Stagecoach Western Finale 14 -15

14.

The doctor did not make it. He died from his wound. It was only the Stagecoach with three passengers that made it. We were greeted by the town folks and Sheriff.

“You were delayed, and we fear the worse.” Sheriff Thompson was relief that we made it through. The euphoria soon died off when he learned of my name.

“Yes, Sheriff. He is to be taken to jail.” I was led away by the Sheriff with my eyes on the two souls that made it there with my help, I was locked up and then left alone. I saw the Marshall arrived later and handed over my guns to the Sheriff. He had a brief talk with the Sheriff before leaving. Not a word was for me.

It did not take long for my trouble to rumble.

I heard the Sheriff rushed out to the street but he left the door opened. I heard voices and it was about me.

“Sheriff, he gunned my son in cold blood. He will hang for it.” I assumed that was the father of the Plummer I killed. Luke ‘Old Man’ Plummer was taking not the no for an answer.

 “Luke, I had known you for a long time. We are friends, right? Ringo Kid may have killed your son but it could be self-defense.” I heard Marshall’s voice.

“The law in my family says he killed my son, and he will hang for that.” Luke Plummer was a tough man who made his empire from the sands there and battled the native Indians and Mexicans for years. “I have no understanding of the law that you profess to uphold. Mine is straight and easy. Ashes to ashes.”

“I can’t let you do that. Luke. You know me and I upheld the law here.” The Marshall somehow had won back from me the respect he deserved.

“Sheriff, it's your town. Call it.” Luke made the call on the town sheriff. “I ain’t got all day for all of you.”

The Sheriff was silent and then he spoke.

“Luke, its time for us to reconsider. Heck, Luke. I rode with you any my pa alongside you fighting for this land. Now you are the man with the ranch, I am the Sheriff duly appointed by the town folks. I have to honour my pledge to them. If I let the …”

“Stay your words, Thompson. I knew you since you were of Junior’s age. You were my friend and no more. Anyone who stands in my way will not be.” Luke Plummer told the Sheriff. “You have till before sundown to give him to me or I will come for him.”

Sundown was two more hours.

That said, Luke Plummer rode off with his members consisting of trail hands and gunfighters. The last was to protect his land. And his family.

The Marshall and the Sheriff stepped back into the office to discuss the situation.

“I have no deputies but I could muster up some town folks to help me. It won’t be many but any help is better than none.” The Sheriff rushed off leaving me with the Marshall.

“Let me ride, Marshall. I won’t trouble the town folks” I pleaded with the Marshall. “I won’t stand to die by lynching.”

“Kid, I saved you from one and will do from another. So, let me think.” Marshall Wilcox looked away. He then looked up. “Kid, you ever wondered why I was on the stagecoach?”

“Would it matter now?” I asked back bluntly.

“I was looking for a ride to Apache Wells. I left my stuff there.”

“I think you found it.” I replied bluntly.

“Yes, but I did not reckon I find you on the trail.”

“Yes, I was lost in God’s way but I think I found my salvation there.”

“Who with? Ms. Dallas. Kid, she is a whore.”

“Marshall, you have no right to call her that.” I reacted in anger. “She may not be a purty farm girl but I think she will make a mighty good wife.”

“So, you may say. I am not standing in your way there.” It was the town banker who stepped into the office. He handed over a letter to Marshall. “Sign here and put your name there. Then that property deed of Apache Wells belonged to you. The Stagecoach company reckon with Tom’s dead, there was no use of that place. The railways going to take over their route anyhow.”

I was confused. Marshall Wilcox buying the Outpost. It does not make sense. Soon, it did after the Banker left.

“Kid, I am going to retire. I bought Apache Wells with my retirement stash.” Marshall Wilcox replied. “I have been eyeing that tract of land for a long time. The Apaches will be removed soon and the Railways coming by there. It’s needed for the river to replenish the boiler water. Soon, Apache Wells will be a town. I will call it Wilcox Falls.”

“Where did you get the money?” I was ever curious.

“Well, it was not easy. I am a man with no home. I used to stop over there and hold the company of Tom. He was nice to tell me about the Railways plan. He told me he had some funds stashed there but it would not be enough. I offered what I could get and we were soon partners but the money was far from what we could offer to the Stagecoach. The Apache revolt helped but it also scared away the Railways. I started working for the Plummer family on some land acquisitions, later I got some from the bank heist. I kept it at the Outpost. It was Tom who wanted to remove me. I had him killed and buried behind the Outpost. I rode out that day but the horse went lame. That was how I boarded the stagecoach to go back there but I found you. And from you to those dead passengers. The Railway Bonds secured me the final payment.”

“Do you intend to hand me over to the Plummer?” I was direct.

“No, Kid. Despite all my dealings, I won’t send a man to die needlessly. I owe the Plummer nothing.” The Marshall replied. “I disliked Junior. He had a huge amount of money. It was only later I found out he had cheated on the cards. That was why I brought you back here to expose the card dealings.”

“Or get me killed?” I had to add that in.

“Perhaps not.” The Marshall replied.

Soon, I stood outside facing Luke Plummer and three of his henchmen. They do look like any cowboy I met but their low-slung gun belt tells you differently. Those were paid gunfighter. I was once like them acting for a rancher against the other on the turf war. The wage was good but the possibility of being shot in the back was the risk we knew.

“Marshall, you let the murderer out and with a gun. That made my work here easier.” Luke voiced out. He had seen me with my gun belt but he did not know I have only two bullets in it. The Marshall had just handed me the gun and told me to use what’s there.

I had a funny thought he was sending me to die that day.

“Luke, we could end this peacefully today. You let him ride and we called it square.”

“Marshall, you are either stupid or too silly to believe you. I am a Church goer every Sunday morning with my sons. I asked for forgiveness on the sins I done that week. Come Monday morning, I am cleansed of my sins and I could do more after that for the rest of the week. Today, I will commit one sin and then tomorrow morning I would have it cleaned. That made me a good man. And Junior will feel pleased too.”

“I doubt Junior will be pleased with you there with him. I heard he is happy at Purgatory.” That insult came from me. The elderly Plummer expression was that of a raging bull. In those situations, we either grapple the bull or put it down with a bullet.

“To Hell with you.” Luke Plummer reached for the gun on his belt. I drew too but the Marshall was faster. He shot Luke in the chest and I diverted my aim towards the two gunfighters. It was a split second slow and I got one in the left arm. My gun dropped but one of the gunfighters had dropped too. The other was shot in the left thigh but still had on the gun. The surviving gunfighter leveled towards me but another shot came in short and impacted on the chest. I looked to the Marshall and saw the shooter was not him. He was shot in the chest, probably from the gunfighters. I then saw Sheriff Thompson was the one who shot the gunfighter with the rifle.

15.

The charges were dropped by the Sheriff. He declared it a fair fight. I was free to ride on. The other gunfight involving Luke Plummer with the Marshall and myself were dropped too citing it was unsure who shot who. I was given the room above the saloon to rest before I moved on.

The next morning after a good sleep, I stepped out of the saloon. I was not to partake in any card game although I have some dollars with me. I met the Town Banker who approached me at the entrance.

“With Marshall Wilcox dead, he has named you as beneficiary. Would you please sign it?” The Town Banker handed me the deed. I read the deed and it told me of a huge tract of land with good waterhole and grassland. I could be a cattle baron.

But I was not to be.

“Walther, I think you should.” I looked over to Martha standing there with the Doctor. She had stepped into my personal well-being. “You should for all the hardship you went through.”

I looked at the lady and wondered if she was ready for my question.

“Would you join me?”

“I can’t. I am going back East to join me…. The family there.” Martha replied. It was the Doctor who explained it then in the few words.

“Ms. Dallas is dying. She is with an incurable disease. I have been her attending doctor for the last few months. She has not long to live.” Doctor Bone added in. “We agree to meet here this week and I will accompany her back to the East. She may find some relief there.”

“And who are you, Doctor Bone? I mean to her.”

“I am her Doctor and also her …. Uncle. I am Doctor Bone ‘Josiah’ Daryl. I had come to the West to serve as a Doctor and be near her. She had a bad life but won’t turn back. Not till now.” Doctor Bone relate on his link to Ms. Dallas.

I was sad and angry at the same time. All of these happenings were because of the stagecoach. If we had not boarded it, we may not have to meet, fight and die over it. And I may never have to find my personal well-being shattered.

“Forgive me, Walther.” Ms. Dallas spoke up. “I do like you but there are moments of my life which cannot be reversed, or return to change. I was a rebel and now pays the cost of it.”

Those were last words to me before they left on the stagecoach for the East. I saw the Sheriff approached me.

“The Plummer family gunning for you. You killed the old man and their brother but they have three more to complete the task. I suggest you ride on out. I will cover for you.”

“No Sheriff. My ride ends here. I will face them down. I am after all the Ringo Kid.” I told the Sheriff. I then handed him the land deed. “Keep that for your retirement. I have no need of it. All I care about is the sun is rising or down towards sunset. In between, it is the cattle and the dust that the land made me breathe. I am happier that way.”

Epilogue

I stood over the grave of Marshall Wilcox on the Boot Hill. I had survived the gunfight with the Plummer’s family. They are all buried next to their father in their own family yard. The Sheriff has resigned and moved away. So were Daryl’s families.

“Hey, Marshall. I am still the Kid. I made it past them.” I smiled. “It won’t be today for you to join just yet. I am riding south into Mexico. I hear that they are recruiting gunfighters. So, its adios, amigo for now.”

I limped to the stagecoach station. I was shot twice in the leg and then it hurts when I ride. I am taking the stagecoach. I looked up to the driver. He was young. I never met him but I knew the shot gun rider.

“Hey Horn. Who is the new rider?”

“Bucks, Junior. He asked to be reassigned here from the Laredo line. He is a mighty fine boy.” I smiled at the new rider. I knew the Bucks. They are like me; Men of the West,

“Kid, we are leaving in five minutes.” I nodded. I hymn to myself the cowboy song I heard many times on the rides.

Pistolero Pistolero.where do you ride? Pistolero Pistolero.you ride alone tonight. 

One of brothers five one day vowed to try to make his way, 

Joined the cattle drive to Mexico.threw in with some bandidos, 

Here he learned the lingo. killed the man they call him Pistolero. 

Five thousand pesos they put on your head. 

Five thousand pesos to get you alive or dead. 

Ride on ride hard in vaquero, fast as you can to her side. 

Ah, but por mucho dinero, el noveno por nada have died. 

Lyrics from Pistolero

Roy Orbison ( April 26 1936 to Dec 7 1988 )

Tweet tweet 19/10 Hello again

Hello again.

I have been silent here on the chat for some time. Events have moved on and age has caught up with me. I told one of my good friends; I looked like an aging ape that is also on the brink of extinction. Perhaps not really an ape; they are huge in comparison to my frame, and it was an ungodly reflection on the bathroom mirror when I thought of this ghastly reminder. I may be more of a baboon frame but I deserted that reference for there are some these breeds are famed for their red rear ends and I don't think I have one. I could have but I am not into the selfie stuff.

Somehow I am still around, typing and thinking of creative tales albeit less frequent given the pace of life with works and personal responsibility to myself and dependents to keep them smiling.

Wow! That read like my first passage in my Will Testament. I do wonder if that will bring the smile into my next of kins, but heck, I won't be overly concerned over that. I lost some friends; at my age, you could afford to lose some relatives. After all, we never choose them. They choose me like 'Look, he is your uncle.. and I go huh?... and she replied the old man still have it.... and I screamed what happened to me..... Kinda settled me down when I recalled the night fever drives, the nappy changes the wake me up late night milk feedings .... God, I thank you when you withheld the libido at my age category. It's okay, God. We can afford the payments for the task or at best, we just re-visit our pubes era .... I am sorry, God. I did not know she was your .... in-law. She did look nicer then.

The passing of age can be rather sudden and it brought sadness to my mind. It's not that I have not heard the song 'Don't cry Joni' before; well I did once. She got married and I hoped that she is miserable with a litter of kids and a boring lover. That felt good since I said it.

Reminded me of MC Hammer song, 

And I barred the song 'To all the girls I loved before' in my listening. It was not her that did it to me. It was myself for I hardly had any girls later that I could say 'I love you truly'. Well, much later anyway, I have one and she is still at my side. I swore and went on my knees for her. If it's today, I will request for a forklift to raise me up. My knees are wobbly at best. So no more proposals to any other ladies. They could go down on me while I hummed; "House of the Rising Sun". If there was any left...told ya but keep on the task after all the journey begins with the first ....effort.

As I was saying, the drum rollers are my generation now. We are the drummers in the front row. I did try sneak to the rear to play the trumpet but heck with four of them in the line-up, I can just blow 'Daisy Mae', well she was no licking good gal from Kentucky, and nobody will hear me from my weak sound ( was it the whoosing sound of the river current I can hear? You must be daft for I heard was the sound of a tired mare saying 'ain't I lucky to have Luke from the retirement pasture'. ( you must have known Lucky Luke from TV. Oops that his dog. )

Yup, life needs to go on. I was never a follower of the mass with my own individuality, I have paved my own journey. My wife asked me what would I do if I have nothing on a lazy afternoon. I told her a 'quickie'. Her reply sounded like this with my deaf ears towards her for years, well it did sound like here.

"A quickie? My God! With you I would need a rousing ovation before we come to that but I think I will settle for a nap which was less stressful." God, I loved that woman. Her suggestion was my desire; a good nap and no one to nag into the ears.

There were some quickies in my tales, and I hoped you enjoyed them. I knew of late the themes were grim but I am exploring my writing skills. I hoped it was better, if not for worse, readable.....lol

And to the many years ahead, I will be here. If I am not, the tales will be.

Cheers

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.

Murder One; Deep Heat Chapter 3 of 7

 Not suitable for Minors

3.

The scene was loud music and glitzy surroundings with the constant flow of drinks, and what else needed by the patrons. I was a regular in the underground scene or to some of us, we called it deconstructed music club. It was shelved in between a light industrial unit and the other was the warehouse. The drive to the place was to past by the warehouses and then into the narrow lane and parked your car by the sidewalks to the walk-in between buildings to reach it. There was the direct route but you have to be the VVIP to get access. I may be regular at these clubs but I don’t have the red carpet laid out for me. I took my queue and then wait for my turn. Once I step in, with the door closed behind me, darkness was in the short corridor with a glow in the dark directional stars. There was another doorway and once through it, you are in another world. It was like living in the Matrix World but this one needs no plugging.

You are plugged on the first step.

The music will revert in your ears climbing downwards from there to the navel of your body and then slitter down the thighs to the toes. You will feel every beat that comes out of the loudspeakers and the bass will gyrate your hips to move with it. Your arms will reach out to pull it all in while you moved to the dancing crowd. There you will feel the touch of flesh on yours and every nudges or bump will be the current that takes you to the seat or the floor. I got my corner and my friends.

“Fuck, it’s the number One Bitch.” I smiled at the greeting. We took the cue from the Wonderland where there were four witches but with us, there are six so we called each other by the number. I was One for I formed the idea. I was home there with my usual crowd of the most vicious lady gang in the city; the berserker bitches. We are six in the number of members; six mixes of drinks were our starter to clear the throat of the daily inducts and we have sixes tattoo on our left butt cheek.

“Here’s your six, bitch.” I saw the drink that was concocted for me. I knew that huge long glass contained six alcoholic mixes from vodka, gin, scotch, whiskey, soda, and lemonade. It’s a nasty banger but so were we. We don’t have our drags but the bitches knew how to make themselves distinct. I was out of my working set into the dark leather suit zippered up the front with the matching boots, matched with the short red jacket with the tuxedo cut. I stood out like a dyke which I was. Who cares what they called me; dyke or butch? I am happy with either.  I got the bitches there for it was a new club named the Ram, and I heard it was run by Nigel “Man’ Selby. I was there for two reasons; one to identify the party-goers, well only the ones that matter to me, and enjoy the scene. I cleared my drink and then took a cocktail as a follow-up. Those drinks gave my ego a booster and into the clubbing mood.

Soon, I got my first feeler. I saw Ian Darren. He was there talking to some other guys. I took out my miniature camera and snapped the frames. I doubt he was off duty and he was not Vice. I then scanned the others from the giggling girls to the clubbers. The later may have got in with fake IDs or brought in by some sleek blokes. Don’t let the innocent look fooled you. They are probably better at the fake expression and could clear your wallet before you could reach orgasm. Everyone should know foreplay was the prelude and it may not end up climatic.

Soon. I caught on another familiar faces.

My bitch was there. I do not check on her regularly, and she has her own unit. On occasions, she stays at mine and I was not back at the unit that evening. I have my other place where I changed into my bitch ego and shared with the other bitches. The unit I sleep in was my honey pot, and official place. I am a good girl; I go home to my sleeping bed and it was there. I seldom bring my clubbing attire home. It was my training when I stayed with my aunt. I do my changeover at the friend’s house and when I go home, I was the clean convent girl.

My bitch was dressed like any clubbers; tight short dress sleeveless and stockings with the stiletto. She carries a shoulder bag slung to the rear. She was talking to another bitch dressed like her and held another bag. I was curious for I never really noticed her bag until that evening. I meant I took in the body but never the accessory. They were laughing while watching the dancing crowd. I then leaned back on my seat and listened to the bitches raved in their daily life. The other five are not into law enforcement but two of them are lawyers and one was a businesswoman, the other two were paramedics. Look, I did not pick their professions but all of us were stressed bitches who need to let off steam at times.

I had to admit that the sight of my bitch occupied my mind and I searched for her again but she was missing. So was the other lady. Heck, I muttered to myself not to get upset. I don’t own the bitch and we only fucked. Heck, I don’t even know her real name. I just called her bitch like what she did to me. We are all bitches.

It was an hour later and more drinks spiked into my body before I decided to call it the night. I took to the bathroom and saw the Ladies were occupied. I was in the need and took to the Men’s. I walked in and saw a guy having his peter given the milking by another. They saw me coming in and I told them off.

“Get a cubicle, guys. Or a table. You could milk below it. Just don’t leave a mess.” I paraded to the nearest cubicle and was turned away, “Make a man stand to piss and he can’t get it right into the hole.”

I turned around and went for the standing bowl. At my height, I was above the minimum requirement. I unzipped my suit and then lowered it over my shoulders. I leaned out and pissed. I caught the two guys looking at me.

“Boys, I got about the same as yours but maybe mine more rounded. Didn’t your mama tell you not to stare?” I have done my relief and zippered up. I then proceeded to the washbasin to wash my hands; I learned how to be clean since young. I raised my hands to wave at the two guys.

“Are you clean?” I was not expecting an answer but the scream from outside was loud enough for me. I looked at the half-open window at the wall. I took towards the doorway and then to the rear exit. I had to fight my way through the ladies in the waiting line outside the Ladies and then to the rear exit. It was manned by a burly guy and he refused me through.

‘The fuck you are.” I stepped on his left toe, and the darn guy wore steel-capped shoes. He looked at me and smiled. It was my cue to grab his balls and squeezed. He keeled over and I landed the right sole of my boots into his left knee. He went down with my forceful push with my left hand on the back of the head. The impact the wall was painful but I was not a nurse. I cleared the exit and found myself in the alley. I turned to look at the spot where the scream could have come from. I saw a lady being bound with the rope. It was a guy and the alley covered mostly in darkness. My instinct told me to call for help for I was not armed and more to it, I was not in uniform. My bluntness told me to save the lady.

“I am a Police ….” It was then I felt the hard knock on the back of my head and went down. I woke up on the main street with my bitches attending to me.

“What the fuck happened to you, Bernice? We saw you wrestle the bouncer and then dashed to the back.” One of the paramedics was attending to me.

“How did you find me?” I was still in shock.

“Well, we helped him up and then found ourselves kicked out of the club. We decided to check on you but it was a long walk around the block. We found you on the ground with your head bleeding.”

“The girl…. The other girl…”

“What girl? There was only you and we carried you out. I struggled up and was shooed off into the cab. I was sent home while one of the bitches took my bike to the other home. I walked into my unit and saw it was empty. I went to the bathroom and did a changeover. I dropped the clubbing clothes into the laundry bag before I called the Station. I reported what I saw.

And then slept the night after some medicine for my headache.

My bitch did not turn up but the uniform did. They came to my unit at five in the morning and the flashing lights irritated my neighbors. Then I got the news.

“We found a boy near the location you reported.”

“Bitch!” I muttered.

“Pardon me, Ma’am.” I duly apologized to the officer.

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.

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.”