by Anaya B.
He
pulled the top from his canteen and took a swig. The tepid liquid quenched most
of his thirst. He removed his wide brimmed felt hat and dumped some over his brown
hair then hung the canteen off the saddle horn. Uncle Chad is gonna kill me
if he finds me here stead of ridin’ that dad gum north-east fence line.
“You
know horse, I really should’ve asked him what your name were.” Levi shoved the
black felt hat on and glanced around. Is
this even Circle C land? Or was that fence line the boundary. The rolling,
oak sprigged hills rippled in the warm breeze like waves in a sea of
golden-brown grass. “Who cares. It all looks the same. C’mon I think you’ve had
enough.” Levi pulled the bays head up.
The
hammers on a double-barrelled shotgun clicked back to full-cock.
Levi
stiffened.
“Reach
an’ don’t make no sudden moves.” The voice was raspy. “What’s your name?”
Levi
raised his hands. He glanced back. “Levi.”
A
man sat astride a palomino paint horse. A 16-gauge sawn-off shotgun aimed at
him. He was a light-haired fellow with a waxed moustache and a Colt .45 rested
in the holster buckled around his hips, it’s walnut grip smooth from use. His
build was tall and lanky. “Don’t you have a last name boy?”
“What’s
it to you?” Levi snapped.
The
man shrugged. “Jus’ your life.”
Levi
scowled and stared straight ahead. “Swanson.”
“Levi
Swanson!” The man’s exclamation sent a chill through him.
“What
do you want?” Levi turned the bay around.
“M’
names Pete Barlow. I ran into a gunman this mornin’. He told me to find a kid
named Levi Swanson and give you this.” The man uncocked the 16-gauge and handed
him a piece of paper.
Levi
unfolded it.
13
July 1885. To Levi, your pa is dead. Can we meet at the old adobe hut near the
San Joaquin River? I want to talk. From an old friend.
It
was written in pencil, halfway between cursive and print. At the bottom of the
paper was the sketch of a spur. The letters CLR were on the heel band, although
the drawing was somewhat messier than usual.
Cooper-Lee
Rydell. Levi stared at the paper. He went up
north ‘cross the border. That was ‘bout six years ago. Is pa really dead? Did
he kill pa? He was awful quick with that .44 o’ his. Maybe that’s what he wants
t’ talk about. Maybe he reckons I’ll be mad and want to get even. I was only eight last time I saw him.
A
picture of his father and a wiry young man arguing in the kitchen flashed into
his mind. Both had revolvers strapped around their hips and anger in their
eyes. A half empty whiskey bottle sat on the table.
He
crushed the note. Cooper-Lee stopped pa from thrashin’ me many a time.
The wind whispered through the trees which
were scattered along the stream and sparrows conversed in the latest
gossip. Somewhere a bull bellowed, the sound faint on the breeze.
“You
alright kid?” Barlow asked. “He ain’t gonna kill you, is he?”
“How
far you reckon the San Joaquin’s from here?”
“Jus’
over that hill. If you go upstream for ‘bout a mile or so then turn up the
first valley you come to. There’s a lil’ adobe shack in it. That’s where he was
this mornin’. You be careful kid. I hear Cooper-Lee Rydell has killed over
fifteen men down in Texas and New Mexico... Sorry 'bout pullin’ a gun on you. I
need to get to town. S’long.”
Barlow
spun his paint around and drove his spurs into the animal’s ribs. The horse
leapt into a run. His gold and white coat glistened like quartz and pyrite in
the sun. The light sweat added to the sheen. Power rippled through his muscles
like molten iron. His long legs stretched with each stride and the pair seemed
to float out of view.
Levi
nudged the bay into a trot. They splashed across the stream and topped the
rise. The tree-lined San Joaquin gurgled over its stony course below. Levi gave
the gelding his head and cantered down the incline to the river. The wind felt
good.
What
if pa ain’t dead? What if this is just another scheme o’ his? What if it ain’t
an’ Rydell does wanna talk to me?
He
followed the river bottom for about half an hour then turned up a wide grass
ladened valley. An adobe hut with
crumbling whitewash came into view, its roof smooth and almost flat. A corral was built into the near wall, the
other two sides were made of wooden poles and the steep hill face brought up
the rear. A grulla dun looked up from her hay and nickered. A saddle lay in the
dirt.
Levi
slowed his bay to a halt. Is Cooper-Lee really here? He took a deep
breath and slid to the ground. At 5’5 he could barely see over the tall bay’s
back. He left the gelding ground-tied and walked to the hut. What if he’s
changed and’s just a greedy good fer nothin’ killer? Guess there’s only one way
t’ find out. Levi pushed open the weathered door. Its hinges complained
like a child sent to bed without supper. He went in.
Sunlight
streamed through the window which overlooked the corral. An oak table sat in
the middle of the room. A door resided in the middle of the back wall and to its
left a bedroll was spread. Levi’s gaze locked onto the lifeless form of a man
sprawled on the floor, wrists handcuffed around the table leg. His thick dark
red hair was coated with dried blood and dirt as was the ripped blue calico
shirt and ducking trousers. A cartridge belt with a holster was buckled around
his hips. Both were empty.
“Cooper-Lee?”
What happened? A horse nickered.
Levi
spun around and came face to face with the twin barrels of the 16-gauge
shotgun. He swore.
The
lanky man grinned and prodded Levi’s chest. “Back up, kid.”
Levi
glared at him. “You’re a dirty lyin’ good for nothin’ murderin’ son of a—”
“MOVE!”
Barlow drove the shotgun into his chest.
Levi
stumbled backwards and landed on Cooper-Lee. A groan came from the body beneath
him. Levi scrambled to his feet. He backed against the cool whitewashed
wall.
Rydell
groaned and rolled to his side. His face was battered almost beyond recognition
and his left eye was swollen shut. The deep gash across his ribs leaked fresh
blood. His amber gaze was cold and lacked the carefree twinkle it once had.
“You know, Pete, I gotta hand it to you, you sure know how to make a man sleep
but still wake up in the end, whenever I try do it, they don’t wake up.” The
words were slurred between puffy lips. “Maybe you should start sellin’ it. ‘Pete
Barlow’s Deviously Good Sleep Diacatholicon — Gives Rest Like Death But Without
The Dyin’.’ It might pay better then bein’ a bank robber.”
Barlow
grinned. “You want another dose, Rydell?”
“Swanson
here yet?”
“Jus’
your lil friend.”
Cooper-Lee
groaned. “Barlow, if you feel the need to try and bash someone’s head in don’t
take it out on the boy. You kin rough me up as much as you please but jist
leave him be. There’s five hundred dollars
on me you kin collect if you take me back to New Mex. Jist…”
“Shut
up or I might jus’ do that.” Pete set the sawn-off shotgun on the table and
unlocked Cooper-Lee’s right wrist. He pulled his arms behind his back and
extracted a moan.
Levi
shifted.
“Don’t
even think it, kid.” Pete growled. “I’ll cut you down before you even reach the
door. C’mon help me get him into the back room.”
Levi
scowled and crossed his arms. “I weren’t thinkin’ that an’… No!”
Barlow
sighed. He grabbed the 16-gauge off the table and pressed it against Cooper-Lee’s
head. “One of these days your sass is gonna get someone hurt.” He cocked back
the hammer.
Levi
cursed and stomped over. They pulled Cooper-Lee to his feet. He staggered then
slumped in their hold. “Sorry, boys.” Rydell coughed. His face twisted and his
whole body tensed. “You worked me over too good, Barlow.”
Levi
gripped his arm and helped Pete drag the wiry 5’9 man to the rear of the hut.
Barlow shoved open the door. The back room was about six feet long and twelve
feet wide. The rear wall was cut into the hill, the sides were made of
whitewashed adobe. The cool air a welcome change from the late summer heat.
“Make
yourself at home, Rydell.” Barlow let go of his arm. Levi staggered as Cooper-Lee’s
dead weight fell against him. He glared at the lanky man’s retreating back.
“Might as well jist drop me, kid.” Rydell tried to stand but his legs
collapsed. Levi helped him onto the lumpy dirt floor.
“Kid.”
Barlow returned with another set of handcuffs. “You an’ Rydell sit back-to-back.”
“You
ain’t lockin’ us together.” Levi rose to his feet.
“You
gonna stop me, Mr Swanson?” Pete challenged.
“Sit
down Levi,” Cooper-Lee ordered. “Tain’t worth it.”
“Do
as he says.” Pete stepped forwards.
Levi
ducked the fist swung at his head and buried a right in Barlow’s midsection.
The
lanky man swore. He lunged but Levi dodged. Barlow whipped his .45 from its
holster and levelled it with Levi’s temple. “Move boy an’ I’ll blow you to Hades.”
Levi
scowled. He dropped to the floor beside Cooper-Lee. Pete pulled his arms behind
him and locked the handcuffs around his wrists. “Behave yourselves.” He dropped
his revolver into the holster. “Oh kid…”
“What?”
Barlow’s
roundhouse caught Levi square on the side of the head and slammed him to the
floor. Rydell was pulled over with him. Barlow slammed the door behind him.
The
room fell into dimness although light squeezed its way through the cracks in
the door and the space between it and the ground.
Levi
struggled to sit up. The steel jerked at his wrists and a stampede pounded in
his head. He could feel his cheek already starting to bruise.
“Sorry,
Levi.” Cooper-Lee stayed on his side. “I shouldn’t’ve let him convince me to
write that letter. Your pa ain’t dead. He’s s’pose t’ be on his way here. Owes
Pete a few thousand dollars. You’re his insurance your pa don’t play dirty.”
Pa’s
comin’ here. Levi stared at the wall adobe then
swore. His head protested.
“Sorry,
kid.”
“It’s
my own fault.” Levi sighed. “Cain’t believe I let m’self get took this easy. I
guessed it was probably a trick but…”
“How
old are you now?”
“Fourteen.”
“Really?
You’re almost a man. I’ll be turnin’ twenty-four at the end o’ the year. Never
did end up goin’ to Canada, drifted down to Texas an’ managed to get m’self
wanted in New Mexico fer... well that don’t matter anyway. I was workin’ fer my
uncle in Nevada as deputy. That’s where Pete got these cuffs. I was trackin’
him and his compadre. Well, by an’ by that fella got a lil’ greedy, decided to
try take all the gold for himself but he was no match fer Pete’s trusty 16-gauge.
I found that compadre lying in the trail with two rounds of buckshot in his
chest. Pete got the drop on me, hauled me down here, and convinced me to write that
letter. Don’t reckon my uncle’ll hire me again. Prob’bly got posters all over
the state by now for bank robbery and the murder of John Smith and Pete
Barlow.”
Levi
lay down with a sigh. “He’s sure got a lookin’ fancy horse.”
“That
paint?” Rydell snorted. Levi felt his body tense up and a moan escape his lips.
He let out a slow breath. “That devil’s a rig. The only thing it’s good for is
dog meat. Reaper on the other hand; now she is muy bueno horse. If that paint’s
got to her, I’ll put a bullet in his head.”
“Is
Reaper your mount?” Levi asked. “I thought that paint was a gelding.”
“He’s
meant to be but weren’t done properly. Got an’ awful bad temper an’ all his
foals are jist like him no matter what the mare is. An’ yep, Reaper’s mine.
She’s the grulla in the corral. HEY, BARLOW!”
The
door flung open and the sunlight was almost blinding. “WHAT!” Heat rolled into
the room.
Levi’s
head throbbed harder and he squinted up at the lanky man.
“You
got any more o’ that opium?” Cooper asked. “But without the punches this time.
My ribs are achin’ somthin’ terrible.”
“An’
just why would I give you that?” Pete crossed his arms and scowled.
“C’mon
Barlow.” Levi urged. “He’s hurtin’ bad.”
“Who
cares. I don’t git how he ever managed to get a tin star pinned on him. He’s a
dirty good fer nothin’ lyin’ snake.”
“Like
you?” Levi glared at Barlow.
Pete
swore and swung a boot towards his head. It slammed into Levi’s jaw with the
force of a charging bull. His head jerked back. Darkness caught a strong hold and
dragged him into the depths of nothingness. Levi’s
eyes blinked open. The room was dark. He groaned. Sleep call’s was loud and
persistent and it soon prevailed.
His
jaw ached and his stomach churned. Levi moaned. He found himself on his back,
his numbed arms pinned beneath him. He tried to pull them out but the tug of
cold steel bracelets stopped him dead. He opened his eyes. “Cooper-Lee?”
No
answer. Daylight streamed in through the open door. Levi turned to his side and
tried to wriggle the life back into his arms.
“Well,
morin’ kid.”
Levi
glanced around then up at Barlow. The room seemed to sway. “W-Where’s Cooper-Lee?”
“Left
him out by the corral,” Pete shrugged. “His kind likes to be alone when their hurt.
Reckon he’ll crawl off behind a rock to curl up an’ die. Ol’ Copperhead had it
comin’. He’s been ridin’ straight for a noose since the day he was born. Your
pa should be here this afternoon, then you can go back to wherever you stay an’
forget this even happened. You want breakfast, kid, there’s jerky an’...”
“Cain’t you take these handcuffs off?” Levi’s
stomach seethed as he sat up and he tried to focus on Barlow.
“Sorry, kid. But the key is somewhere between
the Walker River Indian Reservation, Nevada, and the Yosemite Valley.” Barlow sat
down at the table.
Levi
pulled himself to his feet. He staggered. The floor rolled like a ship in the
middle of a violent storm. The wooziness subsided as quickly as it came. He
bent and stepped through the cuffs to get his hands in front of him. Levi swayed
and leant against the wall.
Hinges
creaked.
He
glanced up. Cooper-Lee stumbled through the front door and landed face down on
the dirt. “Pete, give me my gun.” His breath came in short gasps.
Barlow
walked to the bedroll and pulled a Colt revolver with ironwood grips from the
blankets. “What are you gonna do with it?” Pete slipped the revolver into
Rydell’s hand. “Sorry you have t’ see this kid. Men kin sometimes go loco when
their dyin’.”
Cooper-Lee
pulled the revolver under his chest. It clicked.
“Sorry,
Copperhead. I’m not dumb enough to give you cartridges.”
“Yeah.”
Rydell raised the Colt. “Get ‘em up, Barlow.”
“You’re
crazy.”
“Am
I?” Cooper-Lee jerked the .44 towards the window. The report was sharp. The
palomino paint horse dropped to the corral dirt.
Barlow
grabbed for his revolver. Rydell fired. A hole appeared in the back of Pete’s
shirt and leaked redness. He plunged to the floor.
The
.44 Colt slipped from Rydell’s hand and he slumped.
“Cooper-Lee?”
Levi went over. A wave of dizziness hit him. He stumbled and sat down hard.
“Sorry
'bout that, kid.” Rydell took a deep breath, pushed himself up, and sagged
against the wall. “We’re a right pair ain’t we?” His face was a patchwork of
swollen bruises and bloody splits.
“Are
you alright?” Levi questioned. “Where’d you git those cartridges?”
“Spares
in my saddle bags. Other’n feelin’ like a stampede trampled me, I couldn’t be
better. How’s that head?”
“Fine.
I-I think I got a bit of a concussion.” Levi pulled himself to the wall beside Cooper-Lee..
“Do you reckon my pa will turn up?” He leant back. The cold adobe felt good
“Ain’t
got no reason to. Shoot, he probably ain’t even in the state. Shall we ride
out?”
“What
'bout Pete?”
“We
kin tell the sheriff to come git him.”
Levi
stared at the metal encircling his wrists. “My uncles are gonna kill me.”
“Naw,
they’ll be too astonished when you ride in handcuffed, beat up, an’ with a
Copperhead gunman.”
“I
hope so.” Levi sighed. “Thanks for bein’ a friend to a bratty kid like me.”
Rydell
chuckled then broke off with a gasp. “You’re welcome, boy. Right welcome.
What’s the bet on how long it’ll take to pull ourselves together and go saddle
those ponies?”
“All
day?” Levi closed his eyes. “Maybe a month?... Rydell…” He glanced over at the
wiry red-haired man. “How’d a rogue pickpocket like you turn into a
professional gunman?”
Cooper-Lee
grinned, and there was a twinkle in his amber gaze. “Now that, Swanson, is a very
long story.”
Awesome! Great story.
ReplyDelete