for Colts with a handmade holster Ed had made for Wily many years before.

 

Wily didn’t know what to say. He was speechless at the sheer generosity of the big man standing in front of him. All he could muster was to tell Big Ed thank-you for what he had done and to shake his hand. After all, it was Big Ed’s son that was killed in the mine from that blast and he had no reason to forgive him for what had happened.

 

“Wily,” Ed said, “it wasn’t your charge that killed my boy. It was that fault we discovered later which caused the next tunnel over to cave-in. I tried to tell you at the time but you weren’t listening for yer grief. I hope yer listening now because I need all of you with all what’s going on with the Dammit and Dooley gangs riding in here in a few days.”

 

Wily looked at the big man, his eyes seeming a little clearer now as Ed picked up one of the Colts and spun the cylinder. “I’ll be ready for you Ed, you have my word.”

 

Ed knew the next several days would be rough on Wily whilst he shook with the tremors but knew he was good to his word. Ed’s wife fixed Wily a bed in the storeroom where she could keep an eye on him should he need anything and to have him close to hand when the time came. Time was short and Wily had to get free of the booze as quickly as he could.

[T-Bone SASS #36388]

Still raining in Texas. Darn ,I sure wish it would stop for a while the flood is slowing down our progress on the new barn.

[Blackwater 53393]

You ain't complainin' too loud, I know!! After the last couple of years down there, y'all are probably countin' every drop!!

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 17

 

HURRY’N WEST

Early the next morning, Rocky was up long before daylight and gathering up the rest of her traveling clothes. Everything was packed into two valises that seemed extraordinarily heavy. A man from the stage station arrived to pick up her bags as she gave her little house a final look before she was to head to Tombstone. Rocky bought her ticket to Socorro just before stepping onto the stage. There was no time to think about it, there was barely enough time to get there. The stage ride would at least give her time to figure out a plan to bring these two powerful men together without bloodshed and to be able to maintain their pride if she got the shootin’ stopped.

 

San Antonio would be the first stop and the last of the big cities on her trip west. It would also be the first overnight stay after thirty hours in the seat and four horse changes later. The rooms at the stage station were less than accommodating for a woman so Rocky took a room over to a hotel near the river where she could watch the water lazily flowing towards the gulf and listen to it babble against the rocky shore as it lulled her to sleep after a fashion.

 

There were many folks traveling along on San Antonio’s famed riverwalk although nighttime on the river was not all that safe for that is when the local thugs would be out looking for an unsuspecting victim. Come morning the breaking sun will cleanse the filth deposited in the darkness and hopefully there wouldn’t be any new bodies left on the riverbank by the night.

 

The stage was set to depart at 4:00 am for the next leg of the journey on the road leading into southern Texas where it would take her through more brush country void of any of the comforts of the city. The little pueblo stage stops would offer little more than a cot and a hot meal but was better than the isolated stops in the desert could have provided.

 

The stage line did what they could for the women passengers but most of the isolated stage stops were managed by unkempt men who lived on the rough side of life. The men were rough, dirty, and rude examples of early, hardy pioneers who left their families to find gold or to hide from the law. They got the job on the basis of having enough sand to stand the isolation of these lonely outposts, skill in caring for stage line horses, and ability to fight the savages off on a too regular basis without help from the army.

 

As the stage rolled up to the stage office, Rocky noticed the driver to be a capable looking man with a big mustache and who carried a double-barreled shotgun across his knees. He had a twinkle in his eye and quick smile but the distinguished look of a man who had ridden the river many times. The station manager was out on the walk and had started throwing the bags up to the driver to be tied on the top of the stage. He didn’t throw Rocky’s bags though, they were far too heavy. Muffin looked at her curiously as he struggled with her bags but said nothing.

 

From San Antonio, the stage would be traveling through Uvalde and Acuna then stopping in Langtry for their next overnight stop. The other passengers started towards the coach and began to get in as Rocky waited for her turn. The stage was a large Concord Coach known for the dependability and durability needed for desert travel in the west so the ride wouldn’t be as bad as it could have been had they have drawn an old stage with folks having to hang onto the sides or sitting on top for lack of room.

 

Two men and a woman got into the coach with Rocky then settled in for the long ride. The other woman looked at Rocky shyly as the men introduced themselves eagerly. When the pleasantries were over, each of the passengers seemed to be silently dreading the trip or at least preoccupied with where they needed to be, hopeful they would make the trip in one piece.

 

Suddenly, the stage lurched into motion as the sound of a whip cracked in the air with the driver barkin’ to the team as the stage headed out of town into the foreboding desert. The travel in the morning was cool at first but as the sun rose into the heavens, the heat came and with the heat came the fine Texas dust.

 

The stage thundered through the desert on a poorly maintained stage road as dust began sifting into the passenger compartment, settling in a fine layer on the passenger’s clothing. Rocky looked about at the other passengers who, for all appearances, were asleep.

 

There was a whiskey drummer by the name of Pecos Clyde, the wife of a cavalry officer stationed at St. David by the name of McMichael, heavy with child, a supposed cattle buyer named McCabe who couldn’t seem to be able to let go of his valise, and another man riding on top of the stage with the driver called Chas B. Wolfson who had lost his horse in the desert when it went lame from crossing a rocky volcanic plume.

 

Chas had flagged the stage down, carrying only his saddle and a rifle, and was some relieved to be picked up at all. The area they were traveling was the most desolate leg of the trip so far, void of white men but thick with Chiricuahua Apaches. The Apache had been raiding of late so the stage driver was on high alert and was trying to save the horses best he could in case they had to make a run for it. He was happy to find the man in the desert for it meant another rifle if they were attacked along the way.

 

Mangas Coloradas had been killed and his nephew Cochise had already sung his death song as the only free Apache Chief left of the era. Geronimo, the Bedonkohe Apache leader of the Chiricuahua’s took up where Cochise left off in the war against the white settlers of Arizona and New Mexico. A full on military offensive against him would not be waged until later in 1882 and he would not surrender until 1884 so the settlers were left to fend for themselves with the military stretched too thin already.

 

The Apache would raid into Arizona and New Mexico from across the Mexican border in lightening quick strikes then retreat back into Mexico or into the old Cochise Stronghold deep in the Dragoon Mountains making it almost impossible to intercept them. There appeared to be no sign of the savages but a body usually would never see them first for the Apache were notorious in their ability to survive in this inhospitable land and to hide where there was no cover, even when in plain sight.

 

Pecos Clyde had been sampling his wares periodically during the trip and had become sufficiently intoxicated that he passed out against the cattle buyer. McCabe wasn’t real tolerant of the man and would shove Pecos over to the side of the stage from time to time but a good bump would bounce him back whenever the stage lurched.

 

“You drunken piece of buffalo dung. Wake up! Get off me and keep to yourself.” He cursed.

 

Rocky could tell the very pregnant Mrs. McMichael was deeply offended at the language yet was trying very hard not to let on. She was dealing with the profane man’s mouth and had to be extremely uncomfortable do to the lateness of her term however did not complain at all.

 

“Can’t you tell you are in the presence of a lady sir?” Rocky asked. “Your language is atrocious and I would ask if you could refrain from using it while in her presence.”

 

McCabe’s look at Rocky was that of utter contempt. “Who are you to correct my language? From all appearances, you are not of social prominence and look to have heard that kind of language plenty of times before,” he barked back.

 

Had Mrs. McMichael not have been present, Rocky might have handled the issue a little differently for she did not tolerate men talking down to her. Given the lady’s present condition, Rocky did not want to start anything to upset her more and thought to deal with this man later. Rocky did not know she would get her chance several days from now in Tombstone.

 

“You may think of me however you wish but this lady is of social pedigree and should not be subjected to your riverboat tirades,” Rocky politely replied.

 

“Why you two-bit Wh^*e,” the man snapped as he lifted her.

McCabe’s hand stopped in mid-air, as if hit with an electrical shock, jerking his hand back to his side like a shot. Suddenly, he was looking into the barrel of a Colt 1849 pocket pistol, which had appeared from nowhere and was suddenly in Rocky’s hand.

 

Rocky’s eyes flashed fire as she retorted the man’s comment, “Women in the west are not to be treated as you have tonight friend nor will it be tolerated by western men.”

 

The hammer was already eared back and there was the look of death in Rocky’s eyes as she continued. “I should just tell the stage driver of this incident and he would throw you off the stage into this wasteland they call a desert with no water, no anything. Perhaps you would like to answer to the Apache or the Yaqui out here alone without a canteen or gun. You would be lucky if that’s all he would do to you for acting this way around a lady. Lift your hand like that towards me or any other woman in my presence again and I will send you to Boot Hill myself friend.”

 

McCabe was quickly taken back by this woman setting him on his heels and was morose after that however still fought against the limp body of the drunken man who kept falling against him as the stage rocked through the night.

 

The occasional looks from the man were of utter hatred for Rocky but she didn’t care. Rocky had dealt with men like him before and would again in the future. Rocky knew by now she would get her chance to settle this score later.

[T-Bone SASS #36388]

If you add up the Dooleys and Dammits strir up the pot a little. We could of had a hell of a gunfight..

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

I do believe that first ride to Tombstone was one of the best ever gunfights, especially considering that was the first major match put on by Wily Yankee and the Tombstone Ghostriders. There were plenty of Dooleys and Dammits to go around for a great time (even if someone was found wandering the desert late at night after Rocky's BD party at the Crystal Palace).

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 18

 

INDIAN ATTACK

The country they were travelin’ through was Comanche and Apache territory. Quanah Parker was on the reservation so the Comanche weren’t much of an issue but Geronimo was leading the Chiricuahua Apache out of Mexico on raids so he could show up just about anywhere at anytime. The army had yet to come to the territory to put a stop to their raiding. T-Bone and his band would be having to set out sentries at night from now till they got to Tombstone cause it was injun territory the rest of the way.

 

Knifemaker slipped up alongside T-Bone about a half day out of Socorro and said, “Can you feel it Bone?”

 

“Yea I do,” T-Bone said. “Them damn ‘pache are here somewheres cause my scalp is a crawling like nothing else. Let the others know will ya, I’m going to do a little reconnoiter over that low hill to the west of us.”

 

Knifemaker led off to the others one at a time trying to not make it look too obvious as to what he was doing. He started looking around for some kind of defensive position as he moved just in case, no when, they were attacked. Knifemaker wouldn’t have to wait for long but at least now everyone knew to head for the little rise behind them where there was a hidden parapet in front of a kind of low bowl backing up to a steep cliff.

 

There was at least a good 180-degree field of fire to the front and both sides. The cliff would keep them injuns off from behind and there was enough room to put the animals into a cleft in the wall behind the bowl. There was a little tinaja and a seep trickling down the rocks in the cleft so they could last there for days if they needed to. Surprisingly, the Indians hadn’t covered the spot or maybe figured since the gang had passed it by without even looking, they were unaware of its potential for defense.

 

Suddenly, here comes T-Bone a tearin’ over the hill just a whipping that horse like the devil’s fires were a burning him up from his behind. Not two hundred yards behind T-Bone were the Apache just a hoopin’ and a hollerin’ and carryin’ on like them injuns do. There must have been at least thirty warriors chasing T-Bone and they wanted his hair real bad.

 

“Back,” is all Knifemaker had to yell. The troop turned as one and lit out for the spot they had agreed on. As the horses boiled into the bowl, Red took control of them leading them into the cleft while the men spread out along the parapet with their rifles.

 

Red made sure there was no way out of the cleft and there were no Indians hiding in the shadows before she came back to the tinaja where she began watering each animal and filling canteens. If the horses weren’t cared for and they ended up having to run, the Apache would catch them within a few miles and then it would be over, all except for the screaming.

 

Those Apache would make a man suffer a long time before he died and for Red, it would even be worse for she would be brutalized by all the braves before the real torture would begin. Red knew to keep one bullet in her gun in case the Indians breached their defenses, one for her own brain as a last resort.

 

Bullets were whining angrily as they ricocheted off the rocks all around the cleft but the angle of the opening kept the ricochets from hitting any of the horses. Shards of rock were raining down on them but being the tough little Texas cowponies they were, water was more important to them than a little dirt and rocks.

 

The men had spread out around the bowl and were firing methodically as the Indians tried to breach the parapet on horseback. What the ‘pache needed to know was the men in this bunch were all seasoned injun fighters who were choosing their targets wisely and with surgical precision so they were just wasting their lives at the moment.

 

This is exactly what these Texans wanted though, a running gunfight to practice for the Dammit’s. Practice, Practice, what in the world? Well, Texans are known for doing things in a big way so if this was going to be practice for them, then who would want to spoil a good time.

 

There were at least six apache braves spilling their life’s blood into the desert sands already and there were probably more down the Dooley’s could not see. As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped for the ‘pache had lost braves and now they were going to be a lot more cautious.

 

A hand would show or a part of a foot trying to draw the Dooley’s fire but these Texas boys were way too smart for that old trick. T-Bone waited as a young brave got bolder and bolder then aimed his Winchester where the brave should be laying.

 

Suddenly, the brave jumped up thinking he would just hit the dirt before anyone would have time to shoot. That was a bad mistake for even as the brave started lifting himself from the ground, T-Bone was squeezing the trigger with the slug taking the young man straight in the brisket. The brave let out a muffled scream then laid still on the sand, eyes open, not seeing the sun’s rays as they burn into his lifeless brain.

 

T-Bone’s shot brought another Indian charge but it seemed less intense this time. One brave jumped his pony into the bowl and turned towards Knifemaker with his lance. A rifle butt, courtesy of T-Bone, knocked the brave from the back of his pony then Ben Scalped stepped in with his Bowie drawn. The two men circled till the brave sprang at Ben with his knife grazing Ben’s side as he rushed past but Ben’s Bowie found its mark under the apache’s ribs. The Indian staggered then fell over the edge of the parapet before he died. Ben cleaned off his knife and replaced it in its sheath just as another Indian sprang onto the parapet with his arm drawing back to launch his spear into T-Bone’s back.

 

As the brave loosed the spear, Knifemaker yelled at T-Bone, “Watch out Bone!” then drove a rifle butt into brave’s throat.

 

Once the Indian was down, Knifemaker finished the job with brave’s own war club crushing it into his forehead. T-Bone had twisted his body to see what Knifemaker had been yelling about when the spear caught him through his jacket sleeve spinning him around the other direction, knocking him off balance and to the ground.

 

T-Bone, was a little stunned after hitting the ground but very much alive, nodded thanks to Knifemaker as they turned back to the battle at hand. At least nine braves were down and others probably wounded.

 

As it was nearing sunset, the attack broke off quickly, two more braves going down in the last attack. The only wounds to the Texas men had been to Knifemaker who took a grazing shot to his left shoulder and the scratch Ben Scalped took from the ‘pache knife. Nine Indians down, nearly a third of their force, so one of two things were going to happen now. Either they would wait for more braves to overrun the Texan’s position or they would pickup their dead and leave to care for them.

 

It didn’t matter to Bone none, they were riding out tonight no matter what. From behind them came a hideous scream as two men ran to the cleft where Red and the horses were. Red was standing over an Indian with her Bowie in her hand dripping with Indian blood.

 

A brave had shimmied down the cliff when she was watching the last charge and had come upon her from behind without her seeing him until it was almost too late. There was no time to draw a sidearm so Red just taken that Bowie and turned into the brave as he was drawing his arm back to swing his war club at her skull.

 

Red ducked the brave’s swing them came up under his arm, bringing her Bowie straight into him. The knife entered near his waist so Red jerked up and across his belly with both hands cutting the brave’s stomach open to the sternum. He was holding his intestines in while he lay in the sand dying as he glared at Red with a look of both hatred and respect for she went “Mano a Mano” with him. The brave had met a warrior more than equal to him and had lost to her. Knifemaker came in to take the brave’s scalp but Red said no. He would die with honor for he showed bravery in dying and not deserving of a cowards death.

 

T-Bone had decided come nightfall, they would ride out of the bowl and straight through the Indian camp if it was indeed still there. Somehow, T-Bone thought he might try get to their horses to put them afoot to help in their escape.

 

With ten braves down, the Indians would not be back today for they must mourn for their dead and get them to their burial grounds. T-Bone had already planned a night move to get out of there so at sundown, Nuttin’ slipped on a pair of moccasins and headed out into the chaparral to find the Indian camp.

 

The moon was not yet up so he might have to smell the Indians first to find them. He stayed in a sandy wash so as to not make any noise and came upon the camp at a bend in the wash almost unexpectantly. He could see the dim outline of coals from a fire but could not see any sign of sleeping Indians. This could be trick he thought, set up to draw him in close then the Indians would jump him from the brush behind.

 

The moon was about to come up so Nuttin’ decided to pull back into the brush and wait till he could see a little bit better. As the moonbeams fought through the darkness, shadows began to turn into objects but still no sleeping places for the Indians. Nuttin’ ghosted through the chaparral until he was on the other side of the fading campfire. The Indian ponies were tethered between two gnarled Manzanita trees but where were the Indians?

 

Nuttin’ just started to move when an Indian stood up no more than six feet away from him and began to relieve himself. Nuttin’ sat back and remained motionless for a long time while the Indian finished his business then laid back down. Sure the Indian had gone back to sleep, Nuttin’ moved over to the ponies. They were a little skittish at first but calmed quickly to his touch. No more Indians were in sight so Nuttin’ thinks he’ll ride one pony and lead the rest out of the wash, back to the waiting gang.

 

The Indians wouldn’t try to follow him at night and they will be without horses, at least for a while, come daylight when the Dooley’s were miles away. Nuttin’ carefully tied the ponies together then hopped bareback onto a little paint as he made ready for his escape. Taking in a deep breath, he slapped the pony on the rump and tore off down the wash away from the sleeping Indian.

 

Several searching rifle shots were fired behind him but nothing came even close to hitting him as he ran the little pony for what it was worth. Soon he was back in camp with nine Indian ponies in tow. His own horse was saddled and ready for the trail so he transferred over to it tying the string of ponies to his own.

 

T-Bone led the cavalcade out of the hollow, northward holding a swift canter for several hours so they could be miles away from the Indian fight before daylight. At daybreak, he stopped for a breather and for some breakfast to be prepared for the men. After breakfast the gang was back in the saddle riding towards Juarez where they would set down for a day. After yesterday’s fight, the band could use a rest and a celebration.

 

While on the trail to Juarez, T-Bone finally related to the others just how he had come upon the Apache. He had been riding over a low hill into a sandy wash looking for any fresh sign of the roving Indian bands that commonly rode through the area. His scalp had been crawling so he knew they had to be close by. It was T-Bone’s horse that spotted the Indians first or maybe just smelled them as they slid down a short bank into the wash through a break in the dense brush.

 

The horse’s ears pricked forward suddenly as T-Bone reined in, straining his eyes to locate any sign of the savages. Seeing nothing, he urged the horse forward slowly carrying his rifle across the pommel. As if by magic, three braves rose from the sandy wash, jumping towards the horse. T-Bone sank his big Texas spurs into the horse’s flanks as he struck the Indian on his right across the cheek with the rifle barrel knocking him out.

 

T-Bone’s horse leaped forward in response to the attack from the vicious spurs. The animal drove its chest into the next Indian, knocking him sprawling into the desert sands, trampling the limp body with iron horseshoes. The third Indian had grabbed the saddle horn and was trying to swing up behind T-Bone with a drawn Bowie. Somehow T-Bone had gotten his left foot out of the stirrup and kicked the brave in the chest knocking him free from the saddle.

 

In front of T-Bone were at least twenty more braves coming towards him on horseback. Seeing that he was heavily outnumbered, he wheeled his tough little Texas cow pony around and raced back towards the rest of the gang with the Apache hot on his trail. They had been very, very lucky with T-Bone and the rest owing their lives to an alert mustang.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 19

 

NEW LIFE IN THE DESERT

 

It started to rain around midnight as the stage crested the last hill leading down into a long desolate valley. The stage rumbled to a stop as the driver let the horses take a short blow before heading down the hill. The next stage stop was still ten miles away so they had another hour or so till they could get a hot meal and a little break from the jolting torture box they were riding in. At least with the rain, the dust would subside a little bit. The rain began to pelt the stage harder and harder as it began to roll again, winding down the mountain towards the bottom where the road followed a dry creek bed.

 

The passengers could hear the driver barking at the team and the crack of the whip over the thunder as they watched the lightening taking its vengeance against the mountains around them, coming closer and closer as they rode into the storm. Muffin was having a time of it trying to keep the team under control with the weather exploding all around them so it took nearly two hours to travel that last ten miles to the stage stop. As the stage was coming to a wash just before entering the stage stop yard, the driver jerked the team to a stop.

 

“Somethin’ doesn’t look right here,” he said looking through the darkness, although not really expecting an answer from anyone.

 

Chas B. Wolfson agreed then said, “Let me slip over there and look about before you bring the stage in.”

 

Chas climbed off the stage, then began slipping through the brush behind the station where he slowly moved along to look into the barn, corrals, and finally the station before waving the stage across. Muffin cracked the whip over the horse’s heads as the stage lurched forward across the wash, which had begun to run a steady stream by then. He pulled up in front of the station’s well but Bare Lee Tallable didn’t come out like they had been used to seeing. Chas and Muffin began to unhitch the team so they could be changed out when there was a halloo from the darkness. A man came riding slowly into the circle of light cast off from the lanterns. It was Bare Lee and he didn’t look in none too good a shape.

 

“You came through at a bad time Muffin,” he said to the driver. “The ‘pache hit me last night before last an' was givin’ me fits all of yesterday. I’d gotten three of them when they finally gave in with the rain a comin.’ They probably figured on coming back when it stopped raining cause the road is washed out in front of us. There is only one other way out and the creek is rising over there. Might as well git them horses put up in the barn then and git into the cabin out of the rain so we can figure out what to do with you from here.”

 

The passengers got out of the coach and headed into the dugout some called a Stage Station. The inside of the dugout was in shambles with chairs and tables turned over against the walls. The windows were broken out and there were shell casings everywhere a body could put a foot down.

 

Bare Lee Tallable pulled the shutters closed and filled the rifle slots with rags to keep the wind and rain at bay for now. The station man shook out of his heavy hide coat revealing a crude, bloody bandage on his left side. Saying nothing about his wound, he began chuncking wood into the stove and soon had a fire going with the smell of frying bacon filling the air.

 

Rocky straightened up a corner of the dugout and stood up a chair for Mrs. McMichael to rest in. “Are you all right mam?” she asked.

 

The lady was in obvious distress but politely said she was fine. Rocky knew better but knew to leave well enough alone for now. Pecos Clyde had come to and was again into his samples, feeling no pain by now while McCabe sulked at the table, clearly upset at being stuck in the armpit of the desert.

 

“Is there any way out of here? I have to get to my appointment right away.”

 

“No,” is all Muffin said and continued with clearing the debris from the earlier Indian battle.

 

The food was hot and made everyone feel better, only the Mrs. McMichael wouldn’t eat no matter how hard Rocky tried to feed her. Mrs. McMichael suddenly cried out and collapsed onto the floor of the dugout. Rocky rushed to her side to see what she could do to help her. The lady tried to get up but was not able to move with the spasms of pain wracking her body.

 

Rocky knelt close to her and whispered, “Is it time?”

 

“No, it can’t be. Not here, not now, not without my husband.”

 

Rocky smiled at her, gently brushing the hair out of her eyes. “You can’t stop it and it is going to happen here and now. I can help you if you will let me.”

 

Mrs. McMichael’s eyes were pleading for help for she was obviously terrified of what was about to happen. She wanted her husband here, not a bunch of strangers when her baby was born. Rocky knew there was little time to act so took matters into her own hands and started everybody to steppin’ and fetchin.’ Chas carried the lady to the sleeping quarters in the back of the dugout where Rocky had straightened up the bed having found some clean sheets.

 

“Get some water on to boil and tear up those sheets into towel size,” she ordered. “We are going to have a baby tonight!”

 

Rocky was in heaven. She loved the thought of a new life coming to them that night. Once everything was in place, Rocky ordered the men out of the room so she and the expectant mother could do their work.

 

McCabe was getting more and more impatient as the day progressed until finally blurting out, “We have to get out of here. I have to get to my appointment in Juarez.”

 

“Now just how do you think we are going to do that with a baby being born? There is no way that gal can be moved yet and then there are the apaches to contend with.” Muffin snapped back at him.

 

“Them women can stay here while we go on into the settlement then we can send back a wagon and some men. We can’t do nothing but wait here anyway,” McCabe said arrogantly.

 

“You would leave two women alone in Apache country with one having a baby? What if they come back as the baby is being born? They wouldn’t have a chance. You know friend, you are a real piece of work aren’t you?” Muffin said incredulously.

The man cowered back and said, “You just don’t know how important it is for me to get to Juarez.”

 

“We’re not moving a wheel. The road is out anyway and that lady needs our help. We will stay here as long as it takes until she is ready to move.”

 

“Can I have a horse then to ride through?” McCabe asked.

 

“You are a poor excuse for a western man friend. We need those horses for the stage, ‘sides, none of them are saddle broke and you’d end up losing the horse when you got spit off. Touch one of them and I will be the first to put a rope around your neck. If you want to leave that bad, start walking, the settlement is over that pass northwest of here.” McCabe was furious but could do nothing for he was alone here and that driver was serious as well as a capable man in a fight.

 

Rocky could hear the men arguing and knew it was McCabe who was stirring the pot but she stayed steadfastly by the lady’s side as she labored through her work. It was this woman’s first child so this was going to be hours before the baby was born. There was nothing anyone could do about it but wait and fuss if they had to. Rocky had relieved the drummer of his waning supply of whiskey to use to sterilize what she could and kept cool towels on the ladies brow as she suffered through each contraction.

 

Rocky thought about the time, place, and predicament she was in then the reasons that brought her here to this rat hole in the middle of nowhere. She thought of her brethren and the dangers they were riding into but mostly, she thought of the miracle she was allowed to be part of here and now twenty-eight hours into it.

 

Rocky, went to the door quietly opening it, “I need that hot water now, it’s time.” Chas brought the large kettle in placing it next to the washbasin.

 

“Put some towels in the basin and pour some hot water on them,” Rocky said. Once he had done as he had been told, Chas left the room as Rocky turned back to the Mrs. McMichael and got ready for the real work to come.

 

“You’re almost there mam but it’s time to finish up.” She had made little sound through all of the labor but was clearly in pain. She was going to try to be a lady to the end if she could. “You can scream if you need to, it will be alright and it will help,” Rocky said.

 

The contractions were coming quickly now and Rocky was ready for what was next to come. She had warm towels ready to clean the baby and some blanket scraps to wrap the baby up to keep it warm. It will only be minutes now she thought as Mrs. McMichael strained terribly before letting out a scream as the babies’ head began to show. Once, twice, three times she strained and screamed again. It wasn’t long with just a few more tries till the baby is born into a hostile world of dirty men, savages, and an uncertain future.

 

None of that mattered now as Rocky cleaned the baby carefully and dried him before wrapping him in clean linens and a piece of a blanket before lying the child on his mother’s chest. Mrs. McMichael, exhausted as she was, was beaming in amazement as she looked upon her new baby boy. Rocky, exhausted too, was grinning from ear to ear as she looked on at the young mother and her newborn for this was going to be the start of a really great day.

 

Rocky washed her hands and stepped out to the waiting men to make the announcement, “It’s a boy!” The men cheer then one by one enter the room to congratulate the new mom and to welcome the child who had yet to be named, all except for McCabe who kept pacing back and forth like a caged animal looking for a way out that dugout.

 

When the driver came out, McCabe asked, “Can we go now?”

 

Muffin nearly cracked him, “We will go when that lady can travel and not before. I told you that once already and I am not going to tell you again.” McCabe didn’t like that answer but looking into the man’s face, he knew better than to push him any further.

 

“Nobody is going anywhere, we have company,” Bare Lee Tallable said as he stood at the window looking out into the desert. “They’ve come back.”

 

Muffin was looking out a different window and was seeing nothing. “Where are they?” he asked.

 

“Trust me, they are there,” the other man said. Chas lifted his rifle and quickly levered it.

 

“Wait,” Bare Lee said, "there’s a squaw coming in with a pack.”

 

Looking into a void in the brush, an apache squaw appeared from nowhere. She had a large bundle and was carrying it slowly towards the dugout. At the well, she stopped and spread an Indian blanket on the ground, carefully straightening it before she began unwrapping each item from her pack, laying each piece carefully down. Rocky, seeing what the squaw was doing, opened the door, stepped out onto the porch, and waited, watching for any sign of her being hostile.

 

The squaw looked up sharply then continued with her work as Rocky walked slowly out to the well. She knelt down with the Indian woman and picked each item up, examining it then replacing it just as carefully. The squaw finished laying out the last item then she stood up, looking down at her gifts.

 

Rocky stood up at nearly the same time then turned facing the squaw head on. She carefully removed a necklace from her neck and placed it into the squaw’s hand as a return gift for the ones the Indians had given for the new mother and baby.

 

The squaw looked at it and gave Rocky a huge toothy grin before she turned and vanished into the brush as if she had never been there at all. Rocky watched the brush for a few seconds then gathered the blanket with all of the items inside then headed back into the dugout.

 

“We can leave tomorrow morning,” she said. “That was Geronimo’s woman. There will be no more problem here today.”

 

Rocky took the package into the back room where she showed Mrs. McMichael the blankets, the Indian toys, and the healing herbs to keep them all safe from the spirits. They chatted of Rocky’s experience with the Indian squaw and of new things that should be known to new mothers.

 

Sometime later, Rocky came into the outer room for it was time to let them sleep since tomorrow was going to be another long day on the trail to get the mother and child to their husband and father.

 

Early the next morning, Mrs. McMichael came from the bedroom carrying with her the Indian presents. Rocky had the baby nestled in her arms as she presented the child to the dawning of a new day, her own face blushing as she gazed upon the new life’s beginning. She got the lady all set up in the coach with the baby then returned inside to bandage the Bare Lee’s side.

 

“Thank you for your help and the use of your bed sir,” she said as she cleaned his wound and wrapped his side with pieces of clean cloth.

 

Bare Lee just grinned back at her, “Mam, to have a new baby borned here was the best experience I’ve had since I have been in this hell hole. The pleasure is all mine and I am proud to have been able to help.”

 

Rocky finished putting a clean bandage on the man and headed out to the stage so they could get back on the road to the settlement. They would be heading on to Langtry from here where Lieutenant Mad Kepie McMichael would be meeting his wife to take her to the fort near St. David. The two women shared the duty of caring for the child over the next several hours until they rolled into Langtry.

 

Far behind them, hidden by the dust cloud stirred up by the coach, a lone man lay face down in the sand near a burning dugout. The Apache had come back and had caught Bare Lee Tallable away from the shelter of the dugout when he had let his guard down. He was dead now but had not died alone for there were other stains on the sand next to him where the Apache too had spilled warrior blood.

 

There was troop of cavalry waiting at the stage station in Langtry with a tall young officer jumping up as the stage rolled in, bounding to the door before the stage had come to a stop. Mrs. McMichael stepped up and he helped her out. As she set foot on the ground, she hugged and kissed her man before she turned back to the stage door.

 

Rocky was there by now and was handing the newborn child to her. The young officer looked up at Rocky as his wife introduced her to him, “This is my friend Rocky. She helped me bring your son into the world just one day ago.”

 

“Mam,” Mad Kepie stuttered, his voice cracking with emotion, clearly taken back by all of this, “If there is anything ever you need, please don’t hesitate to ask. I owe you everything for taking care of my family.”

Rocky smiled at the young man, “Seeing that baby being born is enough payment for me. You take good care of him and his mother is all I will ask for.”

 

Rocky watched the young soldier as he got his family into a wagon for their trip out to the fort. They both turned and waved goodbye to Rocky and the others as the troop headed west towards the frontier. Rocky looked over the town, little more than a pueblo, and saw the Jersey Lilly off in the distance. Hmmm, maybe it’s time to see the judge.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 20

 

SMOKE SCREEN

 

At dawn, the gang was in the saddle early and heading on to Holbrook where they had planned their next stop. Laylow and the men had spread out and came into town separately as to not draw attention to themselves by riding in a large group. Each of the men would have a specific duty when they arrived since they were only going to be in town for a little while. They were there to get supplies and head back to their camp hidden in an out of the way canyon a couple of miles from town. Catalina went into town with Jittery Jim and went directly to the dry goods store where he picked out some riding clothes and a party dress for Catalina.

 

From a distance it might have looked like Jittery Jim was having a little too much fun buying women’s clothes but Catalina was giving him fits. She had been dressed in buckskins for so long, she didn’t want to wear any of the “girl clothes” that made her feel all tied up. Somehow he had gotten her into the dress after they got back to camp to show the other men how well she cleaned up. The men’s mouths dropped open until Jittery Jim nudged them to get them breathing again.

 

Laylow was the first to speak, “Girl, you have sure grown up. You are downright beautiful in that dress.” Laylow turned to Double Scotch about then and said, “Don’t even think about it!”

 

Double Scotch grinned and while laughing out loud said, “Why Laylow, you’ve gotten a bit protective now haven’t you? You have nothing to worry about. I’ll make sure this gal gets back to her grandpa and to Carlitos in one piece even if you can’t.”

 

From Holbrook, they would turn south past Black Mesa riding almost non-stop for six days through the Fort Apache Reservation then skirting the western edge San Carlos Reservation. There had been no recent Indian problems near here but Laylow didn’t want to take any chances by stirring any up.

 

Laylow wanted to get through Indian Territory as quickly as they could since Tombstone was beckoning him. They would be skirting Phoenix altogether since that would be where the Dooley’s were if they were in the territory. They would ride southeast into the north end of Tucson where there were mostly Mexican natives and a place to rest for a day without being seen.

 

Tucson, settled on the Santa Cruz River, was a bustling city in 1882 with a mix of Spanish, Mexican, Indian, and American settlers. First settled by Indians in the 1690’s then turning into a Spanish Presidio in 1776, Tucson was steadily becoming a large city with all the problems of a large population. The United States Possession of Tucson was facilitated during the Gadsden Purchase in 1853 but succumbed briefly to the control of the Confederate Army in 1862. Until 1877, the city was to be named the capital of Arizona Territory then like so many other times in the west, the capital would change cities once again as the need arose.

 

Once the gang hit Tucson, they would be in grave danger from the Dooley’s from then on. They had to stop since they would need to lay in some supplies for the last leg of their journey into Tombstone. At least for now, suspicion might lift a little with a woman traveling with them if they were seen. Little did folks know, the Dammit gang had women amongst their membership who would be coming along to Tombstone with the rest of the gang so they might be fooled a bit by this first group of gunmen with Catalina along.

 

Just outside the first adobe buildings of town, the gang broke up as they had in Holbrook, traveling through Tucson in pairs along the back streets. Only Laylow and Catalina rode straight through the pueblo heading southeast towards Benson. Youngblood and Double Scotch would be picking up the supplies they needed as they drifted through then would meet up with the others somewhere outside of town on the trail to Benson.

 

Once free of Tucson and after they had traveled the nearly fifty miles to Benson, the gang stopped outside town about ten miles for a palaver and to wait for Youngblood to catch up. Laylow didn’t really want to go into Benson because it was a big stage-stop for the Butterfield Stage line, a switching station for the Southern Pacific, and a connection with the Sonoran Railroad. Like as not, Benson would be where the Dooley’s would meet up as they came into the country if they were in a hurry or moving a lot of men.

 

“Youngblood had the idea we should head up into Cochise’s Stronghold to get around the Dooley’s in Benson. We know they have to be here by now but so far we haven’t had any trouble so chances are we haven’t been discovered, YET! We have about a day’s ride into Tombstone from here and a fight could be brewing around every corner, Laylow said.”

 

Jittery Jim seemed a little skittish at the suggestion of the stronghold so asked, “Isn’t Cochise going to be worst than the Dooley’s? He has two hundred and fifty or more warriors up there and twice that many squaws and old men who can peel hair too.”

 

Youngblood had just ridden into camp so chimed in quickly since he knew of the tribes and problems in the area, “Cochise has long since sung his death song and now Geronimo is Chief of the Chiricuahua. He and I are blood brothers so he will let us through as long as we don’t disturb the Apache burial grounds.”

 

“We will travel through the Whetstone Mountains at night then through Cochise’s Stronghold in the Dragoon Mountains. They’ll let us go through at night because their spirit can never be free if they were to die at night. It’s a good thing the Dammit’s like to do their work at night, at least this time.”

 

As the sun settled in the west, the little cavalcade drifted into Cochise’s Dragoon Mountains riding swiftly and as quietly as they could, given the number of riders in their group. As the moon began to rise, the Dammit’s could see Indian warriors sky-lined to make their ominous presence known to the silent riders. Seeing the Apache caused the gang to urge their horses on for they did not want to fight Geronimo on top of the Dooley’s.

 

By daybreak, the riders had cleared the Dragoons and had turned west towards St. David. They skirted the little farming town, riding to the edge of the Verde River then turning south, keeping to the east side of the river as they rode. The sand kept the dust down so as to not give their presence away which would help the group from being detected. They were now within just a few short miles of Tombstone so the danger would be constant from here on in.

 

Their mood had not changed, it never seemed to change much since the Dammit’s were known to be footloose and fancy-free particularly when faced with danger and this time wouldn’t be any different. No one knew who insulted who about what but old man Dooley sure took offense an’ Big Ed is getting caught in the middle. They would get to the bottom of this soon, real soon.

 

The gang made a cold camp under a gnarled black oak tree a few miles northwest of Tombstone. They would rest there for a few hours then try to get to Big Ed’s once it was dark. As the sun hid its color from the landscape, Laylow had an idea. Catalina would not be known in this town or any other in Arizona so could get to Big Ed’s without being discovered as riding with the Dammit’s. She would get word to him the Dammit’s were in town so they wouldn’t have to show their hand just yet.

 

Catalina was ready and dressed to ride within a few moments and just looking at her, Laylow knew that young girl was going to be popular in town. She rode into town like she was told and hitched her horse near Big Ed’s place before walking down the boardwalk towards the saddle shop when three men stopped her.

 

“Where you goin’ gal?” one man asked.

 

“Who are you to be askin’ a lady her business?” Catalina snapped back and although not showing it, terrible frightened by now.

 

“The name is Dooley and I want to know what you are doing going to that shop.”

 

“The owner of that shop is my uncle Ed and he is sick. I am going to see what medicine he needs if it is any business of yours, Mr. Dooley.”

 

“Alright then, what’s your name so I can check your story out?” the Dooley man snapped.

“My name …….. is Catalina.”

 

Big Ed had been listening to the exchange and had come out of his shop to make the girl’s story more believable, “Catalina, how nice of your to come see your old uncle. Come on over here and give me a hug because my arthritis is giving me fits this evening and I can’t walk that far.”

 

Catalina rushed to Big Ed and hugged him as if he really was her uncle and kissed him on the cheek before they walked back into the shop. As the door closed Big Ed grinned, “Laylow is here isn’t he?”

 

Catalina smiled then said, “Yes he is Uncle and more Dammit’s are trailing this way from California to meet up with them. They are southwest of town waiting to find out where and when they need to come in.”

 

Big Ed was thrilled at the thought of Laylow and his rowdy bunch coming to Tombstone. After a bit of chit chat and a bite to eat for Catalina, he told her how to get the gang into town and into a well hidden, abandoned mineshaft where they could ride to or from town quickly if need be.

 

There was another abandoned mineshaft behind his shop that connected to the tunnel Laylow would be camped in. He would use the shaft to send supplies or messages through to keep them fed while they waited for the rest of the gang to arrive and it would be easy for Big Ed to keep them up to speed on Dooley activity in town.

 

The Dooley’s were not gonna be ready for what the Dammit’s had in store for them and they were not going to like the mess they stirred up when they threatened Big Ed. There was no reason Ed could think of for all this madness to happening. Something was going on that neither T-Bone nor Laylow were aware of and Ed needed to find out what that was. Somebody is pulling strings to get these boys to face off to cover up something else what’s going on Ed thought.

 

Catalina spent the night at Big Ed’s, slipping out just before dawn to meet Laylow. She gave him Big Ed’s instructions then went back to her bed before she would be missed. Only thing was, she was seen leaving Big Ed’s. The spy could not keep up with her so she did not see the meeting with Laylow but the spy knew something was up now and would watch the girl closer from now on. Fortunately, Laylow was able to get the gang into the hidden mineshaft unseen so they were safe enough for now, at least until they needed to come out into the open and the face-off with T-Bone Dooley.

 

Youngblood covered their tracks after everyone was inside the mineshaft just in case someone started nosing around. Laylow figured the mineshaft would be where they would call home for a week, maybe two until the rest of the gang got there. Youngblood had a thought it might offer the perfect opportunity to pull a little guerrilla warfare night action type hit and run to un-nerve them Dooley’s some. Laylow was getting’ that grin of his agin’ as he thought of the possibilities of a nighttime gunfight in Tombstone.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 21

 

A NIGHT IN JUAREZ

The fight with the apache had been pretty intense so T-Bone figured the Dooley men needed a good rest, some good whiskey, and some relaxation before moving on too much further west. They were near Paso Del Norte, Mexico, later to be known as Ciudad de Juarez. The city was named after their beloved Mexican leader Benito Juarez by the Congress of the State of Chihuahua. Benito Juarez lived in exile in the village, which would be the temporary capital of his Mexico, until the French were ousted and he could return to Mexico City but no one knew when that might be.

 

In early 1882, there were mostly Pueblo Indian inhabitants and some peasant Mexican farmers living on the south side of the Rio Grande River. Much later the famed Pancho Villa would be an unwilling participant in the revolution fought in Cd. Juarez but for now at least, it was again a simple farming community lying lazily along the Rio Grande.

 

There were several local cantinas along the main street leading into town and a somewhat rundown hotel. Red was making a beeline for the hotel, sorry as it was. She wanted a hot bath after so many days on the trail and the long hot fight with the Apache. T-Bone got her checked into the hotel then headed back to the cantina where he planned on throwing a few back with the men. He would be meeting Red for dinner in an hour so he could quench his thirst downstairs until then.

 

At the cantina, the men were already having a good time and were reliving the Indian Wars they had just fought through. The cheap Mexican Tequila was warming their bones and opening their mouths to song. Nuttin’ Graceful had found a guitar and was trying to sing a Mexican song to a pretty little señorita he was trying to impress.

 

Now old Nuttin’ usually don’t have a problem with the girls but this one won’t pay him no never mind and he is getting a little testy. Come to find out, Nuttin’ looked like somebody the señorita had stolen a poke from a few years back and hoped he wouldn’t remember her. If it was him, she was playing it a mite cool to see what he was going to do. It got to be kind of comical watching ‘Ole Nuttin’ trying soooo hard at sparkin’ a gal who had no plans of bein’ friendly.

 

T-Bone stepped up an’ snatched that guitar away from Nuttin’ and said, “Just set back and see how it’s done fella.”

 

Well, an outsider might look at T-Bone and think he is just about one tooth away from the normal border trash that came into the town from the breaks of a night to drink and molest the local wimmin’ but that impression would soon change once he began to sing.

 

T-Bone gave the strings on the guitar a listen as he grazed his fingertips across them a time or two. Once happy with what he heard, he began to sing an old Mexican ballad familiar to most. In spite of old T-Bone’s rugged good looks, a well used exterior, and gruff demeanor, a body would be pleasantly surprised at his voice for that old Texan could sing and sing pretty doggone good.

 

All the talking and carryin’ on in the Cantina had stopped with all eyes and ears bein’ turned towards T-Bone, the crooning of his voice showing an incredible softness not expected of this frontier Cattle Baron. His music transitioned to a faster beat drawing the little señorita to her feet as she began to twirl her skirt as she spun. Soon enough she began to play her castanets, slowly at first, then progressively faster and faster, clicking and spinning around T-Bone as she danced.

 

The little señorita was spinning so quickly her skirts were flying around her like a flag in a tornado as she zigzagged through the tables, arms high, and castanets clicking loudly. The music and the dancing went on for hours. The men were having a great time as the night grew longer with the tequila flowing like a river. A good gun battle, good booze, and a pretty woman, what could make a frontier man happier?

 

By dawn, the men were finally straggling to their bedrolls to sleep off the night’s festivities and a soon to be aching head. They would stay on another day in the small border town while Red and T-Bone caught the Butterfield Stage to Deming then on to Benson where they would wait for the men to catch up with the saddle stock.

 

By the second day, the men were well rested and were ready to head out onto the trail to Deming, New Mexico. In the early days, there was a Butterfield stage stop in Deming named after the wife of a railroad magnate when the tracks were ended there at the Mimbres River. A Round House and several repair shops were built creating and incentive to build more in the town then after several economic ups and downs, Deming became the county seat for Luna County.

 

From Deming the trail weary gang would go to Benson where T-Bone should have already sent spies into Tombstone to see just what the Dammit’s were up to. Benson had been named after an early Judge who was another friend of the president of the railroad, a typical method of naming railroad towns as the rails pushed west.

 

Benson was plotted some distance away from the original Ohnesorgen Stage Station which originated from pre-1880 in the early days near the San Pedro River crossing. Along with the placement of Benson near the old stage stop, there was the settlement of St. David, founded by a tough bunch of Mormon farmers. The town was nothing more than a fortress surrounded by seventy-five acres of wheat that was under constant threat of attack from the Chiricuahua.

 

The Butterfield Stage lines kept a station a mile north of current Benson in the 1850’s in defiance to the great Chiricuahua Apache Chief, Cochise. For years during the 1850’s, the whole Benson, St. David area was constantly ready for attack and regularly had soldiers from Fort Bowie bivouacked near town as a semblance of protection from the apaches.

 

By the time the Dooley men had gone a mile or two on the trail, T-Bone and Red were already in Benson, having arrived on the stage after a long day and part of the night’s travel. They perused the town arm in arm as if they were on holiday, not as if they were there on a mission like they were. They took their meals at the hotel and lazed around town listening for news of any surly looking strangers coming into town. Their holiday would not last much longer for they were not alone in Benson, the Dammit’s were almost there.

 

It was bound to happen sooner or later that a habitin’ man would slip off from the group and get into trouble. Weedy had a powerful hankerin’ for a plug of tobacco so he ghosted away from the cowboys as they neared Benson so he could get a fresh plug. He was trying to stay out of sight so came through a back alley ‘round the corner from the dry goods store and straight into the waiting hands of the T-Bone and Red.

 

Without thinking, Weedy’s hand flashed for his gun but the gun battle was not to go in his favor. T-Bone’ draw was lightening fast and his Colt was pouring lead into Weedy whose gun suddenly got too heavy to raise. Weedy wobbled on his feet ever so slightly as he looked into the hateful eyes of his killer. Soon it was difficult for his eyes to focus and his knees gave way for the boardwalk to scoop his shot-up body to his maker. Weedy hit the boardwalk dead, his long trail had ended in Benson with a blaze of gunfire a belly full of lead.

 

So it had begun T-Bone thought. Weedy was a well-known Dammit so there were probably more in town, most certainly in Tombstone. They would know T-Bone was in the territory too as word spread of the killing. There was Dammit blood on the ground because of him so there would be no turning back now.

 

The rest of the Dooley men would arrive in Benson late in the day following the Weedy shooting so they would finish the fight then. As soon as the Dammit’s found out about Weedy, they would be hunting for blood so that might give the Dooley’s an advantage, as if they needed one, if they were mad enough to make a mistake.

 

There was the normal legal inquest into the shooting by the Sheriff but too many witnesses saw the gunfight and testified Weedy went for his gun first. The case was closed as far as the county Sheriff was concerned but Laylow may not think of it quite the same way.

 

T-Bone and his brothers needed to get themselves a plan put together to go into Tombstone without letting on they were there for more killin’. Only problem was, most folks knew the Dooley’s were in town now and more were coming. Everybody knew there was a big fight a brewin’ and it would come to a head in Tombstone in a few days. Anybody who could leave town for a few days was taking advantage of any excuse to get shut of the trouble coming their way. There were enough wagons leaving Tombstone to make a feller think there was a plague or something over there. Death was coming to Tombstone, only it would be coming from the end of a Colt.

 

The streets of Benson were deserted for folks in town had heard of the trouble between the Dammit’s and Dooley’s. Everyone knew there would be lead flying before long and knew flying lead had a way of finding innocent victims more often than the ones intended.

 

The undertaker had come down and picked up Weedy’s body until someone came by to claim the remains or until the county paid him to put Weedy into a pauper’s grave with the malcontents, cattle thieves, vagrants, and other bodies dumped out in the desert no one could put a name to. It was cool enough to keep him on a plank for a day to be identified but no longer since he would begin to swell up and start stinking from the rotting flesh.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 22

 

A NEW BEGINNING

 

Morning broke to a winter storm raging across the Sonoran Desert but desert storms in Arizona came in quick and left just as quick most times without leaving a trace. With the rain came forth the animals and their songs of thanks for rain meant life and was a time for celebration in the desert. The plants would grow and bloom quickly with the desert tanks or tinajas getting refilled with life sustaining water to keep the hundreds of animals alive until the next rains.

 

Howdy, Catherine, and Jailhouse Jim had saddled their horses and rode into Wickenburg where they learned Laylow and the gang had gone through not more than six days before. They decided to take the shorter route through the desert hoping to meet up with them before they rode into Tombstone.

 

Catherine and Jim decided to take the stage from Wickenburg to Phoenix then on to Tucson while Howdy shadowed them leading the saddle-stock and mules. The Dooley’s would never expect a man and wife traveling together and Howdy just looked like another broken down wrangler trailin’ his string towards Texas. They would try to find Laylow or find out if he had been through Tucson before traveling on to Benson.

 

It had taken all of seven hours for the stage to make Phoenix then another eight to get to Tucson. Once there, Jim and Catherine had found a room in Tucson and made the rounds about town subtly askin’ about the gang. There was no new word on Laylow or the gang for now with the last talk bein’ about Laylow and the fight in Jerome. That fight was being talked about all over the territory like it was a national event so it must have been some kind of whuppin’ fer sure. After a couple of days rest in Tucson and with no sign of Laylow, they hopped onto the stage and traveled onto Benson where they would wait and listen some more.

 

In Benson, the couple got off the stage and checked into the hotel for the night. There seemed to be a lot of tension in this little town but nobody was talkin’, not even the hotel clerk who was usually pretty free with local information. The Butterfield Stage Line stopped in Benson along with the Southern Pacific Railroad and Sonoran Railroads so for a small settlement, there was a lot of things going on around them.

 

There were a lot of strangers passing through including several tough lookin’ gun-toting galoots hangin’ around the “Joint”, a saloon with a dubious reputation that was well-known to be a haven for the “Top and Bottom Gang”. From the looks of the men and how they were just loitering around, it appeared like they were waiting for someone or something then all hell was going to break loose. No one had much to say and were being pretty tight-lipped so the couple from Tehachapi did a little casual shopping and more listening to the town than anything else.

 

Catherine had gone into a small dress shop where there was another lady talking to the seamstress. She sifted through the bolts of calico and other materials while trying to discretely listen to the conversation the other two wimmin’ were having. What little she could overhear was there is big time trouble brewing in Tombstone and that it was about to come to a head as soon as the two gangs hit town.

 

Jim had been leaning against a post outside the saloon when off in a distance he could hear the stage rumbling before he could see it. It rounded the bend onto the main street and came sliding up to a stop in front of the stage station with the driver hollerin’ and the brakes a squealin’. Seconds after the stage ground to a halt, a cloud of dust boiled around it, choking the folks on the street until it cleared.

 

The shotgun guard was off the box in one step and headed over to get the door open for the passengers to step off. Seconds later, off stepped a couple of lady passengers then none other than …………………………. T-Bone Dooley. “Dammit”, Jim thought, this was going to be serious cause T-Bone doesn’t just ride out of Texas for anything small. Who’s that with him? It kept getting worse since Red is with T-Bone and it don’t look like they are on holiday. Whatever is going on in Tombstone is going to be bad, real bad.

 

The stage driver got all the baggage off the stage then got back onto the seat so he could head over to the livery for a team change. As the stage rattled off with the harness a jingling, a lone cowhand made his way through town leading a string of saddle stock and a couple of mules as he too headed for the livery.

 

 

Jim looked across at the aging cowhand without acting as if he knew the man then looked across the street towards T-Bone with an almost indiscernible nod of his hat showing that he had recognized the East Texas gunman. The older man was of course Howdy Doody and he was ready for action, Texas Dooley or not.

 

Howdy kept on as if T-Bone wasn’t drawing that big crowd of gunmen and didn’t return the sign given him by the man in the fancy town clothes. He would catch up to them later on after he had a chance to get the horses put up and wash some trail dust from his throat.

 

Later that night, Jim and Catherine were having supper at the Benson House when Howdy walked by their table stumbling over his spurs and falling down as if he was drunk. Suddenly, there was gunfire down in the street in front of “The Joint” and a bunch of men began to running that way to see what the commotion was.

 

Howdy made it to his knees then looked out the window and mumbled under his breath, “Dammit to hell. It’s T-Bone and he just shot Weedy down without even givin’ him a chance.” “Worse yet” Howdy thought silently, “T-Bone was gonna know the Dammit’s are here for sure now so the element of surprise, it there had been one, was gone.”

 

Howdy used the table to push himself back to his feet then pushed a note under Catherine’s bag before slipping out into the night. Seeing what Howdy had done, Catherine slid the note to her husband who put in his pocket until later when he could read it without prying eyes spying on him and the words scribbled within.

 

After supper, Jim and Catherine left the hotel arm in arm for their now usual evening walk around town. Once they were away from Whiskey Row, Jim pulled the paper from his pocket and began reading the note as they walked. Jim grinned to himself as he read. Howdy would have the horses ready at midnight behind the hotel. He had found Laylow and learned how to get to him without the Dooley’s seeing them. Good Ole Howdy, figures he would know how to find the way to Laylow and the rest of the gang.

 

Cutting their walk short, they headed back to the hotel and got their bags packed for the trail then at midnight after a couple short hours of sleep, they headed down the back stairs to meet Howdy behind the hotel. Howdy and the horses were right where he said they would be looking rested and ready for the trail. They were used to this night thing by now so neither the horses nor the riders objected to moving out at the late hour.

“Forgot to mention we have to get through the Dragoons before daybreak” Howdy quipped.

 

“Why so Howdy?” Catherine asked.

 

“Cause that’s Cochise’s stronghold and we don’t want to meet up with Geronimo or any of them Chiricuahua ‘paches up yonder. They won’t bother us as long as it’s dark but come daylight, they might have a different idea about us,” Howdy replied.

 

With the shooting tonight, come daylight the Dooley’s will be lookin’ hard for any more of the gang on the main roads so they knew they had to ride this very night if they wanted a chance at all to get away still standing.

 

“Let’s ride then,” Jim said with the clattering of hooves being all that could be heard for the next couple of miles.

 

The only sign left of their passing was the nearly invisible trail of dust. Anyone seeing the direction they were traveling would think they were crazy and would be dead by morning at the hands of Chiricuahua warriors.

 

Howdy led the little group through the Dragoons by first light and to the same black oak Laylow had camped under the first night after leaving Benson. They would ride into town after dark that evening dressed as a businessman and his wife in a buggy Howdy had “found abandoned” near the stage road.

 

Jim wasn’t known in Tombstone, nor was his bride, so infiltration of the townsfolk would not be all that difficult if they kept to themselves and used the mining venture story during any idle talk where someone might overhear them. They could move around town freely and would be the eyes and ears of the gang once they had found them.

 

Howdy figured to ride in later by himself with the stock like he had done in Tucson and act like a loafer although he wasn’t sure if the Dooley’s would remember him or not. Ordinarily, Howdy dressed kinda funny and sticks out like a sore thumb whilst in a crowd with his yeller hat, red boots, an' all.

 

The plan this time was different and was for Howdy to come in riding one of the mules dressed like he come straight out of the hills of Tennessee. He already had a few days growth of beard, showing mostly grey anymore, and his hair had gotten a mite overgrown from bein’ too long on the trail.

 

He had found where someone had thrown away some old britches, some high top boots that were run down at the heel, and an old deerskin coat that was heavily stained from many days on the trail. Howdy shook the spiders out of the boots and tried them on. They were a bit tight but that would just give him a different kinda walk as long as he didn’t have to walk too far.

 

Howdy carried old style Remington Pattern cap and ball revolvers so he loaded them with fresh charges and recapped the nipples. Those old guns might have seen better days but they were still ready to do service whenever they were called into action. Howdy put the discarded clothes on and caught a glimpse of himself in the stock pond.

 

Yep, he looked like a slow talkin’, slow thinkin’ mountain man now. Onliest thing was, he wasn’t gonna be too slow to drag those hoglegs out or to put them to work if things turned out sour. Howdy put his normal clothes into his saddlebags then put an old saddle on the biggest of the mules he called Rufus. He tied his saddlebags to the cantle then added his slicker, bedroll, shotgun, and stuffed a well-used rifle into the scabbard.

 

That daggon mule was at least seventeen hands tall so Howdy walked him up to a stump soes he could get into the saddle without rippin’ his britches. Once mounted, Howdy headed off for town with the rest of the stock trailing behind. Hmmm Howdy thought, this old mule has a purty good gait He might just want to get one to ride as regular saddle stock if they are all rode like this one was.

 

Howdy rode into Tombstone shortly after daybreak using the north road and headed straight to the OK Corral with the stock. There wasn’t too much stirrin’ in town as of yet for it was still early and mighty cold. No one seemed to notice him movin’ through at all.

 

The storekeep was sweeping the boardwalk in front of his store and didn’t even look up as Howdy rode past. The liveryman was getting some hay to the stock in the corrals and had seen the lone rider a ways off. When Howdy rode into the lot, the livery hand put his pitchfork down and came out to greet him.

 

“What’s happening in town friend?” Howdy asked half expecting the man to say something glib about Tombstone being quiet and a place to settle down with a family.

 

The liveryman looked real serious at Howdy before answering, “Hells comin’ to Tombstone friend. If’n you want to steer shut of it, you best light out a here quick. T-Bone Dooley came in yesterday on the stage and he looks to be spoiling for a fight. He’s over to the Birdcage right now, been in the game all night. Here tell it, he ain’t in no kinda mood and he already done killed some feller in Benson a day or so ago. He brung a bunch of gunmen with him that look pretty rank so best watch yer step around them partner.”

 

Howdy figured as much from what he could gather from the short time he was in Benson so the hostler just confirmed what he already knew. He paid the man to board the mule and the saddle stock, dragged his Marlin from the boot, then dragged his saddlebags and bedroll from the saddle so he could head on out to find himself a bed.

 

Thanking the man, Howdy walked down to the boarding house to get a bite to eat for himself, a bed, and to start getting’ a count on how many Dooley’s were in town. If he could get most of them located, it might be easier to take them out a few at a time instead of taking them all on at once.

 

Just looking around, it appeared to Howdy that he was the first Dammit to get to town, or at least the first to show his face anyway. Howdy had that nagging feeling that Laylow was already here as well only was stayin’ outta sight for now. First things first, Howdy wanted to get some food, he would look for Laylow later on.

 

After breakfast, Howdy gimped around town acting like a Tennessee drover lookin’ fer a job. It was a pretty good ruse cause it was almost comin’ time for the spring drive and the local ranchers would be gathering the stock outta those miserable brush-choked breaks between Tombstone and Bisbee. It normally took a whole passel of cowboys to get that rough stock loose of the brush and broke for the trail so finding a job shouldn’t be all that hard to do for an experienced cowhand with a horse.

 

Howdy made a turn around the settlement, learning much about the area and what was going on with the local boys. ‘Ole Howdy had a gift for gab and talked easily with the folks in town like he had been living around there for a good while. The townsfolk were generous with information about their town and their fears of what was in store for them once those killers Laylow Curly and T-Bone Dooley reached town.

 

T-Bone’s reputation for being a ruthless, cutthroat land grabber was as well known in the territory as was his propensity to shoot first and talk later, especially after he killed Weedy in front of all those witnesses. It was going to get a lot rougher in Tombstone before long so the decent folk were staying close to home or were leaving town on business for few days until the dust settled.

 

They didn’t want to be here when the battle began. After all, they had just gotten over the Earp’s, McLaury’s, and Clanton’s street fight just to get pulled into this next mess. Howdy thought to himself, if they didn’t watch their step real close, the town would be turning against them on top of everything else since they were tired of getting caught in the middle of a gunfight.

[Jailhouse Jim, SASS #13104]

Chapter 23

 

JUDGEMENT TIME

Langtry, Texas was a scheduled overnight stop for the stage so Rocky headed over to the rooming house to freshen up. Once she had cleaned up and changed, she was ready to celebrate making it out of the desert alive. She headed over to the Jersey Lilly where she saw the Judge sitting out on his porch. “Buy a lady a drink Judge Roy Bean?” she asked.

 

The Judge looked up through whiskey-blurred eyes at this buxom lady who had so boldly approached him. Gazing at her, his blurry eyes suddenly seemed clear, “Well now, Rocky Meadows, how long has it been girl? You are a sight for sore old eyes.”

 

“Been a while Judge. I came out to see Uncle Ed in Tombstone. Thought since I was coming this away I’d stop in and say hello to an old friend. Am I still your second favorite girl after Lilly?” Rocky asked smiling the whole time.

 

The Judge looked at her with those old knowing eyes now finally clear of their drunken haze. “You know there’s trouble in Tombstone right now don’t you?” he said. “There’s gonna be hell ta pay in a few days once that Texas bunch from English hits town.”

 

Rocky paused for a minute then said, “I am here to stop it if I can Judge.”

 

“If anyone can, it’s gonna be you gal, you are in the best spot to see both sides of this mess. We had heard there was gonna be trouble there a while back with Big Ed but then T-Bone and the Dammit Gang got in the middle to mess it up even worse. You know how fast news travels out here when there is a fight a brewing. That don’t matter none today though, come on inside and I’ll get us a drink.”

 

Rocky and Judge Roy Bean laughed and reminisced nearly all afternoon long of old times and old friends they had met along the way to get to where they are now. The Judge had a secret bottle in the back for special guests so he broke it out for her and the libations flowed freely.

 

The old friends had to stop the party for a minute or two while the Judge dispensed a little frontier justice for the local Madam.

 

It appeared there was a young cowboy wanting the services of a local prostitute then somewhere along the line started saying she wasn’t worth the price. The madam got into the middle of it so the Sheriff was called. Clearing his bench of liquor bottles and ashes, the Judge waved the throng of men into his makeshift court.

 

The Sheriff was quick to drag the accused man into the courtroom in shackles with a troop of prostitutes and the madam following close behind. The Judge Roy Bean rapped his pistol on the table and called the court to order.

 

“Sheriff, what is the charge?” the judge bellowed.

“The charge Judge, is failure to pay for services rendered.”

 

“Does the establishment have a statement?” the Judge asked. The madam stepped up to be sworn in. “Once sworn, always sworn,” the Judge said then motioned her to a chair to face the impromptu crowd.

 

“Judge, this man came to my place wanting the services of this one particular girl. When he was done, he said he wasn’t going to pay because he didn’t get what he asked for. I told him he had his time with my girl and I was going to get paid for her services, how much or how little might have been needed. He said he wasn’t paying so I called the Sheriff.”

 

The Judge looked the young cowpuncher over with hard and knowing eyes for a minute then asked, “Do you have anything to say son?”

 

“Yes sir Judge, I sure do,” the young man said, his voice cracking just a little. “You see Judge, today is my birthday and I came to town to celebrate it with a girl since I am of age now. I went on down to Millie’s place like I had planned an’ picked me out a special girl so we could go to her crib.”

 

“Now Judge I was powerful ready fer this and her being so purty ‘n all was just was too much for me. She had taken my hand and pressed up agin’ me real cozy like and I was done just like that. She started laughing real hard at me so I ran outta there all red-faced an all when Millie stopped me and said I still hadta pay. I told her I didn’t get what I came for so I wasn’t paying so she called the Sheriff and here I am.”

 

The courtroom crowd was roaring with laughter forcing the Judge to crack that pistol on the bar several more times to get them quieted down enough to continue. “Boy, you ever had a gal before?” asked the Judge.

 

The young man’s face was glowing red from his collar, “No sir.”

 

The crowd roared again with the Judge cracking that pistol again and again. After the Judge got them quiet agin’, he continued with his decision. “Son, I find you guilty of failure to pay for services rendered. You freely admit to being with her and for the completion of ‘YOUR’ portion of the work therefore are hereby ordered to pay for the girl’s services.”

 

The boy was completely humiliated by the entire affair and had hung his head in shame as the crowd roared again. “Millie,” the Judge barked, stilling the court, “I find your girl guilty of humiliating this young man in this case. A professional girl should have handled this whole matter in a more suitable manner.” The young cowpuncher looked up at Millie sheepishly as he wondered what was going to happen now.

 

“I hereby fine you the amount he was charged for the services of your girl. I further fine you as the one responsible for allowing this travesty to get to my court. I order that you Millie, take this young man to your establishment to be your personal escort for twenty-four hours. You are further ordered to ensure this young man has available all the services you PERSONALLY are able to provide him, free of charge.”

 

At first, Millie was furious. Then looking across the courtroom at the young man with a little more sympathy now, she began to smile. “Alright Judge, I shall teach this boy all he needs to know to become a real man. You won’t see me in your court over this kinda thing again.”

 

“Case closed.” The Judge rapped his pistol on the bench and back he went to Rocky and their conversation. Millie grabbed the young man’s hand and led him out of the courtroom, surrounded by her girls, as they headed back to the “seedier” side of the tracks.

 

“That was some unusual frontier justice you dispensed there Judge,” Rocky laughed.

 

“Yes mam it was,” Judge Roy said. “That is one young man I want taught how to take care of himself the right way. You’ll hear his name again someday for he will be most famous I believe. They call him “Teedie” short for Theodore.”

 

There have been many stories of the Judge Roy Bean and his unusual form of frontier justice. Even though he had sentenced men to hang in his court, not a single hanging was ever actually completed. It seems these tough frontier men were able to escape the town jail on a most regular basis, particularly when a neck stretching was about to happen.

The frontier needed these tough young men so hanging them was not always the best way to dispense justice. Judge Roy was not typical of the frontier jurist and whiskey almost always influenced his decisions but it surely adds a colorful western section to the history books.

 

It seemed an irony that old Roy spent all those years in Texas waiting for the love of his life, Lilly Langtry, to pass through his town. It was a shame when he died only weeks before she actually arrived to see him. Well, in the meantime, he had Rocky to fill Lilly’s shoes for at least a little while. After many hours and a barrel of laughs, Rocky and the Judge bid each other a due for it was late in the evening and Rocky needed to get a little sleep ‘for morning since the stage won’t wait for a sleepy head, not even if it was Rocky.

 

Four o’clock in the morning came quickly to Rocky after her night of reminiscing with Old Judge Roy. It had been great to see the old fella for he was gettin’ long in the tooth and may not be around next time she came out this way. Mrs. McMichael and her newborn had left with her husband and McCabe had gotten off the stage as well leaving only Pecos Clyde and Rocky to finish the trip. Since they would be the only ones continuing on from Langtry, it wouldn’t be a problem for Rocky to catch up on a little lost sleep as they rode.

 

Once everyone was settled into their places, the driver cracked the whip over the backs of the horses starting the stage with a jerk. The stage road to Socorro was relatively flat and had been graded since the recent rains to remove the ruts so the big Concord rolled smoothly along rocking the two passengers to sleep. Hopefully, there should be no more problems on the trip so everyone relaxed and went to sleep.

 

Many hours later, Rocky would awaken to the sounds of harness jingling and Muffin barking at the horses, urging them along up the trail. It was nearly nightfall. Rocky had slept almost all day so finally started feeling a little better after the late night at the Lilly. The night was cool and there was little dust rising from the trail so the shades were lifted to let the stale smells free and to let fresh air into the coach. The breeze felt good to Rocky and Pecos who had endured the dusty ride before the winter rain.

 

Rocky gazed out the window at the moon, which had risen early, and the stars splattered across the western sky. It seemed so peaceful and serene out here with none of the foreboding dread of the death and bloodshed that would be waiting for her in Tombstone. At least for now she could relax because it wouldn’t be long before that would end. A coyote yapped in the distance at the passing stage, at least she hoped it was a coyote.