Reuben's Revenge Page 8

  He got within one hundred feet of the man when he recognized him: it was Moon. The face was etched into his brain, as were the faces of all on the Wanted posters in his saddlebags.

  Then a frightened horse, towing the empty buggy, flew past him. The animal’s ears were pinned back, and the whites of his eyes were showing. Clearly, the slap and shot had been used to get rid of the buggy.

  But why?

  In a flash, Reuben worked it out. Moon had broken Anderson out of jail, and ridden on for a doctor for Anderson’s leg. If he didn’t act swiftly, the next shot would be aimed at the doc.

  Slowly and carefully, Reuben raised his Winchester and sighted down the long barrel. The cross-wires were perfectly aligned with Moon’s chest.

  Taking a deep breath, he held it and gently squeezed the trigger.

  Even from this distance, his aim was true. He could even see the look of shock on Moon’s face as he flew backwards and landed in the dirt.

  Reuben waited a full minute, making sure the body didn’t move. Satisfied that Moon was either dead or unconscious, Reuben stood, Winchester levelled at waist height, and walked towards the large oak where he’d seen Moon and the buggy.

  Anderson must be there.

  Reuben moved to his right, entering the small copse; at least he’d have some cover and also be to the right of the oak – hopefully unseen – and make sure it was Anderson and see if he recognized the other man.

  Moving as stealthily and as silently as an Indian, Reuben reached the end of the copse. The oak tree was to his left. He saw the standing man first: small, a beer belly obvious, what little hair he had was grey, and he was holding what looked like a doctor’s bag.

  Reuben sussed the situation quickly. Moon had forced the doctor to tend to Anderson, then, when he had finished, spooked the buggy horse and was about to kill him.

  Moon couldn’t leave a witness.

  He shifted his gaze – and his Winchester – to the left and saw a naked leg stretched out on the ground.

  Anderson!

  He looked back at the doc and decided to make his presence felt. Standing, he waved, then placed a finger to his lips.

  The old man got the message.

  ‘Henry?’ a strangled voice called out. ‘Hey, Henry, you OK?’ Anderson hoped and prayed that his partner was playing possum.

  He wasn’t.

  Henry Moon was dead, there was no doubt about it.

  A mile and a half further back down the trail, Clarke suddenly reined in and cocked his head to one side.

  ‘You hear that?’ he asked Adams.

  ‘Hear what?’

  ‘I thought I heard a gunshot up ahead,’ Adams replied.

  ‘You’re imaginin’ it,’ Clarke said.

  ‘That weren’t no imagination,’ Adams said angrily.

  Then they both heard the thundering sound of an approaching horse.

  The two men immediately moved to the side of the trail, under a cottonwood – and waited, rifles drawn and cocked.

  From around a bend in the trail, a foam-flecked horse appeared towing what seemed to be an empty buggy.

  ‘What the hell?’ Clarke said.

  ‘Reckon that shot spooked it. But why and who?’ Adams said.

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ Clarke replied.

  ‘Keep your rifle handy,’ Adams said, and edged his horse forward at a walking pace.

  Reuben raised his Winchester and, taking careful aim, loosed a shot that brought a scream from the man with the bare leg.

  The doc fell to his knees, fear etched on his podgy face.

  Slowly, Reuben approached the oak, making sure the wounded man wasn’t armed. But he saw that both the man’s hands were gripping his leg.

  ‘Well, well,’ Reuben said. ‘Seems you didn’t get far, Anderson.’

  ‘You son of a bitch,’ was all Anderson said.

  ‘You better take a look at him, Doc, before we take him in.’

  ‘Take him in where?’ the doctor asked.

  ‘Where’d you come from?’ asked Reuben.

  ‘Cannon Falls, it’s around an hour away, at least,’ Mackay replied.

  ‘Then that’s where we’re heading,’ Reuben said.

  ‘I better take a look at his leg – again,’ the doc said. ‘He might bleed to death.’

  ‘OK, but make it quick.’

  ‘What’s he done?’ the medico asked as he kneeled beside Anderson, opening his medicine bag once more.

  ‘He was with the James-Younger gang that tried to rob the bank – and failed miserably,’ Reuben said.

  The doc removed the slug from Anderson’s leg. There was no finesse this time, and Anderson moaned and cried at the pain.

  In no time at all, he had bound the wound and looked towards Reuben.

  ‘Bring one of the horses over,’ Reuben told the doctor, who obeyed immediately.

  ‘I’ll need a hand to lift him across the saddle,’ Reuben said, as he whistled for his horse. It appeared within a few minutes. Reuben grabbed a coil of rope and hung it on his shoulder.

  ‘Take his feet, Doc. We’ll lay him belly down across the saddle.’ Reuben grabbed Anderson under his armpits and lifted the heavy man. They managed to lift and carry him to the waiting horse.

  Adrenalin pumping through his body, Reuben managed to raise Anderson across the horse then, uncoiling the rope, tied the man’s feet together, then walked round the front of the horse and tied Anderson’s hands with the other end of the rope, making sure it was tight.

  Anderson groaned.

  Grabbing the reins of the horse, he led it to his own horse.

  ‘You OK, Doc?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. I’ll need a lift to mount up though; it’s been a while since I rode a horse.’

  Reuben ground-hitched both horses and, cupping his hands for Mackay to step into, he heaved him onto the animal making sure his boots were in the stirrups.

  Mounting his own horse, Reuben grabbed the reins of the third animal and they set off at a walking pace. Reuben didn’t want the doctor to fall off!

  Meanwhile, the Pinkerton agents were closing in on the township of Madelia, where they knew that most of the James-Younger gang were holed up.

  Two of their members were killed in a shoot-out that also killed John Younger and later on, they lost another agent posing as an itinerant fieldworker at Frank James’ farm, who made the mistake of asking too many questions, and it was assumed that Frank or Jesse James had shot him in cold blood.

  The rest of the Younger brothers, Cole, Jim and Bob were being held in Northfield, awaiting trial, the outcome of which was beyond doubt.

  Reuben and the doctor were making slow progress to Cannon Falls. It had been a long day and Reuben reckoned they only had around an hour before the sun disappeared.

  He looked at the doc, who was slumped forwards in the saddle, and knew the old man was tiring fast. At this rate they wouldn’t make Cannon Falls before sunset.

  ‘Doc,’ Reuben called out, ‘I think we’d better find somewhere to make camp. You know this area, any suggestions?’

  The doc reined in and thought for a while. Then he smiled.

  ‘There’s a gully about a quarter of a mile to the right. It’s well hidden and surrounded by cottonwoods.’

  ‘Sounds ideal,’ Reuben said. ‘Here’s what we do. We leave the trail to the left and ride around fifty yards, then we follow the line of the trail for a hundred yards or so, then head right. That way, anyone following will lose track of us.’

  The doc looked bewildered. ‘Who’s likely to follow us?’

  ‘Better safe than sorry,’ Reuben said. ‘No way am I going to let Anderson get rescued again. The man hangs for sure.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  William Clarke and Alexander Adams reached the point in the path where the giant oak tree stood to their right.

  Adams looked for sign.

  ‘Buggy came as far as here and stopped a while. You can see the wheel ruts where it was parked just off the
trail.’

  ‘Look yonder,’ Clarke said. ‘There’s a body.’

  Both men walked their animals towards the prone figure.

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ Clarke looked at Adams. ‘If that ain’t Henry Moon.’

  ‘He the one who busted Bloody Bill Anderson outa jail?’ Clarke asked.

  ‘Sure is,’ Adams answered. ‘So what the hell happened here?’

  Both men dismounted and leant over the body.

  ‘He dead?’ Clarke asked.

  ‘As a dodo,’ Adams replied.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Never mind. He’s dead,’ Adams said.

  ‘The buggy pulled off the trail here,’ Clarke pointed, ‘coming from Cannon Falls, but then bolted the other away.’

  Adams walked to the end of the buggy tracks which led to an oak tree.

  He knelt and pointed at the ground. ‘There’s blood here, a whole heap of it and some used bandages.’

  ‘Anderson?’ Clarke said. ‘Moon must have brought a doc out here to fix Anderson’s leg.

  ‘Then who shot Moon?’ Adams said.

  Clarke studied the ground, looking for sign.

  ‘There’s three horse prints here. One must be Anderson’s, another Moon’s which the doc must be riding now. So, who’s the third one belong to?’

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ Adams said, ‘let’s follow the trail.’

  Reuben led the way off the trail until they reached a rocky outcrop where he halted and dismounted.

  Breaking off a cottonwood branch, he walked back to the trail and carefully levelled out their hoofprints and, walking backwards, brushed his own tracks. Anyone following would come to a dead halt.

  Mounting up, they rode for around two hundred yards before returning to cross the trail. Again, Reuben dismounted and smoothed out their hoofprints before leading on towards the gully.

  ‘That was a mighty neat trick,’ the doc remarked.

  ‘Been on the trail a long time, Doc,’ Reuben said matter of factly.

  ‘The gully is about half a mile,’ Mackay added. ‘Can’t say I won’t be relieved to get out o’ this saddle.’

  ‘You lead on, Doc, we’ll follow.’

  Anderson hadn’t uttered a word since they’d tied him to the horse. Either he was dead or just plain asleep. Either way, Reuben decided to gag him.

  ‘Hold on there, Doc, just gonna make sure Anderson can’t make any noise and give away our position.’

  ‘You ain’t gonna shoot him, are you?’ the doctor asked.

  Reuben grinned. ‘That’s tempting, Doc, but no, just gonna gag him.’

  Reuben dismounted and untied his bandanna. As he fixed it around Anderson’s mouth, the man grunted. So he was still alive, thought Reuben.

  Mounting up, the doctor led on towards the gully.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Looks like the third rider came up the trail, headin’ towards Cannon Falls. The buggy and one rider were comin’ from Cannon Falls.’ Clarke paused.

  ‘Well, whoever killed Moon wasn’t a member of the gang. You reckon he was tracking them?’ Adams said.

  ‘Looks that way,’ Clarke said.

  ‘It’ll be dark soon, we’d better make camp here and set off at first light. What d’you think?’ Adams said, looking towards the west and the slowly-sinking sun.

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ Clarke said. ‘We’ll ground-hitch the horses; there’s plenty of grass to the side of the trail.’

  Both men dismounted and removed their saddles and saddlebags and led the animals to a patch of lush grass just behind the oak tree.

  ‘Plenty of kindlin’ here, too,’ said Clarke. ‘I’ll water the horses and you get a fire goin’, I sure am hungry.’

  Pretty soon the fire was burning and coffee was brewing. Adams pulled out some beans and bacon and a heap of nearly-stale bread.

  Twenty minutes later, both men lit a quirly and settled down, using their saddles as pillows.

  It was full dark now and the sky was pitch black. No clouds to obscure the view of the millions of stars.

  They threw their butts into the fire, added more wood and settled in to sleep.

  Reuben and Mackay finally reached the gully. It was an ideal camp site. A dried-up river bed, tall rocks on either side, worn down from when the river was in full flow, and trees behind them.

  Unlike Adams and Clarke, there would be no fire for Reuben and the doc.

  ‘I only got some jerky,’ Reuben said.

  ‘I have some freshly-baked sourdough bread and a bottle o’ whiskey – for medicinal purposes o’ course.’ A smile spread across his lined face.

  ‘Sounds like a feast to me,’ Reuben said, and grinned at the doctor.

  They took care of the horses first; Reuben gave all three animals some barley and oats and filled his Stetson with water. The grass on the river bed was sparse, but they’d only be here till dawn.

  Reuben took the saddle off his horse, then the doc’s.

  ‘What about him?’ the doctor asked.

  ‘He stays where he is,’ Reuben said as he tied up the horse Anderson was spread on, making sure there was grass beneath its feet.

  Then, reaching into his saddlebag he brought out some strips of jerky, while the doc retrieved the bread and bottle of whiskey.

  Pulling out the cork, the doc said, ‘Your good health,’ and raised the bottle to his lips and took a mighty swig before handing the bottle to Reuben.

  Not being a heavy drinker, Reuben took a mouthful and coughed as the fiery liquid went down his throat, then both men tucked into their jerky and bread. The doctor was sipping whiskey in between mouthfuls of bread; Reuben declined when offered.

  Their meagre meal over, Reuben grabbed his canteen and drank his fill before passing it to Mackay.

  Taking another mouthful of whiskey, the doctor re-corked the bottle and declined the offer of water.

  ‘I got a tarp and a bedroll,’ Reuben said. ‘I’ll check Anderson’s and see if he has the same.

  ‘You’re in luck, Doc, there’s a tarp and bedroll here so at least you’ll keep warmish.’

  The sun had finally sunk below the horizon and the temperature was dropping dramatically.

  ‘It’s gonna be a cold one tonight,’ Reuben said.

  No sooner had he said that than a huge clap of thunder roared, seeming to shake the ground.

  ‘Jesus,’ the doc said. ‘Damn near gave me a heart attack.’

  A minute later, a slight drizzle started to fall.

  Both men grabbed their tarps and covered themselves as best they could. It was bad enough being cold without being soaking wet as well.

  Reuben looked to the west and saw the range of mountains to the west. ‘It might be a drizzle here,’ he said, ‘but it’ll be torrential up in the mountains. We can’t stay here.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ the doctor asked. ‘We got cover, and we’re well hidden from anyone findin’ us.’

  ‘You ever seen a flash flood?’ Reuben asked.

  ‘Not first hand, but I’ve heard o’ them,’ the doc replied.

  ‘We’re in a gully. It used to be a river or is the outcome of previous flash floods. We gotta get out of here to higher ground. And we need to do it now!’

  Chapter Eighteen

  The clap of distant thunder woke both Clarke and Adams from a deep sleep. For a moment, they thought they were being shot at: then the lightning came.

  Both men were temporarily blinded as the sheet lightning cast an eerie blue-white light across the landscape.

  ‘Should we head for Cannon Falls?’ asked Adams.

  ‘No. Too risky, when the rain’s so heavy, you can’t see more’n five feet and that lightnin’ is deadly. We need to tether the horses, so they don’t bolt, and then settle by the oak under our tarps and wait it out.’

  Adams secured their mounts and removed the saddles just before the rain started.

  It began gently, a mere drizzle but, as the dark clouds neared them, forked lightni
ng filled the sky and within three seconds thunder rapped out and the drizzle became a downpour of such ferocity that Adams felt as if someone was pouring buckets of water over his head.

  He made it to the oak tree and pulled the tarp over his head and shoulders, but already he was soaked through and freezing cold.

  It was going to be a long, long night.

  Reuben, towing Anderson’s horse, followed by Mackay, eased their mounts along the gully floor.

  Rocks littered the trail, evidence of previous flash floods and the last thing they needed was for one of the horses to go lame.

  After another thirty minutes, the rocks on either side began to get smaller until, one hundred yards ahead, they saw a break in the gully. Green grass came into view and their animals snorted in anticipation.

  Riding up the grassy slope was no easy matter. The ground was soaked, and the horses had great difficulty in keeping their hoofs from sliding backwards. Eventually, they reached the top and there was an audible sigh from the doc as both men dismounted.

  ‘I ain’t never been on a horse for so long in my life!’ the doctor wheezed.

  ‘Well, we’ll hold up here awhiles, see what happens next,’ Reuben said.

  No sooner had he finished speaking when they heard a distant rumble.

  ‘That sure weren’t no thunder,’ the doc said, staring down at the gully.

  The thundering rumble grew louder, and the two men just stared as a trickle of water began to run down the gully, getting stronger and stronger until it was a torrent carrying rocks, timber and anything in its path.

  ‘Jeez!’ was all Reuben was able to say.

  The water level began to rise as more and more debris joined in the rush of water. The noise was deafening as debris pounded the side walls of the gully.

  ‘We got out of there just in time,’ Mackay said. ‘We wouldn’t have stood a chance down there.’

  ‘Water!’ Anderson’s voice broke through the sound of the roaring water.

  Reuben fetched his canteen and, lifting Anderson’s head by his hair, poured water down his throat.