Ride to Hell's Gate

After riding all night around rocky hillsides, through sandy draws filled with brush and prickly cactus beds, Leo Fairday led the other three riders down a shadowy canyon trail where they stopped at first light to water the horses. In a thin stream that pooled beneath a natural abutment wall of earth and stone, the men stepped down and stretched as the horses drew water. Above the earth and stone standing before them stood another wall, this one made of weathered stone, chiseled, shaped and erected by ancient hands, a monument to some vanished civilization.

‘‘This is as far as I can take you fellows,’’ Leo said, ‘‘until I hear Eddie or Redlow Barrows tell me otherwise.’’

Boland stood beside his horse, having dipped the bloody mouth cloth into the cool water, rinsed it and wrung it out. ‘‘But Redlow knows me, Leo,’’ he said. ‘‘He won’t mind if you bring us all the way in. I need some whiskey to ease my pain.’’

‘‘Whether you know Redlow or not, I’ve got orders about how to do things,’’ said Leo. ‘‘I ain’t letting you get me killed over a mouth of rotgut whiskey.’’

‘‘Go on, then,’’ Boland grumbled, and looked away, the cloth back against his lips. ‘‘Get to the Barrows and bring us in. My chin is killing me.’’

Leo finished watering his horse and the spare left by Patterson’s death. Then he stepped into his saddle, the reins to Patterson’s horse in hand, and started to give his horse a tap of his spurs. But before doing so, he stopped at the sight of a band of riders moving toward them at a fast pace across the sandy terrain. ‘‘Well, I expect I won’t be leaving you here after all. Here come the Barrows now. They’re riding like hell’s on their heels.’’ He stepped back down from his saddle and stood beside the two horses.

‘‘Good,’’ said Boland, staring out at the swirling sand and galloping horses coming toward them in a fiery morning light. ‘‘Don’t forget, it was the two lawmen who killed Patterson.’’

‘‘I ain’t forgot,’’ said Fairday. ‘‘You just remember that you three found us pinned down in an ambush and just couldn’t get there in time to save ole Black Jake’s life. But you saw them kill him.’’

They stood in silence, watching the horsemen gallop toward them. When the horses slowed and half circled and came in closer, Fairday took off his hat and waved it back and forth. ‘‘Hola, Redlow and Eddie,’’ he called out. ‘‘It’s Leo.’’

The Barrows brothers stopped their horses twelve feet away. Redlow looked back, searching to see if anyone had followed the four men. Then he said to Leo, ‘‘I seen it was you. Put your hat on unless you come to court one of us.’’

The five riders who had spread out behind the Barrows gave a short laugh at Redlow’s joke. Beside Redlow, Eddie Barrows only sat staring at Fairday with his wrists crossed on his saddle. ‘‘If he come looking to court me,’’ he said, ‘‘there better be a long string of horses standing over the rise somewhere.’’ He eyed Patterson’s horse standing beside Fairday. ‘‘Where’s Black Jake?’’ he asked.

Pretending not to hear him, Fairday dropped his hat back onto his head and stood in a tense silence for a moment until Redlow asked, ‘‘Well, Leo, what say you? Did you bring my brother, Eddie, a string of horses, like you was supposed to?’’

Still not answering him, Leo shook his head and said to Redlow Barrows, ‘‘Red, things went awfully wrong for us this trip—’’

‘‘Wait a minute,’’ said Redlow, cutting him off. He rose in his saddle. Looking all around behind Fairday and the other three he asked, ‘‘Where is Black Jake?’’

‘‘Dead?’’ said Redlow. ‘‘There better be a damned good reason—’’ He eyed Patterson’s horse up and down.

‘‘Who is this bloody-mouthed sonsabitch? These other two bummers?’’ Eddie cut in, staring coldly at Boland.

‘‘Shut up, Eddie,’’ said Redlow, turning his eyes away from the spare horse. ‘‘I know this man. He’s Titus Boland. His brother, Ned, and I sweated out a year in a California prison braiding hemp lines for naval vessels.’’

‘‘So, shut your mouth for a minute and show some manners,’’ said Redlow. ‘‘I want to hear what Leo’s got to say.’’ He turned his attention back to Leo.

‘‘We got ambushed by lawmen in Poco Río,’’ Leo said, widening his eyes as if reliving a horrible event. ‘‘We had to leave Roy Owens, Little Dick Johnson and Bud Shala lying dead in the street!’’ He shook his head. ‘‘It was awful.’’ Adding something heroic for himself he said, ‘‘I saved Patterson’s life. He was hit, but I went back for him, bullets flaying, dragged him into his saddle and we made a run for it.’’

‘‘That was damned bold of you, Leo,’’ said Redlow. He and Eddie slipped one another a dubious glance and continued listening.

‘‘Well, that’s just what good pards do for one another,’’ said Leo, bowing his head humbly for just a second. ‘‘I only wished it helped. The lawmen dogged us all the way into the hills past Azúcar flats.’’ He paused and touched his gloved fingers to his bowed forehead. ‘‘It was there that they killed him.’’

‘‘Um-umm,’’ Eddie said skeptically, ‘‘just how many lawmen are we talking about here, Leo, a dozen, two dozen, three?’’

‘‘Oh, two dozen,’’ Eddie nodded. ‘‘No wonder it went so bad for yas.’’ Redlow watched Fairday closely, seeing a bead of sweat break on his forehead and run down the beard stubble on his cheek.

Fairday’s face reddened. ‘‘No, not two dozen. There were two lawmen.’’ He continued, his two raised fingers becoming a raised palm as if to hold back any oncoming criticism. ‘‘Fellows, I know that doesn’t sound like a lot, especially against men like us. But this is Crayton Dawson we’re talking about . . . and a deputy that’s just as cold-blooded as he is. A couple of hardened murderers, if you’ve seen any.’’

‘‘Federal Marshal Crayton Dawson . . . ,’’ Redlow said in a lowered tone. Letting out a breath, he said, ‘‘What the hell is he doing down here? Can’t he find enough trouble in Texas to keep him busy?’’

‘‘I’m not the one to ask about that,’’ Fairday replied. ‘‘I can only tell you what he did to us. Trapped us, butchered us like animals—even killed a young whore for trying to help me and Black Jake get away. They’re animals, these two. Straight out wild animals!’’

Eddie was having none of it. ‘‘Let me make sure I understand this,’’ he said, pushing his hat up in contemplation. ‘‘Two lawmen from over the border, trapped five of yas . . . killed three, and scattered all the horses you’d gathered all over the desert floor?’’

‘‘Hold on, Eddie,’’ Leo said, catching Eddie’s attempt at putting words in his mouth. ‘‘I never said anything about Dawson scattering any horses.’’ He’d meant to mention a string of horses getting scattered, but he’d forgotten to. Now he hoped that simple omission hadn’t been a mistake. It had.

‘‘I know that,’’ said Eddie, ‘‘but you should have.’’ As he spoke he calmly drew a big Walker Colt from the holster slung around his saddle cantle. Before Leo realized what was at hand, the gun lay cocked on Eddie’s thigh. ‘‘You boys were gone more than a week. You didn’t round up any horses, not a single one in all that time?’’

Leo sweated, seeing the horse pistol lying there, ready to be raised and fired by a man known for his explosive nature. ‘‘All right, I admit we hadn’t stolen any horses yet. But it wasn’t my fault. I tried to get them to leave Poco Río. But, as much as I admired every one of them men like brothers, you have to know they were a stubborn bunch when it come to—’’

‘‘Probably everything,’’ said Eddie, staring coldly at him. ‘‘But to start with, here’s what I see happened. The five of yas went straight to Poco Río and started drinking and bouncing on whores instead of doing what you was told to.’’

Fairday stood silent, his hands still spread, listening to Eddie call things exactly the way they had happened, up to a point.

‘‘I figure when the lawmen rode in, all of yas was drunk on bad liquor and dope. One little schoolboy with a good slingshot could’ve overpowered yas. Am I right so far?’’

Behind Eddie, the rest of the men didn’t laugh at his remark. They sat silent as stone; this was no laughing matter. Leo didn’t dare reply. Eddie was too unpredictable for him to know how to respond.

After a moment of tense silence, Eddie took Fairday’s lack of a reply to be an admission of guilt. ‘‘That’s what I thought,’’ he said quietly. Raising his big horse pistol at arm’s length, he took aim and said, ‘‘So long, Leo.’’

Leo wasn’t going to go down without a fight. He had started to make a move for his Colt when Redlow called out to his brother, ‘‘Wait! Damn it, Eddie!’’

‘‘Because you just can’t,’’ Redlow said in a stronger tone. ‘‘For one thing I’m not finished talking to him. Don’t you want to know how your pal Black Jake Patterson got slain?’’

‘‘He killed him,’’ Eddie said matter-of-factly, still aiming the big horse pistol, and feeling it grow heavier in his hand, ‘‘by not lifting a finger to help him.’’

‘‘Eddie, don’t make me barrel-smack you,’’ Redlow said in a low, even tone. ‘‘Lower that cannon before your arm clamps up and locks on you.’’

Eddie lowered the big gun reluctantly, but only an inch, enough to relieve the weight of it for a moment. Seeing the gun lowered, Fairday eased down and let out a tense breath. To Redlow he said, ‘‘I’m ashamed to say it, but maybe he’s right. Maybe I could’ve done more, and failed to. If that’s true, I’ll have to live with the burden of it from now on.’’

He gestured a gloved hand toward Boland who had been watching tensely, wondering if he could trust Fairday to not break down and tell them who had really killed Black Jake. ‘‘These fellows saw it, the tail end of it anyway. You could say they come along in time to save my hide.’’ He threw the saved-hide part in to make certain Boland gave a good account of him.

This was going to work out all right, Boland thought, lowering the wet cloth from his lips. ‘‘What I saw was Leo here and Patterson fighting off the lawmen. They was both doing their part. Then Patterson went down.’’ He gave Leo a look and went on to say, ‘‘By the time we hightailed it in there and chased the lawdogs away, Patterson’s eyes were rolled up. He was dead, sure enough.’’

‘‘Well, are you going to put that heavy-assed gun away or sit there holding it up like an idiot until it wrestles you to the ground?’’

‘‘It’s not that heavy for me,’’ Eddie said, struggling to keep his hand from starting to tremble and buckle under the gun’s weight.

‘‘Yeah, right,’’ Redlow said skeptically. ‘‘Put the damned thing away and let’s get down to business.’’

Both Boland and Fairday felt relieved seeing Eddie lower the big horse pistol, uncock it and slip it back into its saddle holster.

‘‘What business is that?’’ Eddie asked, his wrist throbbing and stiff. But he wasn’t about to rub away its stiffness in front of the rest of the men.

‘‘Horse business, Brother,’’ said Redlow. As he spoke he gave Fairday a scalding stare. ‘‘These men didn’t bring any. We’ll have to go find some ourselves. I told Sepreano we’d bring a big string next time we meet. I won’t be made a fool of. Will you?’’

Eddie didn’t answer. Instead he turned a hard frown to Fairday, then to Boland and the other two men. ‘‘Send these jakes out to steal horses, is what I say.’’

‘‘That’s real smart, Eddie,’’ said Redlow, ‘‘after what happened last time. How do you figure it would go any better? With Dawson prowling around below the border, we’d be wise to stay together in strength. You know the story about the bundle of sticks?’’

‘‘Never mind,’’ said Redlow. ‘‘This time, we’re all going after horses.’’ He looked at Boland, Tomes and McClinton. ‘‘I take it you men came to join up with us, like every other smart gunman on the run down here.’’

‘‘You got it, Redlow,’’ Boland said in his distorted voice. ‘‘I always wanted to ride with the Barrows brothers. My brother, Ned, always spoke highly of you.’’

‘‘I hated hearing about Ned getting it from Fast Larry Shaw,’’ said Redlow. He shrugged. ‘‘But I have to say, tease a hornet, you will get stung.’’

‘‘Shaw is a dead piece of meat as soon as I lay eyes on him again,’’ said Boland, taking the wet cloth from his lips. ‘‘Any chance I can get a shot or two of whiskey? I’m hurting something awful here.’’

‘‘Again?’’ Redlow looked at him curiously, not seeming to hear his plea for whiskey. ‘‘You mean you’ve seen him lately, and he’s still alive?’’

‘‘You shot Fast Larry Shaw? Damn!’’ said Redlow, looking impressed. Over his shoulder he said to the men, ‘‘Anybody got a bottle handy? Give this man a few shots. He’s hurting.’’ To Boland he said, ‘‘Your brother, Ned, always told me you was the bold one in the family. I suppose he wasn’t just blowing air.’’

Boland felt his chest swell with pride. ‘‘I shot Fast Larry Shaw, straight up, face-to-face. But Gerardo Luna stepped in, shotgun-butted me before I could put a righteous bullet through Shaw’s head. I still owe Shaw a killing—Luna too for that matter.’’ A bottle of rye made it from hand to hand, then to Redlow, who handed it down to Boland. ‘‘Luna’s bad about sticking that shotgun butt wherever he pleases,’’ said Redlow.

Taking the bottle, Boland pulled the cork. ‘‘I’ll kill him for it, mark my word,’’ said Boland. He took a long swig of rye and let out a satisfied hiss. ‘‘I’ll kill them both—’’

‘‘All right, men, you heard Redlow,’’ Eddie cut in, saying in a wry tone, ‘‘Right now, we’re not killing Fast Larry Shaw or Gerardo Luna. We’re going after horses.’’ He stared down at Boland. ‘‘Think you can handle that?’’

Boland only stared at him. When Eddie turned away, he raised the bottle of rye and took another long swig. Then he patted the wet, bloody cloth to his burning lips.

‘‘Pay my brother Eddie no attention, Titus,’’ said Redlow. ‘‘I always said Pa should have beat him more with a branding iron.’’ As he backed up his horse a step and turned it, he added, ‘‘Everybody listen up. There’s a big spread a couple of days’ ride from here—the late Judge Bengreen’s spread. We’re going to ride over there, slip in at night and steal ourselves some fine horses there.’’

‘‘What about them two lawdogs?’’ Fairday asked. ‘‘We’re not going to let them get away with killing four of our own, are we?’’

‘‘What do you think, Leo?’’ Redlow asked pointedly. As he spoke he reached forward and took the reins to Patterson’s horse from his hand and gestured for a man nearby to take them. ‘‘Take this horse back, Sweeney. Then catch up to us.’’ He returned his gaze to Fairday. ‘‘Well, have we, Leo?’’ he asked again.

‘‘We never have and we never will, Leo,’’ Redlow said in a firmer tone of voice. ‘‘If they’re still on your trail and catch up to us, we’ll make short work of them. If they show up at the ruins, Delby and the ones we left guarding the place will kill them deader than hell. Does that make you feel better?’’

‘‘Damned right it does.’’ Leo grinned. ‘‘A whole lot better!’’ He stepped up into his saddle and tightened his hat down onto his forehead. ‘‘Montamos esta noche!’’ he called out in Spanish. ‘‘Tonight we ride!’’