Gunmen of the Desert Sands

As first light pushed its way onto the eastern horizon, Hatch walked out of the cantina with the tequila bottle hanging from his fingertips. Shaw stifled a yawn and turned back to his coffee, hearing a rooster begin to crow near the stables behind the cantina. The bartender stepped forward and shook his head as he wiped drops of spilled tequila from the bar top.

’’He is boiling mad inside, that one," the bartender said, nodding in the direction of Morgan Hatch. ’’I hope he does not go somewhere and start trouble—"

His words stopped as a single shot exploded out back by the stables and the rooster’s crowing ceased abruptly.

Before he’d finished his coffee, Deacon Leeman and Charlie Bone walked into the cantina. ’’Well, well, Charlie," said Leeman, with a wide but unpleasant grin, ’’it looks like I’m not the only early riser around here." He looked Shaw up and down, seeing his gun belt hanging from his shoulder, his shirttails out.

’’I expect that’s why I didn’t see you around much after you gun-barreled Sonny’s head for him." Leeman rapped his knuckles on the bar top and nodded toward the coffeepot.

’’Sí, café, en seguida!" said the bartender. ’’I mean ’coffee right away,’ " he translated, quickly correcting himself as Leeman gave him a cold stare.

’’What’s wrong, Shaw, does pistol-whipping an idiot wear you out?" Bone chuckled as the bartender hurriedly produced two coffee mugs and began pouring them full.

Leeman sipped his coffee. Lifting his Colt from its holster, he dropped a spent cartridge from its cylinder, replaced it and slid the Colt back into its holster. To the bartender he said, ’’Luis, run out back. There’s a dead rooster lying along the corral fence. Dress it out and cook it for breakfast."

Bone and the bartender hurried away, out the back door, as Leeman turned back to Shaw. ’’Everybody must wake up with a little bark on, eh, Shaw?" he said. ’’I know I do."

’’The truth is, I’ve been wanting to talk to you, just the two of us." He stopped and looked toward the rear door and shook his head. ’’See how I had to put my foot on ole Bone’s neck? It’s not easy being a leader of men like us. Bold, willful men like Charlie, Blacky Waite and yourself don’t like being told what to do." He sipped his coffee and gave a sigh. ’’But when a man takes charge, he has to rule with an iron hand, else things start going bad for everybody."

’’I know it doesn’t sit well with some of the men, taking orders from me, when I started out as just one more gun under Quinn Madsen. But the mantle was laid upon me. I’ve got to keep this gang tight and ready."

Shaw could see that being in charge had Deacon Leeman feeling full of himself. Sliding his empty coffee cup away, Shaw said flatly, ’’Is that what you’ve been wanting to talk to me about, just the two of us?"

’’No," Leeman said, looking a little red faced. ’’Now that you’re riding with me, I’ve been wanting to talk in private about what you stand to gain for yourself."

’’I’ve been wanting to talk about that myself," Shaw said with a thin smile, hoping he sounded interested in where he stood with the border raiders. ’’I’d like to know what my share of the booty will come to."

Leeman cocked his head a little to one side and raised a finger as he spoke. ’’You and I both know that you’re no seasoned thief, Shaw, leastwise I never heard it said about you."

’’That’s right, I’m not," Shaw said honestly. He patted his gun. ’’I’ve always had a skill that’s in high demand. So high that I’ve never had to worry about money. If I want money, I’ve always known where to find it."

’’I understand that, and I admire it," said Leeman. ’’To be honest that widow maker on your hip is what’s got you into the raiders. Without your gun skills I’ve got nothing for you."

’’Hold on, now," said Leeman, knowing he had no backup in the cantina. ’’I meant no offense. I’m just talking straight with you. You still get a full share, same as if you came here from riding with the James Gang. But I want you to stick close to me, and leave the robbing up to the others. Is that a good deal for you or not?" He smiled, knowing Shaw couldn’t possibly have a problem with such a deal.

But Shaw didn’t answer right away. Instead he said, ’’What you’re offering is a full share for me, just for being your own personal bodyguard."

Leeman grinned, and this time it looked more real. ’’Damn right, that’s what I want. Thieves and gun tramps come cheap out here. I want the fastest gun alive at my side, at all times."

’’I got the impression that you didn’t believe all that fastest gun alive talk," Shaw said.

’’I know you’re faster than most I’ve ever seen, Shaw," said Leeman. ’’As for you being the fastest gun alive . . ." He hesitated, then said, ’’If it’s something everybody wants to think, who am I to argue?" He gave a sly wink, as if he and Shaw shared a secret.

’’So, there’s the deal, Shaw," Leeman said. ’’Have you had any better offers lately?" He looked Shaw up and down, his frayed shirt collar, his down-at-the-heels boots.

Leeman took on a concerned expression. ’’What made you think a thing like that? Those two are a couple of the best men I’ve got."

Shaw said in a lowered tone as if the passed-out gunmen lying around might hear them, ’’I figure with them knowing you jackpotted them and shot holes in the water bags they needed, you couldn’t afford to leave them alive."

’’Where the hell do you think I heard it?" Shaw came back sharply, without mentioning either Hatch or Engles.

Leeman took a deep breath and let it out, looking troubled by his thoughts. ’’So they didn’t take the canteens from the dead posse men after all. . . ."

Leeman considered it, then said in frustration, ’’Damn it, no, not right now. We’re shorthanded and I’ve got a big job coming up."

’’This is all of the border raiders?" Shaw asked, gathering what information he could for Dawson.

’’No, I’ve got more men coming. But I can’t afford to lose any right now," said Leeman. ’’Keep a close eye on those two, but don’t make a move on them until I tell you to."

’’I understand." Shaw nodded; that was good enough for now, he thought. He’d given each side plenty to think about. Now he needed to make certain Dawson, Caldwell and Tunis would be able to ride in without being spotted from atop the cantina. It had been easy enough for him—one rider in the dark of night. But it might not be as easy for the three lawmen.

Clell Butterfield watched the four young federale soldiers ride downward in and out of sight on the low hill trail. ’’They’re falling right into our laps," he whispered to the two men lying beside him along the meandering sandbank.

’’These boys are just an advance party, scouting the trail for a whole damned column of soldiers!" said Wallace Pearl, lying five feet to his right, holding his rifle tight in his gloved hands.

Butterfield said with a note of sarcasm, ’’Well, thank you, Wallace. But I believe we already had a damned good notion that they’re just forward scouts."

’’Clell, we’ve got no business fooling with these boys," Pearl said. ’’I’ve got a bad feeling about this."

’’Keep your bad feelings to yourself, Wallace," Butterfield warned him. ’’We’re going to take a couple of these troopers to Madsen, just to show him we can."

’’Wallace is right, Clell," said Andy Mertz, an Arizona gunman and stage robber who’d been out of Yuma Territorial Prison for only a few months. ’’This is messing with dynamite. Let them pass and let’s get on into Zarco."

Butterfield spat in contempt. ’’Chickenshits," he whispered to himself, staring out at the bottom of the trail the four federales would be riding down toward them. ’’Get ready, here they come," he added, seeing the riders appear into sight.

’’Damn it to hell," Wallace Pearl whispered. But he levered a round into his rifle chamber and lay tense and poised.

Feeling the hooves of the four horses rumble in the sand beneath them, the three men stayed down behind the cover of the sandbank until Butterfield jumped up and shouted, ’’Let them have it!"

Leaping to their feet, firing repeatedly, the three gunmen watched two of the federales fall to the ground, one of their horses also falling under the hail of rifle fire.

Butterfield jumped forward, rifle raised, and pointed and shouted, ’’Manos arriba! Manos arriba!"

The two soldiers’ rifles fell from their hands. Their hands went up above their heads. ’’Please, don’t shoot us! Don’t shoot us!" one of them shouted in awkward English.

’’Down off the horses," Butterfield commanded. As the two slid from their saddles, one of them bleeding from his side, Butterfield said to the others with a grin, ’’Now, wasn’t that as slick as grease on a stove handle?"

’’We need to get away from here, pronto," said Pearl, casting a wary glance toward the hill trail the four soldiers had ridden down on. ’’We’ve got no idea how far behind the rest of their column is following them."

’’Relax, Wallace, before you soil yourself," Butterfield laughed. He walked forward, gesturing the two soldiers away from their horses. He looked down at one of the other two soldiers lying writhing and moaning on the ground.

’’Hell, I know that," said Butterfield. He tipped his rifle barrel down and shot the dying soldier. Then he turned his rifle toward the two standing and levered another round into the chamber. ’’Anybody else need agua?" he asked with a cruel grin.

’’All right, then," Butterfield said, walking over to the whimpering horse lying in a wide patch of red wet sand. ’’Adios, caballo," he said. He shot the wounded animal in its thrashing head, and watched its life melt and leave it lying limp and still on the ground. ’’Pity." He shook his head in mock regret and said in a solemn tone, ’’This desert country eats horses up."

Pearl and Mertz walked up onto the sand quietly, their rifles cocked and aimed at the two remaining soldiers. ’’Don’t neither one of you try anything," Mertz warned.

’’Oh, hell, Andy," Butterfield laughed, ’’what are they going to try?" He gestured both men forward. ’’Get their sidearms and let’s get on into Zarco. If we fool around out here long enough, there really will be a swarm of federales coming down the trail."

’’This was a mistake," said Mertz, looking at the dead horse, the dead soldiers and all the tracks in the sand. ’’They’ll be on our backs like boils."

’’You don’t get it, do you, Andy?" said Butterfield. ’’They were headed down on us anyway. There’s never any federales this part of the desert. Somebody has told them we’re here."

Ignoring him, Butterfield turned to the soldier who spoke English and asked, ’’How many others soldiers are riding down here?"

’’See?" said Butterfield to Mertz and Pearl. ’’What do you think, that fifty soldiers were just out romping around in the sun and then they all decided to ride across the hills into the desert?"

’’Where is it you’re headed?" Andy Mertz asked the young soldier. ’’Don’t lie to us or I’ll nail a bullet in your forehead."

’’What’s so damned important in Zarco?" Butterfield asked sharply, getting into the soldier’s face, keeping him off balance and too afraid to lie.

’’We met a man and his family on the north hill trail. He said the border raiders are in Zarco. Him and his wife and daughter fled the village when they saw all the outlaws gathering there." The soldier pointed northeast. ’’We were at the bottom of the hill trail when we met them, so we took a shortcut and saved a day and a half of riding by crossing this lower hill line."

’’Well, wasn’t you boys just as smart as circus baboons?" said Butterfield. He looked at Mertz and Pearl. ’’Now, pards. Do you see why it was important to find out what the hell is going on out here?"

The two outlaws looked at each other, a little embarrassed by having doubted Butterfield to begin with. ’’All right, Clell," said Mertz. ’’You’re right, we’re wrong. What are we going to do now? I don’t cotton to riding into Zarco knowing soldiers are going to be waiting to jump down my shirt."

’’We’re going to warn Madsen, that’s what we’re going to do," said Butterfield. ’’Then we either split the gang up and fade into the desert, or we stand and fight until one side gives up and crawls away. Does that make sense?"

’’Good," said Butterfield with a taunting grin. He turned to the bleeding soldier. ’’Are you able to ride?" As he asked, he cocked his rifle.

’’Sí, he is able to ride," the other soldier cut in, before the wounded man could answer for himself. ’’He will not hold us back. I will look after him and keep him moving."

’’See that you do, amigo," said Butterfield. ’’Ain’t nothing pleases me more than shooting soldados, comprende?"

’’Sí, I understand," the young federale said somberly, hooking an arm around the wounded soldier’s side and helping him up into his saddle.