Stagecoach;Western write 1 of 15

Inspired and loosely adapted from the above movie

Stagecoach 2019

Jimmy Loong

1.

“Well, there are some things a man just can't run away from.” I moaned at my predicament then. I was relieved of my guns and handcuffed at the wrist. I am Ringo Kid; feared outlaw and cowboy until I was caught hauling my saddle across the stagecoach route. It was a sad event for my horse went down on my ride and I had to put it down. I had since then walked until the eventual meeting. The stagecoach pulled up and I asked for my ride.

“I’ll be darned. It’s the Ringo Kid.” I knew then, I was flat-footed by the only man able to track me across the land. It was my stroke of bad luck then. I had ridden from the law for some time then after having killed a man over the poker game. The dead man was a shyster but no one would believe me then. I grabbed my winnings and left town with my trusted steed. She was my love with her long strides while we too for the desert. We rode all night and out-paced the posse brought on by the local sheriff. Since then, and with a few stop-overs at the town saloons, I was always on the move till my luck ran out.

“Kid, you should have thought of that before you gunned down that man.” I looked to the Marshall who had the jurisdiction of the state. He was a fine officer of the law, in his forties and sporting the slim tanned body from his hunting days. Me, I am the cowboy full-blooded since the day I took to the saddle. I have been tending to the cattle ever since I was able to ride and shot my first man soon after I learned to draw with my hands. Ever since then, the name Ringo Kid was my name and feared by many.

“Marshall, he was a shyster and it was a fair draw.”

I had known Marshall Wilcox was a fair gentleman and he may just hear my side of the tale. Marshall Henry ‘Curly’ Wilcox knew me from the cattle drives when we crossed paths. He was good with his guns but above all, he was a gentleman when it comes to handling justice.

“Make way for the infirmed.” I heard the call and stepped aside. The one that staggered in was one of the passengers from the stagecoach. I heard his name was Doc Bone, Josiah Bone to be exact but he looked like a wreck with the reeks of whiskey in his breath. The doctor staggered past me and went towards the far corner where he found a seat for himself. He was followed on by the tummy bulging dressed in the eastern fashion and bonnet. That lady was not in her comfort zone then but her determination to have her husband, Lieutenant Blanchard at her side when the baby was to be born. She was assisted by another lady who was also a stagecoach passenger.

“Ms. Dallas, I will be fine.” Mrs. Mallory made her way to the nearby seat, a distance from the drunken doctor. She felt nauseated by the stench of the alcohol and was relieved that they actually disembarked to rest there at the outpost of the stagecoach route. She untied her bonnet before leaning on the chair. Ms. Dallas, the younger lady in the laced dress took her seat next to the pregnant lady. The last passenger stepped in carrying the leather bag with his wares of alcoholic drinks. He had shared some of his bottles of drinks with the drinking doctor. The Marshall recalled his name was Mr. Hitch or something close. He had loaded most of his ware on the stagecoach top and kept some bottles for the ride.

Marshall Wilcox looked out the door towards the stagecoach which was tended by the driver then. Bucks was what everyone called the old man who rode the stagecoach for many years on that route. He had only two love for the life; the stagecoach and the dust he breathes on the route.

“Please remain inside.” The Marshall took to find the handler of the outpost and found no one. There were some dry foods and beans in the kitchen with coffee. He reckoned the handler may have ridden off for some chores or was concerned on marauding Apaches that was reported then in the area. He returned to the living area and saw the salesman was stoking the woods in the stove to heat up the room. He then checked out the settings there; it was bare except for the table and four chairs of which three were taken up. There were the shelves with the paraphilias for outpost including ropes and shovels but the gun shelf was empty. The two windows in the room were not barred and opened out.

“Well, we can leave in a short time.” Bucks had stopped at the doorway carrying the rifle he kept at the rider side of the seat. He was bearded and with his body past his prime, he looked like an old man from the farm. He rubbed the soles of his boots and shake the dust off his pants before stepping in. He looked to the Marshall.

“Did you see Tom?” Bucks got his reply when the other shook his head. He had known Tom for a long time, and if Tom was not there, he was either dead or left for the nearest settlement, which was Apache Falls. Tom was not one to run with the tail between his legs unless he was really scared. Tom and himself had fought off the Apaches and others before.

“Well, I get the water boiling and we can have tea.” It was the kind gesture of Bucks then. He tended to his task while the Marshall looked to the shelves for something to reinforce the place. I saw through his intention and smiled. 

“Marshall, you could do with an extra hand.” I held out my hands.

“Stay as you were, Kid. I am fine.” Then Marshall continued with his search. He then decided to go outside on his search.

“Are we in any danger, Marshall?” Mrs. Mallory asked at the Marshall when he was to exist. She had seen the guard with the badge hidden behind the vest. She also heard the other passenger called him Marshall.

“No, ma’am. You will be fine.” It was then the Marshall saw Bucks signaling him. He stepped over and was led to the back. Bucks were looking around the ground and then he spoke to the Marshall.

“Marshall, I saw signs of Apache at the well and the barn. I think I found Tom. He is buried behind the corral.” So, the mystery of Tom may have been resolved. What puzzled Bucks was Apache’s do not bury the dead?

“We may have to move but the horses needed some resting. There are no spare horses in the corral.” Bucks looked to the outpost behind him. “We may need to guard them.”

“I understand.” The Marshall replied.

“How many rounds have you?”

“I got six in my pistol and another six in the rifle. I hold fifteen in my belt.” The Marshall replied. “What’s your take?”

“Me and my rifle, I have twenty rounds, and in the seat, another rifle with six more. I have my knife in my right boot.” Bucks smiled. " Do you think the others have a case filled with more guns for us?”

“Your rifle in the stagecoach driver seat is a shotgun, and it will blow a hole only a short distance. At that distance, the Apache will have the tomahawk at the chest.”

“I have twenty rounds in my saddlebag and there is my gun belt. You have it on the stagecoach.” I had listened to it all standing at the back door. “You relieved me of my gun.”

The Marshall turned to look at me while his the right hand was at the holster of his gun.

“You like to crawl on people to eavesdrop? I could have shot you.”

“Well, it’s better to die that way than to stake out on the anthill.” I did not mince his words. I then approached the Marshall. “You could do with an extra gun.”

“Not today and till the Hell taken you in, I will fight anyone alone.” The Marshall glared at me. “We may be friends but you cross the line and I don’t list you for my Christmas greetings.”

It was then we heard the sound of horses approaching the Outpost. The salesman named Hitch appeared and shouted out.

“There is a detachment of troopers approaching us.”