Gunmen of the Desert Sands

Shaw and Deacon Leeman watched the three riders enter Zarco and stop ten yards away in the middle of the dirt street. Charlie Bone and Blackie Waite stood a few feet apart. They made an attempt at hiding the fact that they were expecting a fight. In a narrow alleyway Sandy Kerns stood out of sight with a rifle ready and poised, its barrel resting on a pile of building planks.

Leeman stepped sidelong into the street facing him. ’’Here I am, Hatch," he said. ’’You two step down and make whatever move suits you." He had shoved his coat back behind his Colt again, and stood ready.

’’Whatever suits us?" Hatch looked all around with a thin, bemused smile. ’’Hell, Deacon, you don’t seem at all happy to see us."

Deacon paused for a second, then said, ’’I know your blood’s up over what happened in Julimez. I’m not going to deny we left the four of you in a bad spot. If you’ve got something to settle, let’s get to it."

Hatch shrugged. ’’You and Bone and Waite managed to get out. Me and my pards didn’t. That’s the bad breaks of this business. I’ve got nothing to settle, have you, Sonny?" He looked sidelong at Engles.

’’Naw, not me," Sonny said. ’’All in a day’s work, far as I’m concerned." As he spoke to Deacon Leeman, he looked Shaw up and down.

Leeman didn’t trust them, but he went on to ask, ’’Where’s Wild Dick and Orville, both dead, I suppose?"

’’Yep, you suppose right," said Hatch. ’’The posse killed Orville before he got his trousers up. Dick took some bullets in his lungs and wasn’t able to ride past Arajo. We left him there with this woman." He nodded at Juanita, who sat listening in silence.

’’Killed them dead, and got away," said Hatch. ’’So you see, we’ve got ill feelings. We made out all right. Found some water canteens the posse had with them," he lied. ’’We cut straight for Arajo, took on fresh water and come all the way here."

’’The lawmen who’s been dogging us all the way here is Dawson and Caldwell," said Sonny. ’’There was two more with them, but the whore here cut one’s throat and left him bleeding to death."

’’She’s the meanest whore ever thrown out of hell," Hatch cut in. ’’We left her to take care of Wild Dick. When he died, she killed the lawman and got clean out of there—took a bullet but never slowed down."

Leeman looked the woman up and down. ’’Well, well, you three have had a hell of a ride," he said, feeling more at ease now. They hadn’t mentioned seeing where he’d shot holes in the water bags at the supply wagon and left them stuck with no water to cross the desert to Zarco. ’’Hell, get down out of them saddles, get something to drink, get the woman looked after."

’’Obliged," said Hatch. The three stepped down and walked their horses to a hitch rail near the spot where Shaw stood watching.

’’I bet you’re Fast Larry Shaw," Sonny said, appraising Shaw, his frayed poncho, his broad, battered sombrero, his overall demeanor.

’’Shaw’s one of many good new men who’ll be riding with us," said Leeman, cutting in. He spoke not only to Hatch and Sonny, but to the entire gang—some twenty-odd men, Shaw had estimated, spread out all around the dirt street.

Shaw knew that look. He’d seen it in the eyes of many gunmen who upon meeting him for the first time began to question whether or not they could kill him. Shaw returned the look, answering the gunman’s question with a single stare—it would cost no less than his life to find out.

’’Why so many new men?" Hatch asked Leeman as Sonny stood wondering whether or not he should push Shaw a little, just enough to see how Shaw would handle it.

’’We’re going to need a lot of men," said Leeman. ’’Now that I’m in charge, we’re taking on some bigger jobs."

’’I always figured the tales I heard about you was more wind than muscle, Shaw," Engles said, keeping it civil, but at the same time testing Shaw’s temperament. He stepped in closer, a move that told Shaw he didn’t intend on turning this into a gunfight, not right now. Had he wanted a gunfight he would have stayed back a ways. This was something else. But it was nothing Shaw hadn’t seen before.

’’How about the Mexican government’s gold station at Durango for starters?" Leeman replied to Hatch, keeping his voice private between the two of them, Shaw hearing it all the same.

’’That sounds good to me," said Hatch. Shaw caught every word of it. The government gold station at Durango . . .

Standing in Shaw’s face, Sonny Engles said in a threatening tone, ’’See, I’m awfully dang fast myself, Shaw. I figure it ain’t likely anybody could be as—"

Hatch, the woman and Leeman all three turned quickly at the sound of gunmetal against jawbone. The rest of the men in the street tensed. Engles had already crumbled to the ground, not knowing what had hit him. Morgan Hatch grabbed for his gun instinctively, uncertain whether this was something between Sonny and Shaw or something Leeman had set up. But before his gun barrel cleared the holster, Shaw’s Colt was pointed at him, cocked. The woman stood with her hand on the gun at her waist.

’’When your monkey wakes up, tell him I could have killed him if I had a mind to," Shaw said to Hatch, knowing his words were also meant for Hatch himself to consider.

Hatch uncoiled, knowing Shaw was right. He let his Colt slip back down into the holster. He’d run a glance across Deacon Leeman and seen that Leeman had been as surprised as he was by Shaw’s move. ’’I’ll tell him," Hatch said calmly, raising his hand away from his gun. The men in the street relaxed; so did the woman.

’’Tell him next time, I’ll kill him," Shaw said with resolve. Keeping a cold gaze on Morgan Hatch, he uncocked the hammer on his Colt and holstered it with a slick flick of his wrist.

Leeman chuckled. ’’Well now, I have to say, that was as slick and skillful as anything I’ve seen for a while." He wanted to appear as if he maintained some say-so over Shaw. ’’Next time, don’t be jerking iron without letting me know beforehand." He looked down at Engles, shook his head and laughed for the other men to hear. ’’It looks like you put Sonny on soup and water for the next week or two."

’’That was the best thing I had for him," Shaw said, again giving Hatch a look. He took up his horse’s reins and led the animal away toward the stables. But when he had turned a corner out of sight, he stepped up into his saddle and nudged the big buckskin toward a long trail leading out of town.

On the street, Hatch reached down with the woman’s help and raised Engles to a slumped sitting position. ’’Was Sonny crowding him?" Leeman asked.

’’More than likely," said Hatch. ’’He crowds everybody, especially somebody he thinks is good with a gun."

’’So Shaw saw trouble coming with him and didn’t even give it a chance to start," Leeman said in contemplation. ’’I expect it’s that kind of forethought that’s kept him alive all this time."

’’Yeah," said Hatch. ’’Trouble is, Sonny is not the kind to let something like this go. He’ll be down Shaw’s neck first time he’s able."

’’I expect Shaw allows for that possibility too," Leeman said, looking off toward the stables where he thought Shaw had taken his horse.

From a high trail, Dawson, Caldwell and Tunis stood looking down at the flyblown carcass of the water mule that Hatch, Engles and the woman had left behind. The animal’s throat had been cleanly cut. Only a portion of its hind leg had been carved off and roasted over a low fire at the edge of the trail. Caldwell stooped down, held his hand close to the ashes, then pressed his gloved palm down in the brittle embers, finding not the faintest warmth.

Standing, he brushed his hands together, shook his head and said, ’’The fire’s cold ... four hours or more."

Dawson nodded. Looking up from the mule and fire ashes and down the trail, he said, ’’At least we know they’re getting close to where they’re headed."

’’They took what was left of the water from the mule and killed the animal," said Dawson. ’’That means they won’t be needing another load of water. They’ll get by with what’s hanging on their saddle horns."

’’We should have questioned the Mexican family we saw ride past us on the lower trail yesterday," Tunis said. ’’They might have seen them."

’’Besides," said Dawson, ’’if the family had passed close by them, these three would have killed them for their guns and horses." He spat and thought about it. ’’The Mexican was wearing a big modern Colt. Him, his wife and the young girl were all three riding good horses."

Caldwell said, ’’These raiders couldn’t have resisted robbing and killing them, had they come upon one another."

’’Lucky those folks took the trail they’re on," Dawson said. ’’This one would have gotten them killed." He turned and stepped back up into his saddle. ’’Let’s go. I’ve got a feeling we’ll find them holed up out on the flats once we get down there."

’’Where’s the nearest water stop out there?" Tunis asked, he and Caldwell also stepping up into their saddles.

’’Zarco," said Caldwell. ’’It used to be used as a federale outpost, a resting place for soldiers hunting down the Apache. Last I heard there’s few people living there now. But there is water there. The government sunk a deep well for the soldiers. So folks have come and gone ever since."

’’Sounds like a dandy place for a gang like the border raiders to hide out," Tunis said, nudging his horse along beside Caldwell, Dawson in the lead down the high meandering trail. ’’I don’t mind telling you both, this desert has worn me down. If Messenger wants an official report when we get through out here, he’ll have to write one himself."

Dawson gave a thin, wry smile, realizing he hadn’t seen a pencil or paper in Tunis’ hand since the day they had buried Grady Carr. Once they had gathered their scattered horses from the desert floor and ridden away from Carr’s shallow grave, Tunis had held his writing paper above his head and let the hot wind sweep it away.

They rode downward along thin natural switch-backs carved into the rocky ground by hundreds of years of wild hooves and claws. In the afternoon as shadows drew long across the flats below, Dawson spotted the single rider moving in and out of sight before he had the opportunity to see that it was Shaw riding up onto the hill trail toward them.

’’We’ve got a rider coming up," Dawson said quietly. ’’We’ll be meeting him at just about dark," he estimated, gazing toward the low red sun on the western edge of the jagged earth.

The three rode on, Tunis reaching down and drawing his rifle from its boot and laying it across his lap.

Tunis caught the reference to his and Carr mistakenly shooting Randall Wynn. His chin tightened in. ’’I’m not a complete idiot, Marshal," he said. ’’At the same time, I plan to be prepared if this is not some innocent pilgrim." He looked around as if questioning what innocent pilgrim would be caught in such a godforsaken place.

’’I understand," said Dawson. ’’But think long and hard before you bring your Winchester into play. We don’t need to reveal our position, especially this close to dark."

Tunis understood. With no more said on the matter, he left his Winchester on his lap, but he took his hand away from the stock near the trigger guard.

Below, as darkness closed in along the high shadowy trail, Shaw heard the first sound of hooves click slowly on the rocky trail coming down toward him. Veering his buckskin over along the trail’s edge into the cover of a pile of fallen rock, he waited and listened closely until the sound of the hooves drew nearer. Moments later, when he was certain of what he was hearing, Shaw slipped down from his saddle, drew his rifle, wrapped his reins around his saddle horn and gave the buckskin a nudge out onto the trail.

Twenty minutes later, on a shadowed ledge above the trail, Caldwell and Tunis moved along in a crouch, the reins to their horses in hand. They looked down, keeping close watch on Dawson as he rode his horse along at a walk, the sound of the buckskin’s hooves drawing nearer.

Dawson held his rifle ready across his lap. As the sound of hooves came around a turn in the trail, he started to raise the rifle and tell the rider to halt. But at the sight of the empty saddle on the big horse, he looked all around quickly, knowing he’d been tricked.

From the ledge above the trail Caldwell and Tunis saw it too. ’’Uh-oh," said Caldwell, ’’we’ve got trouble!" He stood and started to turn and lead his horse down to the trail. But the voice in the darkness behind him said, ’’I’ll say you’ve got trouble, Deputy."

Tunis started to swing his rifle toward the darkness, but Caldwell, having recognized Shaw’s voice, said, ’’Don’t shoot, Tunis. It’s Lawrence Shaw."

On the trail below, Dawson recognized the buckskin and Shaw’s saddle and tack and called up to Caldwell, ’’Jedson, watch where you shoot. Shaw’s out here somewhere."

’’No, he’s not," Caldwell called down. ’’He’s up here. He’s managed to slip around and get the drop on us."

’’Hold my horse for me, Cray," Shaw called out. ’’We’re coming down. I’ve been riding all day looking for you."