Stagecoach Western 13 of 15

13.

I rode inside the stagecoach with the Doctor and Martha. The Marshall had me back in a bind with ropes. We lost the iron shackles somewhere when we crossed. I was still without a gun. The extra used guns were tossed into the river by both me and the Marshall. We found some bullets for the older guns; the waxed paper-covered percussion caps and balls. One gun had its trigger missing. They were useless but the precaution was taken. I had seen Apaches carrying the musket rifle from the old war. The native Indians are imaginative in their adaption and what may be useless could be made workable by then. The only imagination we hold was to invent better guns to kill each other.

I had looked at Martha who had ignored me since we boarded. She was gazing outside while the Doctor deprived of his whiskey took the sleeping journey.

“Martha, I ….”

“I don’t want to talk about it. All the killings may be familiar to e but right before my eyes, it was not.” Martha continued looking out.

“I did not start it. I was then …”

“Does it matter? You are the Kid. And everyone likes to draw against the gunfighter. Today it was them, tomorrow it could be someone else. And it may you lying there.” Martha had turned towards me. Tears were on her eyes. “Will you still be Ringo Kid or the Walther Drew?”

Walther Drew; my real name is given at birth. I had shed that name for a long time until Martha asked me. I felt it was fair to tell her when she told her real name. Walther Drew was my innocent past, and dark times when I was unable to defend myself. When I adopted or named Ringo Kid, it was my mask to the world. I was undefeated and most times, backed off by would-be killers. They all knew my reputation precedes me.

When I was at the saloon, I hid my face with a hat and sat down like a cowboy on a spree to waste his money. I did just that for the initial rounds, and let young Plummer gain his confidence. It was like fishing, letting the bait flow until the fish bit into it. Then it was time to reel it in but the final act was to kill it.

I did that. It was in self-defense then.

Or I assumed it was.

But the ones that could have stood for me are dead.

And the Marshall may not look like he is a friend to me anymore.

I looked at Martha. She had taken my silence to her reply. I wanted to explain then but the moment was momentarily changed.

“Apaches!” Marshall Wilcox called out. The doctor woke up and reached for the rifle he was handed over. We were down to the bullets in the guns. He looked outside and saw the pursuing Apaches. He knew he was no good with the rifle. He reached for the knife and then cut the rope off the Kid.

“Thanks, Doctor. I will use that rifle now.” I grabbed the rifle and leaned out. The Apaches were advancing towards us. I counted four of them on my side, while the Doctor counted seven on his side. Martha had held on her gun with both hands. I reached for it but she won’t let go. I leaned on my side and aimed my rifle. I did mention that shooting from the moving stagecoach was not an easy task so was shooting while riding. The galloping and the bumps would throw the aims off. I took careful aim at the nearest Apache. He was within range and knew his riding well. He took to move the horse on an erratic path. My first bullet missed the Apache but I took careful aim. I studied his riding movements and took the second shot. The bullet impacted on the horse and the rider went over it.

One down. Nine to go.

I switched sides to shoot at the other seven riders. There were six seen but they were clustered together. I shot at them and one went down. It was a remarkable day then I felt. I went to the other side, but the two Apaches were then four. I guessed the additional riders may have come from the other side. I was to shoot when I heard Martha screamed.

It was an Apache riding parallel to the stagecoach.

Martha leveled her gun and shoot point-blank into the rider.

One more went down and Martha looked worse. She was not hurt but in a state of shock. She had shot at me to scare them but killing was new to her. After Mr. Hitch, she had lost touch with her belief. It was past my belief than when I saw the Apache appearing from above the stagecoach. The Apache had tossed the tomahawk at the Doctor. The medical man went down with his hands clutching the Apache ax. I turned to shoot but the Apache had climbed in. In the narrow space inside the stagecoach, the fight was to be close and it meant using the fists or anything that was reachable. I lashed out with the right leg to land on the Apache let shoulder. He staggered on my kick and it was then I took the stock handle of the rifle and slammed it into the Apache’s face. He fell back against the stagecoach door. I lashed out with both legs and kicked him out past the forced open door. I was just in time to see the next rider parallel to the stagecoach. I fired from my crouched position at the rider. He went down and I took a deep breath then.

I heard then the bugle call.

It was the Calvary.

We are going to be saved.

The remaining Apaches withdrew from the attack and were pursued by the Calvary. We rode on towards our final destination.

A place on Boot Hill with my name engraved.