Gunmen of the Desert Sands

U.S. Marshal Crayton Dawson looked down from the low hills east of Julimez. The village rooftops, glittering in early sunlight, had already begun to waver in the desert heat. "Whatever the shooting was, it’s all over now,’’ he said to his deputy, former undertaker Jedson Caldwell.

Deputy Caldwell stepped his horse over beside him and looked out and down onto the small gathering of adobes, huts, houses and outbuildings on an otherwise barren wasteland of sand, rock, brush and cactus. In the distance beyond Julimez a line of hills and mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, shrouded by rising heat and a silver-gray pall. "Maybe the posse fared better than we expected them to,’’ he said. He pushed up his dusty, battered derby hat and crossed his hands on his saddle horn. The fingers of his black leather gloves had been cut at the knuckles, protecting only his palms.

"You really think so?’’ Dawson asked, looking him up and down, noting how the deputy’s town clothes had gone to seed in these harsh Mexican desert badlands.

Caldwell sighed. "No, I’m just being optimistic. ’’We should have stayed together." As he spoke he glanced back at the three men in dark suits riding up to them. ’’The quicker these gentlemen are gone, the sooner we can go about doing things the right way, as far as I’m concerned." At the center of the riders sat Samuel Messenger, American consulate to the Mexican government. Flanking him were two members of his border command, Ripley Tunis and Grady Carr, both former Pinkerton detectives.

’’Yeah," said Dawson, also glancing around at the approaching riders. ’’I’ve learned that government works better when government stays home. But I’ve got a feeling they’re not going to leaving any time soon."

When Messenger brought his horse to a halt, he sat for a moment gazing out in the direction the gunfire had come from during the night. Finally he said, ’’Marshal Dawson, I’ll be taking my leave this morning. Agents Tunis and Carr have agreed to stay down here with you for a time, to lend you both a hand. I hope you’ll take advantage of having this top-notch additional manpower."

Dawson kept his voice as courteous as he could. ’’We’re most obliged, sir," he said, ’’but there’s no need in keeping them from going on carrying out their ordinary duties on our account."

The silver-haired Washington diplomat saw right through his attempted civility. Almost before Dawson had finished speaking, Messenger countered sharply, ’’All I heard both before and after the gunfight at Hell’s Gate is how badly you need help out here." He gestured a hand toward the two agents. ’’Well, here they are."

’’Enough." Messenger raised a hand to cease any further discussion. ’’I vouch for both of these men. They are two of the nation’s finest." He paused for a moment in reflection, then said, ’’Of course I realize they are both sober, willing and able to carry out orders, unlike your other deputy. I hope that won’t put them at a disadvantage in your estimation. I recall how greatly you welcomed the services of Quick Lawrence Shaw."

’’Whatever," said Messenger. ’’Tunis and Carr will be riding with you for a time, and that’s final. I need reliable reports on the situation down here."

’’I hope I didn’t give that impression," Messenger said dryly, giving the two agents a knowing glance. ’’But I do have to say it will be refreshing to get a report in writing for a change."

Changing the subject quickly away from written reports, Dawson said, ’’Shaw was sober the whole time he rode with us. We never would have come out of that gun battle alive had he not gotten to Hell’s Gate ahead of us and done what he did."

’’Yes, yes, of course," said Messenger in the same dry skeptical tone, dismissing the matter with the toss of a gloved hand. ’’Shaw was a virtual one-man army."

’’You’re damn right he was," Dawson said, getting more and more irritated at Messenger’s smug reserved manner. ’’I wish he was riding with us right now." His eyes went across the two agents. ’’He’s all the help we would have needed. We would have Lucas Leeman and these border raiders down over their saddles this morning instead of riding down there to see how many dead they left behind."

’’Shaw is a drunken joke," said Grady Carr, a look of defiance on his red moonlike face. ’’I’m sick of hearing what a top gunman he is. All that talk about being the fastest gun alive sounds like something he dreamed up on his own, to keep him in drinking money."

’’He is a top gunman," Dawson shot back at him. ’’Only a coward and a braggart shoots his mouth off about a man who’s not standing in front of him."

The two glared hard at each other, but Messenger cut his horse in between them before the argument could build any further. ’’Gentlemen, there’ll be plenty of fighting to go around when you catch up to Deacon Lucas. Save it for the raiders," he said with authority.

’’As far as Shaw goes," Messenger continued, ’’I don’t give a damn if he’s the fastest gun alive, or the drunkest gun alive. I’ve seen him fit both images. Either way, he disappeared on us. So forget him."

’’Right," Messenger said with sarcasm. ’’Shaw only joined us long enough to satisfy his personal vendetta against Titus Boland. Otherwise, he couldn’t have cared less whether or not we took down Sepreano and the Barrows Gang."

’’Let it go, Jed," Dawson said quietly, cutting his deputy off. ’’Shaw did what he thought you wanted done, Messenger. If you want his badge back, I’ll see to it he turns it in if we come across him. I doubt he’s given that deputy badge much thought one way or another."

’’Thank goodness it’s only made of simple tin," said Messenger. ’’I’m certain if it had any value he would have traded it for whiskey by now." The two agents chuckled darkly at Messenger’s remark.

Dawson looked away, out across the wavering heart toward the village, in order to cut short the conversation about Lawrence Shaw. He and Shaw had been friends for too many years for him to listen to strangers belittle the man. ’’Are we ready to ride out there, see what’s left of this place?" He nodded in the direction of Julimez.

Messenger sighed and slumped in his saddle for a moment, then said, ’’I’m needed in Matamoros. I’ll be turning back right here. But yes, ride on. Your directive is to pursue these men until you have either dispatched them adequately, or they lead you on to Quinn Madsen and the rest of his gang."

’’Don’t worry," said Dawson, ’’as soon as we cross paths with them, they will be adequately dispatched." He touched his hat brim toward Messenger and nudged his horse forward. Caldwell swung his horse in beside him.

’’We’ll get along just fine, Samuel," Tunis said, daring to reply on a first-name basis, just to show Carr that he and Messenger went back a long way together. He turned his horse toward Dawson and Caldwell. ’’Carr here might have to whip them into shape, but I think they’ll do well once we instill a little Washington discipline in them."

’’Good luck," said Messenger. He backed his horse a step and added before they rode away, ’’If you do run across that drunkard Shaw, feel free to make it perfectly clear that the government neither wants nor needs his help any longer, if you get my meaning."

Carr looked back at him and nodded with a flat grin. ’’I get your meaning, sir. Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to make it very clear to him. I’ve never been too impressed by big-name gunslingers."

When the four men stopped their horses at a low sandy rise, seven hundred yards from the village, Tunis gave Carr a guarded look. With the trace of a smug grin he said to Dawson, ’’You know, Messenger didn’t really make it clear just which one of us is to be in charge out here."

’’Slipped his mind?" Both agents chuckled. ’’That’s most unlikely, Marshal," Tunis said. ’’I sort of know the way he thinks. I figure he decided that cream really does rise to the top. He figures whichever one of us proves himself most worthy is going to be the one the rest of just naturally want to follow. Does that make sense to you?"

Caldwell cut in. ’’This has been Marshal Dawson’s command all along. I see no need in it changing. Had Messenger and you two listened to him when the whole posse had these men in our sights two days ago—"

’’Never mind, Deputy," Dawson cut in. ’’Let’s hear what Agent Tunis has to say before we discount him." He looked at Tunis and said, gesturing toward the village lying ahead, ’’Let’s hear how you propose we approach Julimez?"

Tunis offered a slight grin. ’’Well now, let’s see, Marshal," he said mockingly as if giving it long and serious thought. ’’A big decision like that I want to be sure I get it right." His mocking demeanor changed quickly. In a no-nonsense manner he said, ’’Don’t treat me like I’m a fool, Dawson. There are no raiders left in Julimez, Marshal, no posse men either. Deacon Lucas and his men have done their worst and moved on. The posse will be right behind them. If we didn’t need water for our horses, we could likely bypass this pigsty altogether. We could swing wide of this village and catch up to the posse."

’’We have no time to attend to the villagers, Dawson," he said. ’’They’ll have to fend for themselves. I say we ride straight in, water our horses, get ourselves supplied and keep going. We’ll soon catch up to the raiders again. Next time I’ll do the honors of placing Deacon Lucas’ head on a stick for you." He gave Carr a grin of satisfaction. ’’That’s the way we’ve learned to do business."

Dawson didn’t respond. Instead he swung down from his saddle and said, ’’If it’s all the same with you, I’ll rest here a few minutes and be along shortly."

’’It’s all the same with me." Tunis shrugged, feeling as if Dawson had already relinquished command to him. ’’I appreciate a man who knows his limitations." He gave his horse a nudge with his spurs and rode forward.

No sooner had the two ridden a few yards than Caldwell said to Dawson, ’’This is not going to work. I’m not going to take orders from a man like Tunis. He knows nothing about this desert and these people. What did Messenger mean, sending these two out with us? What was his reasoning?"

’’These government officials don’t always make decisions based on sound reasoning," Dawson said. ’’Their like whores. They’re only interest is in keeping the person above them happy."

’’I understand," said Caldwell. ’’That makes me wonder if these two are any good at what they do, or did they just happen to know somebody who got them appointed to their jobs?"

’’I don’t know," said Dawson, ’’but I’d trade them both for just one good seasoned Texas sheriff from anywhere along the border." As he spoke he lifted a canteen that hung from his saddle horn.

Caldwell nodded, considering it. ’’Was that a good idea letting them ride in to Julimez that way? Things can be tricky down here for a couple of americanos who don’t know their way around."

Dawson shrugged. ’’We’ll just have to wait and see. You heard Agent Tunis, what they don’t know they’ll learn in a hurry." He uncapped his canteen and swished the tepid water around, determining its low level. Then he led his tired horse over beside a large rock and sat down.

’’Yes," said Caldwell, ’’and like it or not, we’ve got to ride into Julimez for fresh water. These horses won’t make it past Julimez to the next water stop." He also took down a canteen of tepid water from his saddle horn, shook it to gauge its contents, then sat down beside Dawson.

The two sipped water sparingly and sat in silence for a few minutes until the sound of gunfire drew their attention toward Julimez. ’’Sounds like they’ve arrived," Dawson said flatly. He stood up, capped his canteen and hung it back around his saddle horn. He stepped back to his saddlebags, took out a folded white flour sack and shook it out. ’’Let’s go see what they’ve learned so far."