The Gunfighter 1.2 of 1.5

2.

Doctor Wesley had removed the bullet from Gabe shoulder, and had it bandaged. The named outlaw was a trouble maker with rewards for his capture in over three states, for armed robbery, murder and rustling. Gabe was a tall man with his trademark long overcoat, that he had left on his saddle for the gunfight. His clothes were typical cowhands drab but it suited his mood, with the dark shades to matched his scarred face. The two streaks across his face from the brown bear he had to wrestle with his hunting knife sometime back. That was his other trademark; the nine inch Bowie knife he carried on his right boots. He killed three men with it in fair fights but they said he stabbed the last one in cold blood.

"You won't be firing the gun for sometime, Gabe." Wesley the old doctor had seen his share of gunfighters to outlaws in his twenty eight of service, both in the army and then at here. "Reckon not, if the judge find you guilty of those crimes you were said to had done."

Wesley knew Gabe since he was riding the spread at the tender age of twelve. They were both from Yellow Creek, and joined the army to fight the war with the Indians. It was their Constitutional rights then, later Wesley resigned when he realized it was never their land to fight for. He came back to Yellow Creek and resumed his private practice. Gabe had then left a name for himself in the west until recently he came back to roost at Yellow Creek. He was a fine man when he left but now he was an ugly dude with scars and half his scalp cleaned shaven after he killed the Indian who tried to removed it.

"I did not killed no one here. Not that way." The murders blamed on him was the three victims with their bodies mangled as it the coyotes had fought over it. It all happened soon after Gabe returned here.

I may had the knife to kill, but never had I mutilated the bodies." Gabe got off the medical couch while the doctor took up his shirt for him. He was assisted into his shirt with the doctor's help.

"I just want to come back to see cousin Alison. I heard that she was harassed by Brand and his brothers. She been taking care of ma' farm." Gabe told the doctor as the later helped buttoned his shirt.

"Tell that to the Judge. You may know him. He was your Uncle." Wesley replied.

"Shucks! Uncle Ben never liked me since I ..." Gabe looked to the deputy standing by the doorway. He closed off his comment. He did the wrong thing when he peeked in at his Uncle' room then. How was he know then? He was curious and the hens don't exactly had much to show.

"Well, your Aunt; God rest her soul. Die last year after a long sickness. Uncle Ben had been hitting the bottle but he remained sober for his proceedings." Wesley told the younger kin of the Regan clan. Darned, he was almost one of them, if he had married the aunt, but she was taken before he had proposed.

The door to the doctor' office was opened from the outside with Sheriff Gannon holding the body in the blanket over his shoulder. He walked in with Mack close behind. He proceeded to the medical couch and dropped the body. He turned to the deputy and asked him to stand guard outside. He then looked at Gabe and back to Mack. The later nodded which the sheriff sighed in relief.

"I found this next to the latest victim." Sheriff Gannon spoke up while motioning to the bundle on the couch. "It was Richie Brown. His brother found him, and brought them back."

"Them? You mean there were two victims?" Wesley asked as he reached for the bundle. He unwrapped it and then stood back.

"That's not Richie. Its a ....abomination." Wesley exclaimed out. His body shook from the sight. "That's a coyote bastard creation."

Sheriff Gannon grabbed the doctor by his arms. He turned the doctor look at him.

"Stay with me, doctor. Or I would shoot you myself." Sheriff Gannon told the doctor. "That was found next to Richie's body. He must had shot it, or it died from something. I want to know what and why."

"I got the undertaker to take care of Richie. His brother who brought in the bodies is in jail. The other persons besides those in my office to know of this is you, me and Mack." Sheriff Gannon looked at Gabe. "And him."

"Gabe, I am putting into custody or your safety, but you would be allowed to carry your gun. And blade. Only with myself, would you be seen on the street. I need all the hardy help I could find. You and Mack would do for now. We may had a killer or killers to hunt. And they ain't cowboys or Indians."

Sheriff Gannon looked to the doctor again.

"Don't fail me, Wesley. You are the one to unravel the truth." Sheriff Gannon then looked to the doorway. "Deputy Ian would stand guard over your door, during your examination."

The trio of Gannon, Mack and Gabe walked across the street to the Sheriff office. They found Mason sitting there with the shotgun held tight in his hands while watching the jails. Young Danny Brown was in the cell sobbing away on the scene he saw.

"Mason, there is box of whiskey at the store. Drowned yourself in it and take the last cell. Pass one bottle to Danny too." The Sheriff told the Deputy who took the cue to sleep off the memory. The two new guests of his took their seats facing him at the sheriff table. It was an old army working desk and bought by him when they found it was creaking too much on the sides. Gannon had fixed it and since then used it for his discussion. He had a peacemaker placed on a false drawer below the table for ruly complaints. Behind the sheriff was his collection of rifles and shotguns; two Sharps 1851, three coach guns or double gauge shotguns for the saloon fights, and four Winchester 73 favored for the posse hunts. There was the Henry .22 lever action rested next to his table; his wife gift for him when he became sheriff.

"Gabe, I think you are not the killer as assumed by many. We even had Painted Horse in here too but he was never near the victims. With this new discovery, we think that they were killed by the creature." Gannon explained himself. Then he continued on.

"I would had not got so riled up but the three victims were not the only ones. Two weeks ago, I found out four more; a mining expedition on the hills. I happened to be on the trail, and heard the gunshots. I rode over and found them dead, but there was also a fifth. It was the same creature you saw today. I buried mine to avoid the spread of rumors." Gannon looked to the kid in the jail. "I may not be able to do so anymore."

"Gentlemen, we got unwanted visitors to our land. I intend to clean them up before they take on permanent residence." Gannon told the two. "You may able to help me. Gabe, your wound ain't much to gape on. So shed the bandages and get me some tracks."

Gabe was one of the best trackers in the west and the wound on his shoulder was an act by the doctor to buy him time on how to escape.

"Mack, I need a good man who can shoot. I may be able to do so, but lately my vision had taken some hammering. More so at nightfall. I need you to backed me up."

"You need me too." The voice came from the jails, but the one who walked out from there was not supposed in there. "Painted Horse may be also old, but he can knows the hills well."

Painted Horse was an aging Apache warrior, who had seen one too many battles. He was dressed in the plain mocassin shirt and pants with the tomahawk on his waist band. His age betrayed by his long gray hair was no measurement of his ability.

"Painted Horse, I thought you were let of last week." The Sheriff spoke up.

"Yes, I was. But the place was a shelter from the cold winds, so I came back. After all, your store held good stock of whiskey and dried beef which needed to be cleared."

"I be darned to ever show you the back door to my house." The Sheriff exclaimed out.