Stagecoach Western 11 of 15

11.

I checked the rigging I did on the raft. It was an idea borrowed from the Sioux where they used to travel by canoe on the rapids. I had little time to add to the raft so, I had the extra logs tied a distance apart to widen the raft on the left side. It acted as a balancing buoy for the raft. The extra ropes I found was left on the raft. The stagecoach was moved onto the raft and the passengers soon boarded the raft before dawn. All of us was on it except for the deceased Mrs. Mallory and Bucks

“I can’t last much longer on the raft.” Bucks acknowledged his fatal wounds. “Let me die here. Give me my rifle and some extra bullets. And leave me my shotgun.”

We all did saving only whatever bullets on our guns and rifles to Bucks. He will provide us the flanking support until we reached the raft out to the deeper end of the river.

“Bucks, thank you.” I wished the driver but with sadness in my eyes. Bucks knew he was going to die and wanted to do it with glory.

“Don’t be, Kid. I am not a gunfighter to go down with against another, but I can do so saving all of you.” Bucks then took a position to shoot while we all boarded the raft. I notice the Marshall was missing for a short time and later appeared with a small case. He loaded that case heavy in the load on the driver seat of the stagecoach. I wondered why the Marshall had travel on the stagecoach and was it a coincidence that he found me. There has to be something there that the Marshall will want there at Apache Falls.

“Let us sail, Kid.” Marshall Wilcox sat on the driver seat and gave the instruction. I pulled at the rope to hoist the raft across. It was not easy with the fast flow of the river, and the other two gentlemen stood guard at the raft. The lady had stayed on the stagecoach with the Doctor handling the horses. The horses were terrified of the river but the Doctor managed to calm them down. Mr Greenwood was by himself at the end of the raft.

The shots came soon after we disembarked. I could hear the shots varied and assumed it was the Apaches firing on Bucks’ then. I heaved and pulled at the rope and soon the raft left the river banks. That was the easy part and the difficult part came when we reached the area where the water flowed fast.  I had to grip hard on the rope to avoid being thrown overboard. The years of grappling the cattle helped but the current of the river was fast. I was losing my grip then.

“Let me help you.” The Marshall had stepped off the stagecoach and assisted me. He had on the hand gloves and pulled hard at the rope. The raft moved on with both our strength in its own direction. The rope previously loose had pulled with taut when we reached mid-river. The raft was being forced downriver by the current.

“Hey, the Outpost burning.’ Mr. Hitch provided the distraction but both the Marshall and I was on the raft direction. I decided that the best option was to break free of the rope.

“Marshall, we have to break the rope or risk us going under,” I called out. The Marshall had stood with his back to me, ignored my advice and continued pulling. It was the improvised logs I had attached came loose. Mr. Hatfield standing near it almost feel over but was saved by Mr. Hitch.

“Marshall….” I called out once more. The later took my advice and without a rope, he took out his gun to shoot at the knots of rope. It was not the best method but two shots later, we had the rope disengaged. The raft was riding the current on the river fast. We held on fast to the stagecoach praying hard the raft will slow down and we can ride off.

“Give me the rope,” I called out to the Marshall. He looked at me hard before he handed me the rope. I knew it was a loony idea but on the herd trails, we sometimes do loony things. That includes jumping into swelling river currents to save the cattle.

I looped the rope around me before I tied the other end to the raft. I left my gun belt to the Marshall.  I took a deep breath and then dived into the icy cold water. Immediately the river current carried me away on the flow. I took a hit on my left shoulder and then was swept under the raft. I kicked out with my legs and arms to surface back, before going under several times. Finally, I got the wind of the current and swam with it. Soon I was ahead of the raft and swam my way to the river bank. I managed to make it and saw the opportunity to pull out. It was a clump of Joshua Trees; a native of the land. One trunk would not hold the raft but three of these close to each other was an option. I ran to the tree and lopped the nearest trunk. The rope then had grown taut and was pulling the trunk. I looped the rope around the other two trees praying hard it will hold. It held and the rope taut held its ground. I then when to the rope to pull at it. It was a hopeless move but then I saw the Marshall and the others had jumped into the river and using the rope they had reached the river bank. They assisted in the pulling and soon the raft was moving towards the river bank. We heaved with all our strength and soon the raft was on the river bank. The Marshall had then climbed onto the stagecoach and rode it off the raft. The horses did buck on stepping onto the river banks and the Marshall held the reins hard to let the horses galloped for a short distance before he rode them back.

“We are saved for now.” The Doctor smiled.

“Not exactly. We are on the same side where we boarded.” The Marshall replied. “We now have a longer distance to ride to the next crossing point.”

“Ain't that convenient.” Mr. Hatfield snarled out. “We just delayed our death to a later hour.”

I snapped then. I faced the other and told him off.

“I had enough of you. You were always picking faults.” I reached for my gun and forgotten I had handed it over to the Marshall.

“I ain’t going to draw against you. You are the Kid. I am a nobody in the realm.” Mr. Hatfield mocked me.

“Then let us do the gentlemen way.” I held up my fists. “No, hold barred.”

I had my days of fist fighting. It was one way of settling the dispute on the herd trail run, short of getting a bullet in the back. I fought my opponents from the colored to the Native Indians. The former are tough fighters with the fist and stamina. They could outlast most others in punches. The later, the native Indians; these are the crafty fighters with body wrestle and sneaky kicks at the groins. I had them all and I won’t say my wins outnumbered my losses.

“That could be my kind of fight.” Mr. Hatfield took up my challenge. The Marshall did not stop us for he wanted us to end the squabble and more to it, he was tired. He reckoned our fight will be brief.

“Walther, please don’t…” I heard the lady called out my name. It was a personal moment for me to be called by my real name.

“I will be fine…. “I bit my lips. “Martha.”