Dark 39 Big Lebowski Style

I ain’t the guy you piss on; I was the guy you pissed and walk away. I was not a coward; I was a veteran from the Desert War. I cared not for world politics; I was the one left in refuge chute. Okay, I am named the Dude; with my huge frame. Well, my chest muscles had reclined to sedentary posture. My freedom years had me more of a potato couch. That was when I found my new career.

I was into the porn business as the distributor. Well, I ain’t got the courage to perform in one; I may have the tools for the action but the intent to use has dampened. Well, it did not pay off.

I was bashed in by two blokes on mistaken identity. They had me over the laundry machine buck naked, and I thought the shower head was going to soil my unseen part of my body; you hardly do pay attention there except maybe your lover or the doctor doing the up-chute check. I swore on my poor mother’s bed; she ain’t dead as yet. Probably be by next Christmas, but who’s monitoring it. Not poor me since she told my relatives last Christmas, I was into the distribution. Everyone assumed it was drugs. And they stopped inviting me for dinners. Even Uncle Brien who used to get the older editions for free. The darn family was all bad cooks anyway.

Well, back to bashing.

It was not I balled any of their mothers or sisters; given their looks, I would settle for a pint by the alley. They did me good tanning; they left the skin intact though but the red welts stayed for days. What did they want?

It was definitely not the bowling competition I was meddling in. It was about some missing lady which I knew not about. I told them I was clean as a whistle and that’s the cause of the bump me over laundry machine.

“Sorry, mate. We got you wrong. Your name was spelled wrongly? We are leaving you now. Take care, and there are some rashes on your butt.” I was insulted then for both the wrongful assault and the rashes were my bloody birthmarks. My mum attributed them to the midwife marking my butt with a red marker.

“Hang in there, Dude. It was a bad take.” I heard my bowling pals. I told them during the bowling practice. I did my banging on the pins and then a Whizzer came into my mind. I researched on mistaken identity. I had It figured. Maybe one of my own went missing. Well, I wouldn’t mind if its one of my nieces but I doubt they were worth looking out for. They would have stood up in any line up anyway. They were built like me; hardy and huge.

Then I hit the headlines. And found the link.

“Mr. Bowski, I doubt very much we are related.” I looked across the desk at the man who was the slimmer version to mine. That was not all. He was rich while I was measuring the barrel bottom.

“And my wife missing may not be of your concern, Mr. Bowski.” I heard the statement from the other man. I should call him Rich Man and I was the Poor Man. I was to say more when the aide to the Rich Man interrupted us. They whispered to each other and then I was left alone to enjoy my beer. Well, they do have a good beer at rich man’s homes.

Then the offer came.

“Take the briefcase and exchanged it for my wife.” It was a simple request. The bloody issue was I am not the other Bowski. I am Matthew ‘Dude’ Bowski, and he was Brian ‘Boss’ Bowski. And I don’t have millions in my banks. I do have are in my loins.

“Who…. Where?” I mumbled. The instructions were simple. It was a lengthy drive to the desert with the briefcase. I was to do the exchange and then wait for instructions. It was the same like in the war; you wait for instructions.

And wait.

“Fuck the exchange.” I heard my mates. We were at practice then. We do our practice nightly. I was to drive later that night. My dudes were Big Mac; another veteran and Huge Balls. Okay, we were all six-footers and looked like retired quarterbacks but we never played that. We are just ten pins bowlers.

“Yeah, we stick to bowling. Let the other do the exchange. He is rich and he can get the muscles for it.” Big Mac was not one to mince his opinions. He was busted twice for subornation. “Remember, Kandahar. We were told to go in hot and the LT took the sense, and he called in for second confirmation. It worked then and our asses were secured.”

“I remember Kandahar. I also remember the number of times we ran smack into ambushes.” Huge Balls cut in. “Hey, we are not in the Army no more. We got no Hummy to protect us. No M240 cover fire. Only….. bowling balls. And huge ones too but they are not ammo loaded for the guns.”

Hard advice they were. Like when you watched porn and then it all came out empty.

For nothing or worse, a moment of pleasure.

I took the advice not to listen. I drove that night.

“Hey, bastards. I ain’t got the bag you wanted. You have the bag I wanted to give away. So, we are square off.” I turned to my car and heard the screams.

“You frigging bastard. I will see you in Hell.” The wife of the other Bowski could be heard. I guess Brien won’t miss her. He went for the aide instead. It was his bent that made the missus mad and she went with the kidnapping. And ransom. Except there was no ransom and I won the bowling game. The runner up was the Rich Team led by the Aide. I guess both of us won. 

That next morning, we sang ‘We are the Champion’. And we were huge fans of the recording artists. So were my sales of porn discs. A mate named Bowski bought a lot of gay themes to send to the relatives of his ex-wife. After the celebration of the huge sales, the team; we slept on the open desert some distance apart. We all snored loudly like in Kandahar. It sounded like the drop of the ten pins in that one crucial throw.

Stagecoach Western Write 8 of 15

8.

We were reaching Apache Falls when the attack came. It was very sudden; one moment we were on the road and then the Apaches cries were heard. I looked up from my prone position on top of the baggage with my left leg hooked up at the rope that secured the bags. It was one way of not falling off the stagecoach.

“Apaches!” I hollered out. The Marshall leaned back and saw the Apaches. I counted ten riders riding hard at us from the right side of the stagecoach which was surprisingly small for the Geronimo group. I was wrong when I saw the second group on the other side. They are trying to pinch us in the middle. A shot rang out from the stagecoach. It could have been one of the three gentlemen.

“Stop shooting! We need to save bullets.” The Marshall to the others. He then turned to Bucks.

“How far are we to Apache Falls?”

“Half an hour or so.” That was a long time to reach Heaven. I thought to myself. What was in Apache Falls. It was just another Outpost fort and there was the ferry to cross the river. He tried to think the last time he was in Apache Falls. There were the stagecoach Outpost, the barn, and the corral. I hit my head hard and think harder. I remembered there was this small trading post where the native Indians trade for goods. It’s as good as anything compared to what we were getting then.

The Apaches trailed us behind and the shots came at us. There was one thing you ought to know was that shooting with both hands while riding was not that easy. Most times you shoot with one hand while the other held the reins. That does not apply to the Apaches. They had been taught to ride with their legs bareback on the horses. That left them with their hands-free and they learned to use it well from the bow with the arrows to the rifles they bought or taken from the soldiers.

The shots whizzed past me. The others in the stagecoach resumed shooting. A bloody waste for they were not aiming their shots. I rolled over and asked for a gun.

“Here take this” Finally I was given the Spenser. The Marshall pushed me the spared bullets. I took aim and shoot. It was not easy on the rocking stagecoach and my shots went wild.

“Apaches in the front!” Bucks called out. There was no stopping the stagecoach then. He rode hard at them despite the shooting. There were four Apaches Bucks there with their rifles levelled at Bucks. He took one in the left arm but he was still holding the reins. Marshall Wilcox turned his rifle to shoot at the forefront Apaches. He shot down one when the stagecoach rushed past the other three. It was my turn then to bring down one more and we were through.

“Bucks, how far?” The Marshall leaned backward and started shooting.

“Not far.” Bucks called out. I looked at his wound and saw the bullet went through the flesh. Bucks was tougher than most and will survive. When we were ahead, Bucks took one in the right leg. It hit him at the thigh and he almost lost the reins. I caught the Apache in my sight and returned the shot fatally with the other falling off the horse. I saw the Marshall offered to take the rein but Bucks was adamant on riding it through.

“I am out!” I heard the call from inside the stagecoach. I don’t know who it was but we are losing the battle. We had downed like five Apaches but there are more in pursue.

“Hold your fire. We are almost there.” Marshall Wilcox called out. I checked my bullets. I had expended ten shots in the last few minutes, picking my target and got three of the Apaches. It was not that I was gloating but I reckon I was a good shot than most. Soon we rounded the bend and I saw the river. It was Apache Falls ahead. The Apaches in pursuit had stopped and we rode in towards the Outpost.

When Bucks pulled the reins to stop the horses, the passengers all rushed out into the Outpost. I left the Marshall get down before I did that myself. I saw Bucks missing and looked for him on the stagecoach. He was still seated there. I held out my right arm towards him but he declined it.

“I am hurt bad.” Bucks pointed to me the one wound we missed. It was on his left waist. He was bleeding profusely there. I climbed up and grabbed hold of the elderly man. The Marshall saw me and then assisted in lowering Bucks down. We shoulder assisted the driver into the Outpost.

“Its empty. No one’s here.” Mr. Hatfield called out. “It’s abandoned too.”

I ignored the remark and helped Bucks to the nearest seat. It was a wooden bench and he was laid there. The doctor despite the ordeal of being pursued had reacted with his skills to care for the driver.

“Someone boiled me some water and get my case.” The Doctor called out while he examined the wounds. He knew the most crucial one was the one at the waist. He may have to remove the bullet. Ms Dallas had responded to search for the pot and found it but there was no water. I volunteered to fetch it. The well was outside sat the compound. And we have the Apaches outside.

Or they were seen out there.

“I will do it.” No one offered to take my place. I was not surprised at that. I may not return at all. I grabbed the pot and ran out. It was a short distance to the well, and the Apaches were out there. The shots came son after I took three steps and then it was not stopping. I ran without looking back and reached the well. I crouched behind it and then reached for the well bucket. It was still there and so was the rope. I tossed it into the well and slowly lowered it down. It soon hit the water surface and I began the filling of the Buckset. The hard part was to come. I had to raise the Buckset without standing up. I pulled and heaved with my arms’ muscles and then I felt some one helping me.

It was Ms Dallas.

“Thank you.” I greeted the lady who had joined me there at the well. Two sets of hands eased the pulling effort. We got the Buckset up and then poured over its content. I took a mouthful and then spat it out. It was undrinkable.

“It’s been added with salt.” I cussed at the person who done it. It will not be the Apaches but a white man like my own kind. The Apaches valued water for it was scarce in the lands. They marked their water holes and passed on the knowledge by ears. They have also learned how to survive for days without water.

“It does not matter. The doctor can still use it.” Ms. Dallas explained the use of the water to me. I grabbed the Buckset and poured the content into the pot. Then we ran back but no one was shooting at us. Inside the Outpost the Marshall was reinforcing the Outpost for the impending attack. He had searched the place and found bare foods in the offer and no guns. He did a check on the bullets He was down to ten on his belt with three in the rifle while his own handgun held only four.

“I have six in the rifle. And another four in the gun.” Mr. Greenwood told the Marshall.

“I hold ten in my belt, and that’s all.” Mr Hatfield sounded out. He did not tell of the single shot he has on the Derringer.

“I have five left in my gun.” Mr. Hitch reported his.

“I have five in my gun inside my bag.” Doctor Bone announced his.

“I have four in mine.” That was Ms. Dallas. The Marshall was down to three in his belt and two in the rifle and gun. He looked to Bucks’ rifles. He was down to six in the rifle and two Bucks shots in the shotgun. He had brought down my gun belt. It was empty of bullets but I have one bullet in my gun.

“The Spencer rifles are six each in the breech but there are no more spares.” I could have cussed at the tow gentlemen for their reckless shooting but the call was to wait.

“We will keep one bullet for ourselves.” The Marshall made the call. He then took to look at the river. He motioned to me.

Stagecoach;Western write 7 of 15

7.

I was given my gun without my gun belt. That gave me six bullets to fight the Apaches. Everyone got a rifle; the Spencer rifles and bullets were handed to Mr. Hatfield and Mr, Hitch. Mr. Gatewood had join the Marshall.

I leaned on the stagecoach and waited. I was surprised then when Ms. Dallas joined me.

“Ain’t you afraid of me?” It sounded corny but I was out of conversation pieces. More so with ladies. I was not much of one, to begin with. I spent my time on the saddle herding cattle and in gunfights. Those were the facts that made me the Ringo Kid.

“Why should I be?” The lady had replied. Ms. Dallas reckoned with her trade, she seen the bad and worse if not the low-lying scums of the land. ‘

“Why did they call you the Kid? You ain’t no younger than most.” Ms. Dallas struck on the conversation. “I got a kid brother once who looked better than you.”

“You are really talking to me.” I started laughing. “Well, I was younger when they named me the Kid. Ringo Kid was the name I got tagged. My real name is Walther Drew. That was what my momma told me. My dad was in the railways but we stayed in the farm. I was tending to cattle at the age of ten, and …”

“Kid, all I said was I have a younger brother and was not keen to have another one.’ Ms. Dallas did not mince her words. I shrugged my shoulders and looked to the horizon.

“However, it's nice to meet with the real you, Mr. Drew.” Ms. Dallas extended her courtesy towards me. “I seldom have men telling me the truth.”

“Well, I reckon lying is not what I do to ladies. I …” I was snapped off.

“Reckon we will die today?” Ms Dallas was upfront. “I just want to know.”

“I dunno, ma’am. I lived day by day with the next day looking forward to seeing the sunset. I ain’t one that any ladies will call homebound…”

“So, we are going to die today? Will you shoot me first? I don’t want to be alive when the Apaches come for us.” I looked at the lady. She was the second to ask for it. I reckoned the rumors that the Apaches are at the worse when it comes to ladies. He had heard of it too among the other things the Apaches will do you if alive. I did wonder how much worse can it be from the folks I met on my journey. I had the companies of bushwhackers, murderers and gunfighters. The last count the worse when they are killing off from the other side of the law. You got a turf war for the water hole or the green pastures, you get them on your end. They are not guarding dogs but preying wolves ready to attack. Some of them have shown no quarters to anyone although among us the real gunfighters we don’t stoop to killing women and children. Or shoot one in the back. It was always facing to face for me.

When it comes to the Apaches or any of the other native Indians, I had befriended some and fought the few which came into fights with me. The word savages do showcase their fighting skills and not their manners. The Apaches are great fighters with their nomad livings, and the constant rivalry with the other tribes, they lived in constant fear of enemies. Like the creatures of the hard land there, they lived to survive with the bare necessities.

“You have not answered my question?” The lady threw me the challenge once more. I nodded.

“Yes, I will.” Funny how we promise others without thinking that it could be done. That done the lady stepped away. I was not to ask or look. My momma used to tell me that; “the lady needs her privacy”.

“Yes, momma,” I muttered to myself. I saw the doctor stepped out of the stagecoach. His steps were heavy and the stagecoach creaked to his weight. He closed the stagecoach door and then saw me standing there.

“Hello, Kid.” The doctor motioned to the pregnant lady inside the stagecoach. “She is resting. I gave her some medicine to take.”

I smiled at the doctor, and then looked at my wrists with the irons still there They were chafed from the irons and with my sweat over it, the wounds were aching.

“So, you have any for my wounds?” I asked.

“Kid, those are nothing compared to the hot sun and our soon to be death.” I disliked the doctor for being outright on our fate. Ever since I adopted the name Ringo Kid, I have strived to be optimistic in my approach.

“I am sure death ain’t a distant to your eyes.” I looked to the doctor who either baiting me for a fight or he was plain loony.

“No, I and Death are …. close kins.” I have seen those I killed in the eyes and then they closed forever. “You should b used to it too, Doc.”

“Me? I did say it. Death is my trade. I try to save lives but most times, it was too late.”

“That’s why you drink?” The question popped into my mouth.

“Uh…. I guess so. It keeps the dark visions off. No offense to you but I see them death upfront. I tell them go away but they kept on coming back.”

“Doc, you do save lives? It must have meant something to you.”

“Kid, I did. And fifteen years later, I buried that kid. He was my son.” Doctor Bone recalled his only son gunned down in a street gunfight. The kid had challenged the Plummer Kid. It was not that the Plummer Kid was fast but the doctor’s son was clumsy. He drew and shot but missed. The other Kid shot him. It was a fair fight. If you are in the Plummer’s town, it was seen that way. He resorted to drinking since then. He would have taken the flight to other places but he couldn’t leave his son all alone on Boot’s Hill. The trip he took with me was his return from the North East. He had to visit his mother’s funeral. She died of old age.

“Did you regret your son’s death?” I asked.

“No, I was not. He was a fool. I brought him life and he gave it up foolishly. So, are we going to die today?” The doctor asked.

“I am not sure. I have not seen any Apaches yet. And they are not foolish to die early.” I shook my head. Soon the call was made.

“Marshall, you sure the Apaches were there?” I heard Bucks asking the Marshall soon after we all boarded the stagecoach. The call was made soon after my conversation with the doctor and all cleared was called. The Marshall collected back the Spenser rifles and bullets. That was wise of him then for I do not trust the other two gentlemen. But the Marshall trusted no one. He took mine back too.

“Yes, I was.” Marshall Wilcox replied. It did not matter for we were on our way once more.

Stagecoach;Western write 6 of 15

6.

“Mr. Hatfield, please promise these requests.” Hatfield had drawn his own gun and leaned on the window to look for the Apaches on the resumption of their ride. He heard the lady and turned to look at her. Mrs. Mallory looked pale with her hands clasped on her laps.

“If we are to …. be captured, promise me you will kill me first.” Mrs. Mallory told the other. Her voice was cleared and loud above the noise of the stagecoach’s wheels grinding on the hard surface.

“I won’t let them take you alive, Mrs. Mallory. I promise.” Mr, Hatfield replied. “I have two bullets kept in my pocket for the last moment. It will be painless.”

Mr. Bone overheard the conversation laughed out in the drunken stupor. He eased his body to ease the cramps while his grip on the bottle was still firm. Mr. Hitch seated the other side with Mr. Gatewood moved his body. He was guarding the other window. Without the fugitive, the seating was more comfortable.

“Who do you laugh, Doctor?” Hatfield confronted the other.

“Death to me is a friend. We meet regularly and he will tell me how the dead had come. I have never seen a suicide case by the gun just yet. I have seen family members dead by poison or burnt to death. Yours will be my first.” Doctor Bone replied. “Tell me, Mister. How could you shoot yourself?”

Mr. Hitch caught on the conversation imitated the suicide shooting on himself. He then laughed at his own gesture.

“I ought to kill you.”: Mr. Hatfield reacted in anger. Mrs. Mallory held out her right arm to stop the man from starting a fight.

“Yeah, let the lady show you the way.” It was the insult that triggered fights. Mr. Hatfield lurched towards the salesman and found himself staring down the barrel of the gun. He held back on the attack. He was unsure whether the later will shoot. He got his reply from the salesman.

“I will shoot you.” The salesman smiled. Those words were echoed by the drunk.

“He will shoot.” It was the other lady who intervened then.

“Sit down both of you, or …. I will have the Marshall arrests all of you.” The three men looked at the lady who had remained quiet until then. She held their attention with the gun leveled at them. Mrs. Mallory was in shock by the other holding a gun.

“Misters, I can shoot you before you reached your guns.” Ms. Dallas threatened them. “Now sit back and wait for the Apaches to finish the fight.”

“Ms. Dallas, right? Please put the gun away. We can be civilized.” Doctor Bone assured the lady. “Do…”

“My personal life is my own. I won’t answer any more questions.” Ms. Dallas scoffs at the Doctor. She turned away and then asked Mrs, Mallory to give her some space. She felt suffocated in the stagecoach. Ms. Dallas has always felt suffocated. Her whole life was one battle of getting her breath.

Her father was abusive and anything that he could lay his punches was good for him. She left home at her early teens and ended up with a fur trader, shagged for a year before she was left with a bundle for her to sell. She did that and ended up doing the waitress task in the saloon. The money and the cards don’t add up together. It was only three weeks before she took her first customer. She was to become the entry into the oldest profession in the land. She humped and bumped for over two years, suffering the drunks to the turning of the age fools. She could not choose; the money matters.

She was in the saloon that day when the Kid shot the Plummer boy. She did not mind it then. The later was an arrogant kid with a huge ego. He had paid for her service a couple times but the kid was a miser. And a good customer for he could not last long. She saw the shooting and the Kid left the saloon. He had to for he knew that the death was a Plummer kid. She saw then the other man picked up the derringer. It was all in front of her and she packed her bags. She left on the morning stagecoach and ended up in the next town. It was not much and she decided to move on. She had stopped at several places but nothing would hold her. She had to return to the one place where it all happened.

And the stagecoach had to hold all of them.

The Kid on the run from the Plummer,

The gambler with the derringer

The salesman who saw the shooting but refuse to admit

The Marshall who may be the key to the justice

And then the Apaches as if it was God’s way of redeeming them.

A way to have them all killed so they don’t make it to the town.

Ms. Dallas sighed. It was her life script. All messed up and no peace at the end.

“Oh, my goodness. I think I am in pain.” Mrs Mallory called out. She looked at the men. “It’s the baby.”

“Doctor, do something.” Mr, Hitch called out. Doctor Bone looked to his hands. They were not steady anymore. Or his own mind, He saw only death.

“I can’t do it.” Doctor Bone called out. “Not here, Not without my case. It’s up there with the other bags.”

The knock on the roof of the carriage was the signal for the stagecoach to pull over.

“What the…” Bucks heard the call. He slowed the stagecoach and then pulled it to a complete stop. The Marshall stood up to look at the surroundings while the passengers disembarked. He saw it was Mr. Hatfield and the Doctor.

“Hey, Marshall. The doctor needs his case. The lady not feeling well.” Mr, Hatfield called out.

“Hurry up. We are exposed here on the road.” The Marshall replied. It was then he saw the Apaches. There were three of them and on horseback.

“Apaches! Get back in the stagecoach.” Marshall Wilcox called out to the two passengers. It was then when I found the Doctor’s case. I tossed it over but the two gentlemen had boarded the stagecoach.

“The case…” My call was ignored. Bucks on the stagecoach was mentally assessing his choices. He has a choice of either continuing the journey with the overloaded stagecoach and the tiring horses. Or he could find cover and fight it out, He had hoped the Calvary be nearby,

Bucks took the second option offered then. He saw the shallow desert basin landscape and rode towards it. He felt the elevated basin on their back will give them some cover. He lined up the stagecoach parallel to the basin and then grabbed the rifle.

“Get them out, and prepare for a fight.”

Everyone disembarked except Mrs, Mallory and the doctor.

“Mr. Hatfield, Mr. Hitch. You covered the rear. I and the driver will take the front.” Marshall Wilcox gave the instructions. I had to intervene.

“Marshall, I can help.” The Marshall was hesitant and Mr. Hatfield was being helpful.

“He could shoot us in the back.”

Stagecoach;Western write 5 of 15

5.

“Marshall looks like we have another passenger.” Bucks motioned to the Marshall of the solitary figure in front of them. It was a man dressed in the suit and holding a duffel bag. He was armed with a rifle and water canteen.

“Gatewood, Henry Gatewood.” The man who hailed the stagecoach to stop. “I need a ride.”

The  stagecoach could sit eight but the level of comfort will be comprised. The new arrival sat next to me. He held onto the bag as if his life depended on it with the rifle leaned on the right side.

“Do I know you, Sir?” I was shaken back to reality by the man asking me the question. I was staring at him as if he could have recognized me then. He may be a foe or a friend but either way, he looked familiar.

Henry looked away from my gaze. He held back to the bag and then I noticed the mark on the bag. It read “Union Express”. He saw me looking and covered it with his left hand.

Henry seated to the right faced the window of the stagecoach. He had ridden off in the small carriage with the stash of railway’s bonds. He stole it from the Bank or lifted it off the Manager there whom he had shot in the Bank Office. He left the body in the vault to be opened the next day and stepped into the saloon. He was having his drink when he saw the Kid killed the other. It was a fair fight from his view. The other drew a hidden gun. He saw the other fall, and the Kid walked off. He also saw the other gentleman picked up the derringer. He just could not remember who was it then. It all happened so fast.

But Henry could not care less. He was more concerned with the bag.

“No, Mister. The stagecoach is full. You have to take the one here in two days.” Henry heard the stagecoach ticket master. He had no choice and took off to a nearby settlement, paid the farmer to let him stay in the barn. It was most unusual for he was no cowboy in dressing; he was not one to rough it out. The farmer offered him the stay in the house. He took it willingly but with his stares to the road leading to the house, No one came but he had to extend his stay. The stagecoach was not available for the next few days citing Apache troubles. He had to leave the area. The bonds would have been declared missing when the Manager was found. There may be a hunt for him. He did what was deemed necessary, he took a horse from the farmer. He could not pay for it but promised to come back. The farmer had no choice with the gun pointed at the chest, Henry also took the rifle and extra bullets, He was going to chance the Apache. He was desperate and no one appreciates his action.

Just like when he ignored the Kid of his innocence.

Life is never fair, Kid. I am the proving proof.

“Tell me, Mr. Hitch. Were you there?” I had to raise the question. “Were…”

“No, I lied. I was not there.” Mr. Hitch replied. “Stop asking me.”

It was then I lurched forward with my hands to strangle the liar but in the cramped conditions, I scared the ladies. Mr. Hatfield lashed out with his left fist into my right shoulder when Mrs. Mallory screamed. I fell to the side and was stepped on by Mr. Hitch. We were then slammed to the rear when the stagecoach stopped abruptly. I heard the door opened and was kicked out by someone. I believed it to Mr. Hitch. I fell on the hard ground facing the Marshall.

“Kid, tell me what happened.”

“I asked him a question and he …” My reply was cut off by Mrs. Mallory.

“He is a beast. He attacked Mr. Hitch and Mr. Hatfield stopped him.” That was the truth from Mrs. Mallory. I knew better than to lie then. I was pulled up by the Marshall.

“He can’t travel with us.” Mr. Hitch presented his point to get rid of me. “Give him a horse and let him go.”

“I can’t do that, Mister. He is with me and more to that, we have no spare horses.” Marshall Wilcox looked to the area around him. All he could make out was sands and the distant hills. The Kid may not last two days out there not so when the Apache is nearby. He can feel them at the back of his neck ever since they left the Outpost an hour ago. He had wished the Calvary given them an escort to Apache Falls but that was the past.

“Give him a gun and make him walk.” Mr. Hatfield queued up with his words. “I am concerned for the ladies.”

I looked at those heartless men I had shared my time over the last day. I wished I had my guns and they would have died by now.

“Unshackle me, Marshall. I will take my chances here.” I pleaded with the Marshall. It was best to die with my boots on than to share another day with these vultures.

“No, Kid. You stay with us. He will travel with me on the driver seat.” The Marshall declared. “It’s another two hours to Apache Falls. There we will split up.”

“Howdy, folks. I suggest we move on. I can see Geronimo in the distance by the mound of sands.” It was Bucks and his warning was timely. I saw the dismounted passengers boarded back while I was hauled to the stagecoach seat. I spied the other lady looking at me, with her expressionless look. Ms. Dallas was her name and she had remained quiet all the time. She was a beauty in the looks and out here, we don’t have many choices of that.

“Kid, I am releasing the irons. You give me no trouble or I will have you tossed out of the stagecoach.” Marshall Wilcox removed the irons on my wrist. “Now you hold this rifle. The more shooter, we may just survive this journey.”

Those were the same words The Marshall had told him that day soon after he was saved from the lynch. They had ridden out but soon enough the posse was on their trail. The Marshall had passed him the spare gun belt with the gun; it was once the possession of a cattle rustler but he had died escaping. They rode hard into the hills where their tracks can be untraceable in the hard rocks. The posse was a sizeable one of elven men and they were keen to catch up. The Marshall had led posse before and for one who caught up after a four hours lapse was either dedicated to the task or have a hefty reward for capturing the Kid. He had questioned the Kid on the crime he has done.

“All I did was call the other’s bluff at the cards.” Marshall Wilcox looked at the younger man riding with him. He reckoned the Kid whom he was told the name later in their ride, was too young to gamble let alone knew of the tricks up the sleeves.

“I learned when young from my Uncle. He was a gambler. And taught me how to shoot.” I told the Marshall. I did not mean to kill the other man but he drew first. I guessed most of my reputation came from my draw and most of them were over the card game.

Both the Marshall and myself rode hard and long that journey. Soon we were cleared of the posse. We called it quits and when I was to ride off, the Marshall told me who was pursuing me.

“It’s the family. You killed their second son. Luke ‘Old Man’ Plummer was a cattle baron and he was not a forgiving man. He will hunt you if you ever come back.”

“Marshall, how did you know?” I asked then,

“He offered me the task when I rode in but I declined, I heard the real outcome at the saloon and reckoned you are innocent. I don’t persecute the innocents. And Kid, you have a reputation. You do not shoot in the back and held a fair fight. So young Plummer's death may be his own fault.”

“Presumption, Marshall.”

“Unless I am proven wrong. I am never to judge another. I leave it to the Judges. I will not hold my conscience on accusing another of killing unless I have my own doubts.” With that, the Marshall and I parted ways. We did meet later but that’s another tale.

 

Stagecoach;Western write 4 of 15

4.

“These desires give birth to sinful actions. And when sins are allowed to grow, it gives birth to, death.” Doctor Bone lowered the bottle which he had taken a long gulp. He was seated on the floor next to Mr. Hitch, the salesman holding the bag of whiskey bottles.

“Pardon me, Doctor. Did you say something about death?” Mr. Hitch asked.

“Did I? It must have been the drink. I am …. a doctor. A medical doctor. I have seen many deaths.” Doctor Bone muttered. “Have you not?”

“Me? No, I have not.” Mr. Hitch replied to the Doctor.

“Death is alike a drink at the saloon.” The doctor took another gulp. He had treated many wounded to see them die. “Sometimes you get one or other days none.”

Both the doctor and salesman had shared the stagecoach for over day that day and the drinks. They have become friends then. The salesman who was also an elderly man in his forties and wore a simple jacket over his white shirt and pants with the dusty shoes. He had on a homburg for his hat. He had sat there on the flooring with his bag on his extended knees.

“To life and death. It’s a wonder how life extinguishes itself and then death takes over. I wondered why does it do that?” Doctor Bone bemoans on the issue that was on his mind. “I am still confused by it.”

“Here. Have another bottle.” Mr. Hitch handed the doctor a bottle. He looked to the elderly man who older than him and dressed just as shabby like him. He had met the doctor in the stagecoach and out of courtesy, he offered a glass of the drink he was selling. He has been a salesman of any wares he could think of but his real ware was war. He was selling anything to stir a war. He had sold guns to the Indians and the Mexicans, and also the cattlemen who needed something extra. He sold also information to the Army but then he was selling cheap whiskey to the warring factions among the Apache to the Sioux. He does not distinguish between the tribes as long they can pay him in gold pieces.

“Hey, Hitch is it? These whiskeys are terrible.” Doctor Bone lowered the bottle he had drink more than half.

“These are not the best but I got buyers for it.” Mr. Hitch replied. He then looked away and saw the other lady seated on the corner. He got up and approached her. He passed by me then and I raised a question to him.

“Hey, Mr. Hitch, right? I am…” I was snapped off by the salesman.

“Kid, I know who you are. I saw you kill a man once.”

“Wow! I am that famous.” I laughed. I had killed some men before but it was all in straight fights. I do not shoot anyone in the back.

“I was at the saloon that day when you shot the gambler.” Mr. Hitch explained. “He was reaching for his gun. A hidden one.”

I was rather surprised then. I was not sure if anyone saw the other person pulled the derringer. I have a witness then. It will buy me back my freedom.

“Hey, Wilcox. He was there.” I called the Marshall. Marshall Wilcox seated there by the table with Bucks looked at me.

“Kid, he can testify to the Judge when you are on trial. Until then, my hands are tied.” I cussed at the Marshall for his insistence to bring me in. I looked at the salesman.

“Tell him … No, tell me now. What did you see that day?”

“I …. I saw nothing. I was mistaken.” Mr. Hitch had changed his mind. I was dismayed that the Salesman had told a lie then.

“You said so just now. You saw the shooting. Why are you lying now?”

“No…. I was mistaken.” I saw Mr. Hitch left me in the lurch. I looked to the others. The drunken doctor, the lady, and then to the stagecoach driver. “All of you heard him just now.”

No one defended me. I felt the tiredness in my body. I slumped down onto the flooring and looked to the irons on my wrist.

“Hey, Kid. You will get a fair trial.” Marshall Wilcox spoke to me. “I will speak to the Judge. It’s the only way you can ride free. No one will hunt you anymore. Not even me. It will be like James Town.”

I looked up at the Marshall. We were friends. We had met some years back soon after I was arrested by a local sheriff. The town folks were not too keen to see a judge trial and they formed a lynching party. I was dragged out and taken to the nearby cherry tree. The rope was hungover and then I was placed on the horse with my hands secured with the ropes.

“Howdy, Sheriff. Am I to see a lynch here?” I had looked up and seen the lone figure on the horse had just arrived then. The lynching group was about ten men with vengeance in their minds, and that included the Sheriff. It was a pity that I shot dead the rancher then whose spread was bigger that of my arms.

“Stay away, Stranger. This is our town matter.” The Sheriff had defended the action then. He then reached for the horse rump to slap it but the right hand did not reach it. Instead, his right hand was wounded by the bullet fired by the new arrival. I recalled then clasping my legs to the saddle to prevent the horse form bolting off.

“I am Marshall Wilcox, and I held authority over this territory. Release that man or my next bullet will be at your neck.” That was how I cheated death that day.

“Marshall, James Town will be nothing compared to today. We are facing Apaches here. Tomorrow those army riders will be leaving you to your own fate, The Army cannot be protecting you for long. Please release me so that I can battle next to you. I don’t want to be alive when the Apaches take us.”

Doctor Bone heard the Kid. He had seen the killing done by the Apaches. Once it made him angry how they can kill anybody in those manners but he heard the plight of the Apaches from the traders who lived with them. That was why he could befriend with the salesman. The Apache tribes fought the invading Spanish and Mexican peoples for centuries. When the United States went to war on Mexico, the Apaches allowed safe passages through their land but the discovery of gold triggered the last Apache War. He could see the people suppressed had to vent their anger in some ways and life in the land was tough.

“Nobody going to die here. Or tomorrow.” Marshall Wilcox replied to the Kid.

At dawn tomorrow, the parting was to take part.

“Marshall, we have our orders. We need to ride to find the Apaches.” Lieutenant Blanchard looked to the Marshall. He had seen the stagecoach passengers moving towards the stagecoach. Bucks had hitched on the refreshed horses and the bags were loaded. His own men had mounted and waiting for orders.

“I am aware of that. I won’ stop you. We will be fine. Once we reached Apache Falls, we cross the river.”

“That will give you an advantage. The place to cross is there or another twenty-five miles down the river.” Lieutenant Blanchard knew the land well. He saw Mrs. Mallory approaching him.

“Lieutenant Blanchard, I want to say thank you. You take care of yourself.” That taken care of then, and the stagecoach was ready to leave. The Lieutenant left a parting gift of two rifles to the Marshall.

“I will be of some assistance.” The rifles came with fifty bullets. Mrs. Mallory was helped on by Mr. Hatfield, the quiet lady named Ms. Dallas, and then Doctor Bone followed by Mr. Hitch. I was the last to board, seated next to Mr. Hitch. Bucks held the horse reins with the Marshall boarding next as the shotgun rider. The stagecoach took the route to Apache Falls while the Calvary detachment left for the hills.

5.

“Marshall, it looks like we have another passenger.” Bucks motioned to the Marshall of the solitary figure in front of them. It was a man dressed in the suit and holding a duffel bag. He was armed with a rifle and water canteen.

“Gatewood, Henry Gatewood.” The man who hailed the stagecoach to stop. “I need a ride.”

The  stagecoach could sit eight but the level of comfort will be comprised. The new arrival sat next to me. He held onto the bag as if his life depended on it with the rifle leaned on the right side.

“Do I know you, Sir?” I was shaken back to reality by the man asking me the question. I was staring at him as if he could have recognized me then. He may be a foe or a friend but either way, he looked familiar.

Henry looked away from my gaze. He held back to the bag and then I noticed the mark on the bag. It read “Union Express”. He saw me looking and covered it with his left hand.

Henry seated to the right faced the window of the stagecoach. He had ridden off in the small carriage with the stash of railway’s bonds. He stole it from the Bank or lifted it off the Manager there whom he had shot in the Bank Office. He left the body in the vault to be opened the next day and stepped into the saloon. He was having his drink when he saw the Kid killed the other. It was a fair fight from his view. The other drew a hidden gun. He saw the other fall, and the Kid walked off. He also saw the other gentleman picked up the derringer. He just could not remember who was it then. It all happened so fast.

But Henry could not care less. He was more concerned on the bag.

“No, Mister. The stagecoach is full. You have to take the one here in two days.” Henry heard the stagecoach ticket master. He had no choice and took off to a nearby settlement, paid the farmer to let him stay in the barn. It was most unusual for he was no cowboy in dressing; he was not one to rough it out. The farmer offered him the stay in the house. He took it willingly but with his stares to the road leading to the house, No one came but he had to extend his stay. The stagecoach was not available for the next few days citing Apache troubles. He had to leave the area. The bonds would have been declared missing when the Manager was found. There may be a hunt for him. He did what was deemed necessary, he took a horse from the farmer. He could not pay for it but promised to come back. The farmer had no choice with the gun pointed at the chest, Henry also took the rifle and extra bullets, He was going to chance the Apache. He was desperate and no one appreciates his action.

Just like when he ignored the Kid of his innocence.

Life is never fair, Kid. I am the proving proof.

“Tell me, Mr. Hitch. Were you there?” I had to raise the question. “Were…”

“No, I lied. I was not there.” Mr. Hitch replied. “Stop asking me.”

It was then I lurched forward with my hands to strangle the liar but in the cramped conditions, I scared the ladies. Mr. Hatfield lashed out with his left fist into my right shoulder when Mrs. Mallory screamed. I fell to the side and was stepped on by Mr. Hitch. We were then slammed to the rear when the stagecoach stopped abruptly. I heard the door opened and was kicked out by someone. I believed it to Mr. Hitch. I fell on the hard ground facing the Marshall.

“Kid, tell me what happened.”

“I asked him a question and he …” My reply was cut off by Mrs. Mallory.

“He is a beast. He attacked Mr. Hitch and Mr. Hatfield stopped him.” That was the truth from Mrs. Mallory. I knew better than to lie then. I was pulled up by the Marshall.

“He can’t travel with us.” Mr. Hitch presented his point to get rid of me. “Give him a horse and let him go.”

“I can’t do that, Mister. He is with me and more to that, we have no spare horses.” Marshall Wilcox looked to the area around him. All he could make out was sands and the distant hills. The Kid may not last two days out there not so when the Apaches are nearby. He can feel them at the back of his neck ever since they left the Outpost an hour ago. He had wished the Calvary given them an escort to Apache Falls but that was the past.

“Give him a gun and make him walk.” Mr. Hatfield queued up with his words. “I am concerned for the ladies.”

I looked at those heartless men I had shared my time over the last day. I wished I had my guns and they would have died by now.

“Unshackle me, Marshall. I will take my chances here.” I pleaded with the Marshall. It was best to die with my boots on than to share another day with these vultures.

“No, Kid. You stay with us. He will travel with me on the driver seat.” The Marshall declared. “It’s another two hours to Apache Falls. There we will split up.”

“Howdy, folks. I suggest we move on. I can see Geronimo in the distance by the mound of sands.” It was Bucks and his warning was timely. I saw the dismounted passengers boarded back while I was hauled to the stagecoach seat. I spied the other lady looking at me, with her expressionless look. Ms. Dallas was her name and she had remained quiet all the time. She was a beauty in the looks and out here, we don’t have many choices of that.

“Kid, I am releasing the irons. You give me no trouble or I will have you tossed out of the stagecoach.” Marshall Wilcox removed the irons on my wrist. “Now you hold this rifle. The more shooter, we may just survive this journey.”

Those were the same words The Marshall had told him that day soon after he was saved from the lynching. They had ridden out but soon enough the posse was on their trail. The Marshall had passed him the spare gun belt with the gun; it was once the possession of a cattle rustler but he had died escaping. They rode hard into the hills where their tracks can be untraceable in the hard rocks. The posse was a sizeable one of elven men and they were keen to catch up. The Marshall had led posse before and for one who caught up after a four hours lapse was either dedicated to the task or have a hefty reward for capturing the Kid. He had questioned the Kid on the crime he has done.

“All I did was call the other’s bluff at the cards.” Marshall Wilcox looked at the younger man riding with him. He reckoned the Kid whom he was told the name later in their ride, was too young to gamble let alone knew of the tricks up the sleeves.

“I learned when young from my Uncle. He was a gambler. And taught me how to shoot.” I told the Marshall. I did not mean to kill the other man but he drew first. I guessed most of my reputation came from my draw and most of them were over the card game.

Both the Marshall and I rode hard and long that journey. Soon we were cleared of the posse. We called it quits and when I was to ride off, the Marshall told me who was pursuing me.

“It’s the family. You killed their second son. Luke ‘Old Man’ Plummer was a cattle baron and he was not a forgiving man. He will hunt you if you ever come back.”

“Marshall, how did you know?” I asked then,

“He offered me the task when I rode in but I declined, I heard the real outcome at the saloon and reckoned you are innocent. I don’t persecute the innocents. And Kid, you have a reputation. You do not shoot in the back and held a fair fight. So young Plummer's death may be his own fault.”

“Presumption, Marshall.”

“Unless I am proven wrong. I am never to judge another. I leave it to the Judges. I will not hold my conscience on accusing another of killing unless I have my own doubts.” With that the Marshall and myself parted ways. We did meet later but that’s another tale.