It was a hard day’s ride to Mesa. Web Norton cantered and galloped, saving his borrowed horse’s strength. The hot sun was rising in the desert sky; beads of sweat were forming on Web’s forehead. Suddenly the path narrowed; he pulled up to take a look ahead. The path tapered dramatically between two huge rocks. Web had reached the infamous “Rattler’s Junction” - so named because of the large number of rattlers that sunned themselves on the warm rocks on either side of the path. It was scary and the only way through the rocks. Web’s horse whinnied, sensing the pending danger.
“It’s okay, girl, its okay.” Web patted the foamy neck of the jittery horse. His spurs gently touched her backside, urging the reluctant steed slowly down the slim pathway. Web touched the rocks; they felt warm. It was a hot winter day. Oh no, there’s going to be a lot of them today, he thought. The horse and rider inched along the path. Web saw a couple of rattlers but they were higher up on the rocks. After several tense minutes, he saw a light at the end of the narrow trail. Suddenly, his horse jerked to a stop, her ears pricked and stood erect. She heard something, Web strained to hear.
“Hiss!” The quiet sound came from a rock just above Web’s head. Ready to bolt, the steed’s ears began to flicker. Web sat still, his eyes looking over at the eerie snake. The rattler was only a few feet away, curled and ready to strike. Sweat poured off Web’s face, his denim shirt was soaked. Hand shaking, he carefully lifted his gun up for a shot at the scary critter. He turned slowly and blasted away. Sparks flew off of the rocks near the snake. A dead hit, the snake blew backward off the rock. The terrified steed, already in a fit of panic, reared up on her hind legs and bolted down the narrow stone trail.
“Whoa!” Web screamed as his body flew backward off the frightened horse. The back of his head crashed on the stone pathway, his body rolled left and fell still. The gun, still spewing smoke, fell next to him.
* * *
“Let’s go Ed, we’ve got to keep moving’,” Jon prodded his good friend.
“I know, I know!” Ed replied.
“Gotta beat Brown back to town.”
“Ut oh!” Ed shouted. His steed’s hoof slipped on the narrow trail. Several small rocks tumbled over the side of the canyon. It seemed like forever before they hit the bed rock at the bottom.
“We’re out!” Jon shouted. Babe’s powerful hind legs pushed up the final grade. Jon cracked his whip; the horse and rider galloped toward town. Ed bounded from the harrowing canyon and ran close behind.
“Whoa, girl!” Jon shouted as he and Ed pulled up at the jail a half hour later. Camp’s horse was out front. They quickly tied down and hurried in. Camp was sitting on the corner of Jon’s desk talking with Malone.
“Howdy, Jon,” Camp said as Jon and Ed hurried in.
“Howdy, Deputy.” Jon smiled, his hand shot forward for a shake.
How are you feeling?”
“Head’s a little sore, but I’m okay,” the gritty youngster replied after a quick shake.
“Glad you could help out, Camp.”
Camp nodded.
“Pat Brown’s going to be in town any minute. I don’t want him to see our warm horses.” Jon glanced at Camp.
“No problem, Clem’s down at the stables. I’ll run ’em right down.” Camp rushed out for the stables.
“Hurry back!” Jon shouted as the door banged shut.
“How’s Wilson doing?” Jon asked Ed.
“Seems down, says he’s gonna die one way or another. If we don’t hang ’em, Faraday’s gonna kill ’em. Says he disgraced his family and won’t be able to face them again. I’m sleeping on the bunk in the back room and watching him day and night,” Jack replied.
“That’s good Ed, and Slim’s right about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Faraday would love to have Slim out of the way.” Jon frowned.
“I thought Brown would be here by now,” Ed said impatiently.
“That Dapple Grey’s his pride and joy, he never pushes him,” Jon said as he pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. “He should be here any time.”
All of a sudden, the front door swung open. Attorney Brown removed his hat as he stepped in.
Ed raised his eye brows at the smiling Jon.
“Good mornin’, Pat. Didn’t expect to see you today,” Jon said as the two men shook hands
“Well Jon, something has come up, we need to have a little talk.”
“Okay Pat, have a seat.” Jon’s hand waved toward the chair. “Coffee?”
“No thanks,” the dapper attorney replied. He pulled the oak chair out in front of Jon’s desk and sat down. He looked around at Ed and Jack. “My or my, we’ve got quite a crowd in here.” Brown laughed nervously. “I thought we might speak alone, Sheriff.”
“These men are all my deputies, you can say anything you want if front of them,” Jon said firmly.
“Hmmm... all deputies, huh? I see! Well, if you insist.” Brown dropped his hat on Jon’s desk.
“Fire away Pat, I’m a busy man,” Jon pressed.
“Oh sorry, Jon, I’ll get to the point. I have been put on retainer by Mr. Alex Faraday,” Brown said, as he nervously tapped his fingers on Jon’s desk. “As we all know, there has been a lot of violence around here lately. His man Slim Wilson is sitting here in your jail due to a shooting incident. Alex is very concerned for the safety of Mr. Wilson and for his own safety. He is so concerned that he is currently seeking sanctuary at his home just outside of town. He feels the incident with Mr. Wilson can be explained in a court of law, and Mr. Faraday will be happy to come into town for a court appearance on Tuesday with the District Judge arrives, but not before,” the wealthy lawyer said smugly.
“You’re right about the violence, Pat. There have been two possible murders and two attempted murders in the past few weeks. And your client should be concerned; we just filed an attempted murder charge against his hired gun, Slim Wilson. We also have reason to believe that your client is involved in the murders of Jed Orton and the disappearance of Little Bear!” Jon scowled.
“My client thinks otherwise. He advised me that any charges you bring against Mr. Wilson or himself have been trumped up. He feels that you have unfairly singled him out due to the success of his saloon,” Brown said, nose in the air.
Ed, Camp, and Jack all winced at the accusation by Lawyer Brown. They quickly glanced over at Jon for his reaction.
Jon felt his anger rise. He was trying desperately to control himself as he came up out of his chair. His fists dropped on the desk as he leaned toward Brown.
The attorney, faced with the daunting specter of an angry Jon Stoudenmire, shook in his seat.
“Is your client saying I’m after him because he’s taking business from the Barbee?” Jon said as he leaved over the desk top. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Well... uh... yes, I believe--”
Jon grabbed the attorney by the tie and yanked him up to eye level. Brown was shaking all over. “Now you listen to me, Mr. Brown. Tell Alex that he better be here Tuesday morning at ten. If he’s not here, I’ll come out to his mansion with both barrels blazing. If he tries to leave before then, I’ll hunt him down and bring him in. Do you understand?”
“Yes... uh... I will tell him.”
“Ahhh!” A loud cry came from the cell area.
“What the...” Jon shouted, he pushed Brown back in his seat and hurried to the cell area.
Ed arrived first. “Oh no!” the deputy exclaimed loudly. “Slim hung himself!” Ed unlocked the door and rushed in. The body hung motionless in the center of the cell.
Jon came in the cell; he and Ed untied the leather belt Slim used to hang himself and laid the man gently on the bunk.
“He’s gone,” Jon said solemnly.
Jon pushed the huge cell door aside and rushed through the small gate.
Attorney Brown stood shaking by his chair as Jon charged over. “Get the hell outa here, Brown,” Jon barked. He shoved the terrified man toward the front door.
Brown, rubbing his sore neck, staggered through the door to his buggy.
“Damn, we just lost the best witness a man could have!” Jon said dejectedly.
* * *
Just over an hour later, the traumatized lawyer Brown rode up to Faraday’s mansion. He hurried over to the front door and banged the knocker several times; Clive Cook answered directly.
“My God, what happened to you?” Clive exclaimed. “You’re white as a sheet!” Cook gestured toward the back porch. The two men hurried through the living room to the porch where Alex was relaxing with a book.
A surprised Faraday looked up from his book. “Back already, Pat? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What on earth happened?”
Attorney Brown sat carefully on the arm of a wooden chair. Cook arrived with a snifter of brandy. The anxious attorney took a sip to try and calm his nerves.
“Out with it, man. What did our fine sheriff have to say?” Faraday prodded.
“He said he had information that you were involved in the killing of Jed Orton and the disappearance of Little Bear. I told him you didn’t see it that way and you felt there was a vendetta against you because of the success of your saloon.”
“Yes, that’s bloody right! What did he say?”
“The sheriff became very angry. I thought he was going to knock my head off. He can be a frightening man.”
“Why, that’s a perfectly legitimate defense,” Alex replied, apparently oblivious to Brown’s personal trauma. “He’s trying to intimidate us into not using it against him. But it won’t work. It’s our strategy and we’re staying with it.”
“That may be, Mr. Faraday. But rest assured, he won’t like it one bit.”
“Consider me forewarned,” Alex replied. “Did you buy us time until Tuesday?”
“Yes, you have until ten Tuesday morning. He said if you don’t show up, he will come after you.”
“Good, good. That buys Web the time he needs to talk to Judge Walker in Mesa. Everything seems on track,” Alex replied. He stuffed tobacco tight in the pipe bowl, a match exploded. The coals burned red-orange as he lit up.
“Oh yes Alex, there’s was one more bit of news.”
“Oh yes... well, what is it?”
“While I was there, Slim Wilson hung himself.” Pat managed a slight smile. “And he did a good job; he’s very dead right now.”
“You’re kidding; how convenient!” an elated Alex proclaimed. “Things are looking good, very good indeed!”
“Indeed, Alex! A man did die, you know!” Cook scolded his over excited boss.
“Why yes, I meant no disrespect. Very sorry to hear about poor Slim,” Alex said clumsily.
Brown continued. “I’m sure they have written testimony, so we’ll still need Judge Walker on the bench. But having Slim out of the way will help immensely. But may I caution you against underestimating the sheriff? He’s a very determined man!”
“Yes... he’s a powerful adversary indeed, but the poor sap’s too honest for his own good. We’ll win this case and then he’ll do whatever Judge Walker tells him to. Then we’ll be free to go!”
Brown sighed. “I hope so!”
* * *
The silent flight of the turkey vultures filled the bright, blue sky above. The lifeless body of Web Norton lay motionless on the stone pathway below. Gradually more birds joined the ancient dance of death; their routes sank lower, closer to the man. A few of the ugly red-headed birds landed on the rock above, their long necks craning toward the fallen messenger.
Suddenly Web’s crusty left eye lid moved open, then his right. Dazed, but still alive, he felt something warm and dry slide over his face. His body froze in sheer panic as a rattler slithered over the terrified man and moved quickly between the rocks. Web blinked several times; his hands moved along his warm body checking for more snakes. Feeling none, he rolled to one side and pushed up to a sitting position. The hiss of a nearby vulture caught his attention. Angered, he struggled to his feet and waved his black hat at the huge birds. “Get outa here! Get outa here!” he screamed. The disappointed scavengers hastily took flight and soared away.
Sunday afternoon! he thought. His swollen hand pushed against the rock wall as he righted himself. He whistled, but his horse didn’t come. He looked around; the silence was deafening. Shoulders slumped, he gazed at the trail ahead. Over a day’s walk, one water hole, he thought as he contemplated the dangerous journey back to Faraday’s. He took a couple of steps and picked up his dirty hat. He placed the hat gently on his sore head. “I better get goin’,” he whispered to himself.
The setting sun gave way to the cool evening breezes. They felt good as they blew across Web’s hot, dry face. The sandy gravel crunched under his stiff leather boots as he struggled along. His legs ached; blisters were beginning to form on the soles of his feet. His lips were dry and parched.
“Where the hell’s that water?” he moaned. Finally, the large round boulders that surrounded the water hole appeared. Still a couple of miles away, they seemed closer. Exhausted, his pace quickened. The desert sun was almost gone as he finally reached the elusive hole. He fell to his knees on the sandy bank; his hat flew to the side. He ripped open the snaps on his blue denim shirt, cupped his hands and threw water over his head and chest. The cool water felt wonderful as it splashed against his hot, sweaty body. He drank until saturated and then laid on his side. The sun was down and the temperature was dropping rapidly. Weary, he lay still for a couple of minutes and then rolled up on all fours. His swollen eyes scanned the surrounding terrain. He was becoming very cold; he needed cover for the night. He saw some fallen branches from a nearby tree. He crawled around picking up the scraggily, leaf covered branches and drug them to a dugout in the corner of the rocks, away from the chilling breeze. He piled the thin, makeshift protection over himself, giving him some cover from the cold desert night. A strip of jerky slid out of his pocket, and he chewed it away. His eyes dropped shut as sleep overcame him.
* * *
The reddish-yellow sun rose above the dark sandy landscape. Web’s tired arms carefully pushed away his leafy cocoon. Morning was upon him; the back of his head still ached from the awful fall on the stone passageway. His body hurt all over as he crawled to the water hole, his dry, parched lips sucked the water in. The Indians taught him that a good saturation in the morning can last up to a full day in the desert sun. One jerky left and a full day’s walk ahead, his feet were already blistered. It was a daunting task indeed, but deep inside he dreaded Faraday’s anger even more. His failure to secure Judge Walker for the hearing on Tuesday would infuriate Alex and by the time he got back it would be too late to do anything about it. He ripped two strips of denim off the bottom of his shirt, dampened them and carefully wrapped them around the blisters on his sore, swollen feet. He slipped on his boots and stood up, his eyes squinting into the hot morning sun. He limped forward, starting the last agonizing leg of his tortuous journey.
Twelve hours later, Web heard voices off in the distance. Totally exhausted, he struggled mightily to keep from falling. His feet were bloody stubs, his face horribly swollen and cracked. His eyes were oozing slits. His boot slid forward and caught on a protruding rock. The dust flew as his aching body fell hard on the rocky trail.
A rider approached rapidly, slid off his racing steed, grabbed the canteen and dropped to one knee next to the fallen man. He slid his hand gently under Web’s neck and lifted his head. Web’s parched, puffy lips opened slightly; the canteen tipped, the water flowed in.
“My God Web, what the hell happened?” the man asked as he moved his body to protect Web from the evening sun. Water gurgled from Web’s mouth as he tried to speak.” “Rattler,” he said almost inaudibly.
Another man arrived with a pack. They gently lifted Web up and sat him on the horse. He slumped over, his head bounced from side to side as they walked him to the compound.
The front door of the mansion pushed open. Clive Cook, hearing the commotion, had come out to see what was going on. He approached the sentries.
“Oh my! He looks awful!” Cook exclaimed as he stopped next to Web. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Semi-conscious, Web didn’t reply.
“Did he say anything?” Cook asked.
The sentry shrugged. “All he said was rattler.”
“A rattler must have spooked the horse and thrown him off,” Cook surmised. “Take him to the bunk house, clean him up and let him rest. I’ll hold Alex off. He’s in no condition to talk right now.”
Cook hurried back to the house to tell Alex. He rushed into the living room and approached Faraday. “Web’s back!”
“Web’s what?” Alex shouted.
“He’s lying in the bunk house unconscious,” Cook replied. “His horse must have thrown him off. Looks like he’s been walking in the desert for a couple of days. He’s very weak, can’t speak.”
“That means he never got to Mesa and Judge Walker and it’s Monday evening,” Alex mumbled to himself. He paced nervously in front of his living room sofa. “Send Cliff Nestleroad into town to await the judge. Soon as he knows which judge is here, have him ride back out.” Faraday scowled as he cracked his horse whip on the oak coffee table. “Damn!” he shouted.