Gunmen of the Desert Sands

After dark, the men still drank at the cantina. But the atmosphere was not as rowdy, the drinking not as heavy. No music rang out from the open doors, Shaw noticed, watching the empty street from a battered wooden chair out front, his rifle lying across his lap. Hatch and Sonny had made themselves scarce, staying away from the cantina, separating themselves from Leeman, Bone and Waite.

Shaw was certain the two had been making contact among the rest of the men, seeing which of the gunmen might be on their sides after the fray with the Mexican army was over and it came time to settle the border raiders’ internal dispute. He didn’t care. Let them kill one another, he thought, if the army cannon left any of them standing. He had managed to saw as much division among the raiders as he could. Now it was up to him to get the soldiers, the woman and himself out of there.

The young soldier had been right about the few remaining villagers. They seemed to have vanished, the musicians, the cantina women who had stuck around to squeeze what money they could from the men, even the stable attendant. Zarco sat empty except for the gunmen who had ridden in and taken over. Now those same men waited, with eyes as wild and wary as wolves, to see whether they themselves would be displaced.

Just before midnight, as Bone and Waite appeared on the dirt street, headed for their respective guard positions on the rooftops, Shaw stood up and walked purposefully toward the south end of town, letting them both see him. But as soon as he had passed out of their sight, he ducked into the shadows beside an adobe and circled around off the main street and hurried along in a crouch.

When he reached the stables he slipped along the wall and entered through a rear door. In the dim light he saw the woman watching for him through the open front door, her Colt hanging from her hand. ’’Back here," he whispered, not wanting to startle her.

She turned, looking relieved, and said, ’’I saw a shadow move along the wall. I’m glad it was you instead of one of the others."

’’All right," Shaw said, ’’let’s cut them loose and get moving." He turned and saw the soldiers, both of them tied to posts now. The wounded one sat slumped, his arms tied behind him, his side neatly bandaged and showing only a slight bloodstain. He had a bandanna tied tightly around his mouth. At the next post, still standing, the other soldier struggled to talk, a bandanna tied tightly around his mouth as well.

’’What’s this?" Shaw said. As soon as he asked, he realized what was going on. But it was too late. Before he could make a move, Sonny Engles stood up from behind a pile of hay and clubbed him from behind with the butt of a rifle barrel.

The woman stepped back and stared down at Shaw, lying knocked out on the floor. Engles slipped his arm around her waist and said, ’’Good work, Whore. Taking you captive was the smartest thing I ever done." He gave a crooked grin, his jaw still swollen from where Shaw had cracked him with his pistol barrel. ’’Every man needs a cutthroat whore he can ride with all day, and ride on all night."

Juanita shoved his hand away as it tried to crawl around under her arm and fondle her breast from behind.

’’Brag about it later, Sonny," said Morgan Hatch, stepping out of the shadows of a dark stall. ’’Drag him over and tie him up."

’’Can’t I go on and kill him?" Sonny said, his fingers going instinctively to his cracked jaw. He held his hand around his rifle stock.

’’Hell yes, I know better than that," Sonny said, a little peeved at Hatch’s admonishment. ’’I’m not an idiot." He gave Hatch a cross look as he stooped and lifted Shaw’s Colt from its holster and pitched it aside. ’’I’ll stick him a few times, quiet-like." He looked at Juanita and grinned again. ’’Maybe let Whore slice his throat open good and wide."

Juanita shook her head. ’’It was you he pistol-whipped, not me," she said, looking down at Shaw. ’’All he did to me was try to fill my head with goody-good talk." She made a sour face. ’’He called me a lady, like that would make me feel so important. I told him I am a whore, but noooo . . . that wouldn’t do." She spat down at Shaw, who moaned and tried to raise his throbbing head.

’’He couldn’t fool you, could he?" said Engles, reaching out with his boot toe and gigging Shaw in his ribs.

’’No," said the woman. ’’I gave him my sad story . . . the one I always give, when I see a man is feeling sorry for me."

’’He’s coming to," said Hatch. ’’Drag him to a post and tie him up like I told you to. We’ve got to get moving if we expect to get out of here and across these flats tonight."

’’But I really want to kill him, Morgan," Engles said in a solemn voice, as if he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

’’Stick him before we leave, after he wakes up some," said Hatch. ’’Right now let’s get our horses out and get ready to ride!"

’’All right," said Sonny. ’’I’d like him to be awake and see his blood running out of him anyway."

The wounded soldier sat slumped, his head bowed, still sore and weak. But the standing soldier watched wide eyed as Sonny dragged Shaw to his feet. ’’Over we go with you, Fast Larry, ole pard," Sonny said with a dark chuckle. He shoved and guided the half-conscious Shaw over to the next post in the row of posts, and tied him to it.

Juanita joined Hatch, leading their saddled horses out of their stalls and closer to the rear doors. ’’Sonny, come check your horse," Hatch called out in a harsh whisper. ’’What the hell is wrong with you tonight?"

’’Nothing," Sonny snapped back at him. He stood searching his boot well and the back of his trousers. ’’I can’t find my knife!"

His knife . . . ? Against the post, Shaw heard their voices. In the faint glow of a candle lantern, he caught a glimpse of their shadows on the straw-covered floor. As a fog lifted from his mind, he realized what had happened, and he struggled hard to regain his strength and his senses.

Sonny walked over to the horse, checked its cinch, looked the animal over and walked away. ’’There, I checked it! Satisfied?" he fumed, still searching himself, going over and over the same places.

Hatch shook his head and said to the woman, ’’Bring his horse. He’s going into one of his crazy spells." The two swung up into their saddles, Juanita pulling Sonny’s horse along by its reins.

’’Let’s clear out of here and head to Metagore," said Hatch. As he spoke he loosened a bandanna from around his neck and held it down to Sonny. ’’Here. If you’re not going to stick him, gag him with this, keep him from hollering out when he wakes up."

’’I’m going to stick him!" Sonny said, his voice growing louder. ’’I just can’t find my damned, agggg—" His words turned into a pain-filled grunt.

Shaw, holding on to the post behind him, lifted both feet and clamped his boots on either side of Sonny’s head. His single-point riding spurs clamped an inch deep into Sonny’s bleeding ears. ’’Hee-eelp!" Sonny pleaded.

’’Damn it, shut up!" said Hatch, wincing at the sight of Sonny’s head spiked between the two boot heels.

Shaw held on tight and shook the hapless gunman hard, back and forth. As Sonny flayed wildly to get out of the steel-pointed clamp, Shaw turned one boot loose long enough to hook it behind the dazed gunman’s head to hold it in place. He pounded his other boot heel rapidly, repeatedly into Sonny’s face.

’’Holy Joseph! He’s beating him to death!" said Hatch, turning to slip down from his saddle and help Sonny. But before he could get there, he saw Shaw turn Sonny’s head loose from his boot hold, cock both feet in close to his chest and release them in one powerful kick. Both boot heels launched Sonny into a backward flip. He landed facedown on the dirt floor, gasping and slinging his battered head like a stunned bull.

Hatch reached down and grabbed his own knife from his boot well, determined to bring this to an end without making any more noise.

But Sonny wasn’t through. He struggled to his feet, sobbing in rage and pain, one ear dangling loose where Shaw’s spur had ripped down on it. His face was a mass of bloody welts filled with straw and dirt. He snatched his Colt from his holster and cocked it quickly.

Shaw clenched his teeth. This was it, he thought, finally it was over. His life ended here, in a livery stable, in the glow of a candle lantern, in old Mexico. So be it. . . .

When the shot resounded, it was the loudest shot he’d ever heard. Instead of it hitting him in one spot on his chest, it hit him all over. His breath left him; he slammed backward, the post behind him not even stopping him. It was over; he was dead. Sweet death, he thought, feeling himself fall into a soft, harsh world of darkness.

Wait a minute! He wasn’t dead. That was no gunshot, he thought, feeling his back still against the post, but both he and the post lying in a thick pile of straw. Dust showered down on him in the darkness. He heard the three horses neighing wildly. ’’Morgan!" he heard Sonny cry out.

Shaw watched three silhouettes ride out through the open doors. What the—? Hooves thundered away along the street, headed north out of town. Then another explosion ripped through the air. The impact of it hitting the ground next to the stables caused everything to start making sense to him. He looked quickly to where the soldier had been standing tied to the post to his right. In the darkness he saw Private Martene struggle in the straw with the post still tied to his back. Past Martene the wounded soldier did the same.

Private Martene had managed to get the bandanna down from his mouth. He wallowed his way toward Shaw, saying, ’’Senor, quickly, we must get out of here, before they reload the cannons."

As Shaw worked the broken post from between his back and his tied wrists, he said to the soldier, ’’I thought they would attack in the morning."

’’So did I," said Martene, ’’but I’m only a private, and it looks like I was wrong." The two turned back to back, each finding the ropes and working quickly to loosen the other’s wrists. ’’Now I think they are trying for the livery barn tonight, to kill all of the animals."

Shaw felt his wrists come free. He sat up and quickly began untying Martene. ’’They must have Zarco surrounded and are going to soften things up with cannon fire all night, then ride in and finish everybody off in the morning." He looked back through the darkness for the buckskin, hearing the other horses whinny in terror. ’’Get your pard untied," he said over his shoulder. ’’I’ll get some horses."

He hurried back to where the buckskin stood waiting, scraping a nervous hoof in the dirt. As he opened the stall door, he looked at the next three stalls in the darkness, knowing these were the ones where Leeman, Bone and Waite kept their horses.

This was why Leeman wanted his two best men standing guard tonight, Shaw told himself, and that’s why Leeman wanted him watching the flats from the south end of town. So the three could slip away in the darkness, Shaw thought. That meant all the top men in the border raiders had cut out on the others.

Leeman, Bone and Waite . . . Hatch and Sonny Engles. They were all gone now. If the federales didn’t catch them crossing the flats tonight, all they would find come morning would be the underlings, Drop the Dog, Lying Earl . . . He thought of the others, Kerns, Bartley, Butterfield, Mertz, Pearl. There were others he hadn’t even met. He thought of Bert Sibott and shook his head.

But he’d warned Sibott; that was all he could do. Anybody left here would have to figure things out for themselves—which they would pretty quick, he reminded himself, grabbing a saddle and throwing it up onto the buckskin’s back. So would Dawson and Caldwell, once they heard the cannon fire and started seeing gunmen flee Zarco like snakes from a burning bush.

Knowing the cannons were targeting the livery barn, Shaw gathered the two soldiers’ already-saddled horses, then threw open the stall doors and sent the others running out onto the street. He led the three horses quickly over to where Martene had the wounded soldier standing up, his arm looped around his shoulders. ’’We’ve got to hurry," Shaw said, hearing voices shout back and forth, the men caught by surprise and scrambling to gather their guns and gear and grab their fleeing horses.

’’Don’t thank me yet, Private," said Shaw, helping him shove the wounded soldier up onto the horse’s back. ’’Wait until we’re out of here alive." Shaw turned to the buckskin and swung up into his saddle.

’’I thank you now in case we do not make it out of here alive," said Martene, leaping onto his horse. Leading the wounded soldier’s horse by its reins, Martene followed Shaw out of the half-fallen livery barn and off along the dirt street, headed north, gunfire blazing from the street behind them.

Four miles north of town, Dawson, Caldwell and Tunis jumped up from the ground and stared out across the sand flats from the shelter of a clump of brush the wind had gathered at the bottom of the draw. ’’That was cannon fire," Dawson said. They stood in silence for a moment longer, then looked at one another as the second round rumbled across the night. This time they saw a quick flash of fire on the horizon in the direction of Zarco.

’’What’s Shaw doing in there?" Caldwell asked, more to himself than the other two bewildered lawmen. ’’Has he found himself a cannon?"

’’Federales?" said Tunis. ’’What the blazes are they doing out there? They never come this far! We don’t need them sticking their noses into this game."

’’This is their country," said Dawson, but he knew what the government agent meant. They didn’t need more guns to worry about—especially big guns—in the dark of night.

A moment later, after a reload, another cannon shot resounded, then another. ’’They must be planning on pounding Zarco into the sand," Dawson said almost under his breath.

’’What do we do now?" said Caldwell, picking up his gun belt and strapping it around his waist. ’’We gave Shaw two days."

’’Not into the cannon fire," said Dawson, ’’but in close enough to get an idea what’s going on in there. As soon as the cannon fire stops we want to be the first ones on the street."

The three turned and walked quickly to where their horses stood hitched to some of the heavier bundles of dried brush, their ears piqued, nervous from the exploding cannon fire and the rumble of it in the sand beneath their hooves.

In moments the animals stood saddled and ready. ’’If we get in any gunfire let’s be careful we don’t shoot Shaw," Dawson said, as they swung up into their saddles and rode away toward Zarco.

From the south, Morgan Hatch and the woman had looked back as the second round of cannon fire took a bite out of the earth and spat it high in the air only five feet from the livery barn.

’’It looks like we got out just in time," Hatch said to the woman. When the first cannon shot had hit the livery barn, Hatch had grabbed Sonny by his collar and trousers and thrown him up into his saddle. Now he looked all around until he saw Sonny riding a few feet ahead of them, looking back and forth in the purple shadowy darkness as if he were lost.

’’Sonny! Wait up!" Hatch called out, trying to keep his voice down, having figured out that federales would be scouring the flats, searching for anybody trying to escape from Zarco.

Seeing that Sonny wasn’t going to stop, the two turned their horses and bolted forward. Grabbing Sonny’s horse by its reins, Hatch said in a lowered voice, ’’Damn it, pay attention here, Sonny! We’ll have soldiers all over us if we’re not careful."

’’Huh? What?" Sonny said, holding a bloody hand to his dangling ear. ’’Hatch, I can’t hear nothing. Shaw’s ruined my ears."

Hatch looked at Sonny’s better ear, the one not ripped away from his head by Shaw’s spurs. ’’Your hearing will come back, Sonny," he said. ’’But not if you wander into soldiers and get your head shot off."

Juanita also looked at Sonny’s ears, unable to see clearly in the purple light. She shook her head and said to Hatch, ’’Yes, hearing will come back, some of it anyway. But it could take days."

’’Damn Shaw," said Hatch, considering the long way they had to go across the flats, and the disadvantage he’d be in, traveling with a man who wouldn’t be able to hear their enemies coming. ’’Damn him to hell." Hatch let his horse fall back a step as he reached down to his boot well and pulled up a double-edged dagger. Seeing what he was about to do, the woman veered her horse away a few yards into the darkness, as if to say she wanted no part in killing Sonny Engles.

’’Time to go, Sonny," Hatch said, knowing Engles couldn’t hear him. He gigged his horse forward a step in preparation. But before he could reach over, clasp a hand over Sonny’s mouth and thrust the dagger into his back, he stopped at the sound of nearby voices speaking low, in Spanish.

Holy Joseph. . . . Hatch slid the dagger back into his boot. He sidled up to Engles, grabbed his horse by its bridle and clasped his hand over Sonny’s mouth anyway.

Sonny’s eyes widened, until he saw Hatch gesturing for him to keep quiet. Without a word, Hatch lowered his hand from Sonny’s face, slipped Sonny’s rifle from its boot, placed it into the deaf gunman’s hands and cocked it.

Sonny nodded his head, getting the idea. He gave a wink, pulled his horse a step away, then gigged it hard and sent it racing straight ahead across the sand. Hatch had seen the woman veer away on his right. Instead of following her, he veered to the left and gave his horse a strong bat of his boot heels. He’d gone less than fifteen yards when he heard gunshots explode in the direction he’d sent Sonny Engles. ’’Damn Shaw," he said again, riding away in the purple darkness.