Stagecoach Western 12 of 15

12.

I ducked on the left swing and lashed out with my right fist into the armpit of the other. I landed in the wrong place when Mr. Hatfield moved aside in time. We were at it for a while and I was losing. Mr. Hatfield had revealed himself to be an accomplished fighter. I had the thin cut above my left eye courtesy of the other’s opal ring on the index finger. My left side of the chest ached from the bruising it took from both the swim and the punches. I was no match for the other’s skills in punches but my momma never told me to fight clean. I still have my own sets of crafty moves inside me.

“Kid, you are no match for me.” Mr. Hatfield bleeding from the upper lips smirked at me. I grinned at the other and took on a different mode of the fight. I lunged at him with my body weight and wrestle him to the ground. It was a native Indian move, and in close proximity, I lashed out with my fists into the face. Mr. Hatfield covered his face with the raised elbows and I directed my fists to the back of the head. I saw then the opening and went in with my teeth to bite at the left ear. Mr. Hatfield hollered out in pain and it was then the Marshall intervened.

“Enough, Kid. You are fighting dirty.” I crouched up and looked at the battered figure beneath me.

“You are crazy. How could…” Mr. Hatfield was rubbing his bloodied ear. The lobe was still there but it held my teeth marks.

“It’s called Injun fight. Everything goes there. No holds barred.” I pushed myself off and stepped away. I spat out the blood from my mouth and rubbed it onto my right sleeve. It sure felt good then. I saw Martha; the previously know as Ms. Dallas offered me her a piece of cloth.

“You are bleeding.” I took the cloth to wipe the blood on my face.

“You are a cheat, Kid.” I turned to see Mr. Hatfield had drawn out the derringer hidden inside in his boots. He had it leveled at me. “This is for my friend. The dealer you killed that day.”

I was unarmed.

I stepped over to protect Martha.

The shot came.

It was not from the derringer.

It was Marshall Wilcox saving me.

Mr. Hatfield went down on his knees and the derringer dropped from the dying man’s hand.

The derringer had failed twice to kill me.

“It’s the gun you are looking for.” Martha rushed to get the gun but Marshall Wilcox stopped her. He then picked up the gun.

“I will hold it for now.” Marshall Wilcox then looked to the others. “We ought to be going. The Apaches will be searching for us.”

It was the call for us to move on. The stagecoach was checked for any damages and then the decision by the Marshall.

“We will reduce the load on the top. Remove the unneeded bags. That includes anything that belongs to Bucks.” Marshall Wilcox looked towards them. “I need a lighter load to outrun the Apaches.”

“We are lighter by Mrs. Mallory, Bucks and now that Mr. Hatfield.” Martha stepped in with view. “We should respect their belongings.”

“And let the tired horses lose pace to the Apaches? No way. I am not letting that happened.” Marshall Wilcox made his point. “Anyone objecting to it can stay behind.”

The Marshall still had his gun on his hand. He looked like he could kill more of us if need be. I climbed up and started removing the bags. The bags were unmarked except for Bucks. His case has his name on it. I tossed that over and then Mr. Hatfield. I had opened it and saw the clothes and playing cards. I tossed that too. I found Mrs. Mallory bags. It was also marked “Lieutenant Mallory”. It was then I saw the case placed there by Marshall Wilcox. I was tempted to open it but the Marshall intervened.

“Leave the case there. Give me the bags.” I ignored the case and carried the other case which was heavy. My hands slipped and the case went off the side. It cracked open and the guns spilled out. There were the Navy Colt Navy, the Navy Percussion Revolver and others from the earlier models. They looked used and was probably from the Civil War. That made them ancient to me compared to my guns.

“Hey, those are mine.” Mr. Hitch called out. He crouched down to retrieved the guns. Marshall Wilcox stepped up and looked at the guns. It was no collection but used guns.

“Mr. Hitch, are you running guns to the Apaches? I have seen the rumors that guns were sold to them for gold.” Mr. Hitch looked up at the Marshall who asked him. “I thought you were whiskey sales.”

“I was ….” Mr. Hitch had reached for the Navy Colt among the guns but the Marshall shot him first.

“I should have known when you offered those cheap whiskeys to the Doctor.” Marshall Wilcox then looked at the other person he had not met not too long ago.

“Mr…Greenwood, I trust you have no secrets from me.” Marshall Wilcox looked at the man.

“None, Marshall.” It was a wise reply.

“Shall we …” I had enough of the shooting. I leaped off the stagecoach and knocked the Marshall off his feet. I got first but the other, Mr, Greenwood had leveled his rifle at me.

“Back off. I am leaving all of you. You are all mad.” Mr. Greenwood walked to the horses. He wanted to unhitched one to ride off. Martha shot him in the back with her concealed gun.

“I am not going to left out here.” Martha made her point. She approached the dying man and grabbed the rifle. “Here, Kid. Hold that.”

“No, don’t leave me. I can pay you. I got ….” Mr Greenwood reached for his bag. He reached in to take out a wad of papers. “These are Railway’s Bonds. They are worth thousands. Don’t leave me here.”

The wads of papers were then blown by the dead man’s hand. Marshall Wilcox gathered up a copy. It was genuine. It was a treasure. He gathered up the scattered ones and stuffed it back into the bag. He saw me looking.

“Kid, these are real I need to return it to the Railways.” I did not trust him then. Not anymore. I had suspected the Marshall on one of our encounters. It was funny how we always rode into each other. It was a vast land but we seem to meet once too often. That time before I had my fight in the saloon, I met the Marshall on the ride. He was in the opposite direction. We stopped and chat over the campfire.

“I rode out of town this morning. I was there on my rounds and stopped there. The town is under the Plummer family control. The town sheriff and the others seemed to fear that family.” I heard the Marshall but I was also flushed with cash. I got my pay from the last cattle run. Naturally, without a care, I asked on the saloon.

“There are some good games there. I did not stay to watch but I heard one of the Plummer was the main player. He’s young and reckless. He even dressed like a maverick in the garbs with those expensive cuts.” I took his advice and rode in.

What he did not tell me was that he had assisted the Plummer in removing a homestead from a watering hole. He was paid for his effort. I knew that from the homestead I met leaving the land. I went into the card game to win some money for the poor family but things did not work out as planned. I hid out with the homestead in the nearby farm but we were attacked by the Apaches. I survived and rode off and later met the stagecoach.

And met the Marshall.

We were fated to meet.