Charles West - Lawless Prairie

“ Mr. Williams,” the guard corrected. “It ain’t up to me. I didn’t set the policy. I just know there’ll be hell to pay for somebody when the warden finds out.” He motioned toward one of the stalls. “Get to work with that broom, and just keep in mind that this here shotgun has got a hair trigger, and I wouldn’t mind savin’ the hangman a little trouble if you took a notion to run.”

“Why, Mr. Williams,” Ballenger replied in mock indignation, “I wouldn’t have no idea of cheatin’ the territory outta hangin’ me. Hell, I’m lookin’ forward to it. See what kinda saloons they got in hell.”

“I’m sure there’s a place down there for murderin’ skunks like you,” Williams said. “Now get in there and clean out that stall.” He waited to see that Ballenger did as instructed before turning his attention toward the other two prisoners. He gave Clint only a brief glance upon seeing that the young man was already at work, and paying little attention to the conversation he was having with Ballenger. Washburn, however, had to be told to put his pitchfork to work.

The morning progressed without cause for concern while Williams made sure he remained alert to any funny business. He was sure, however, that it was risky letting a desperate outlaw like Clell Ballenger work this close to the wide-open prairie behind the barn. He planned to return the notorious killer to his cell when he marched the three-man detail back for the noon meal. Glancing at his pocket watch, he muttered to himself, “Eleven fifteen.” Still an hour before dinnertime. He looked up to see Ballenger leaning on his broom handle and staring at him as if amused about something. He was about to order the insolent prisoner to get back to work, when he heard the distinct sound of a pistol’s hammer cocking. He abruptly turned to meet the muzzle of a Colt .45 only inches from his face. It was too late to react.

“Mornin’, Yancey,” Ballenger drawled, his cocksure smile still in place.

“Clell,” Yancey acknowledged, his dark eyes focused intently upon the guard’s frozen stare as he slowly reached for Williams’ shotgun.

With no choice but to yield or die, Williams made no move to resist, releasing the weapon. Stunned by the suddenness with which the sinister outlaw had appeared, the guard could hardly believe their brazenness in carrying out this confrontation in broad daylight, no more than fifty yards from the main prison. “You must be crazy,” he finally managed to stammer as Washburn grabbed his keys to unlock the shackles. “There could be guards comin’ in here any minute.”

“It’d be a sorry day for ’em if they did.” The statement came from the back door of the barn when another man stepped inside. “What about them?” he asked, nodding at Clint and Washburn.

“Howdy, Skinner,” Ballenger responded, then motioned toward Washburn. “This here’s Bob Washburn,” he said. “He’s in on it.” Then turning toward Washburn, he instructed, “Bob, throw a saddle on one of them horses in the corral.” Then he looked at Clint. “I don’t know about him. He just happened to catch stable duty today.” He said to Clint, “I reckon it’s just your tough luck, young feller, unless you’re wantin’ to join up with us. I ain’t plannin’ on leavin’ no witnesses.”

“Wait a damn minute,” Washburn said, quick to protest. “He ain’t in on this deal.” He turned to Ballenger in appeal. “I’m the one that stuck my neck out for you. That son of a bitch ain’t never given either one of us the time of day.”

Washburn’s jealous outburst brought a trace of a smile to Ballenger’s face. It amused him to see his simpleminded lackey get his hackles up at the threat of a new man moving in. He looked Clint directly in the eye and spoke. “Bob’s right, you never did have much use for me or him. Whaddaya say about that?”

It was a lot to think about in a few seconds’ time as Clint looked from one gun to the other, both pointing at him now. Ballenger’s statement promised a death sentence for the guard, Williams, and for him as well if he didn’t throw in with the escape.

“Well?” Yancey demanded, turning to face Clint. “We ain’t got all day.”

“I still ain’t got a helluva lot of use for either one of you,” Clint responded. “But you’re holdin’ all the cards, and I want out of this place, too.” Thinking of the possibility of saving the guard’s life, he said, “We ain’t but about fifty yards from the main building. If you go shootin’ off those pistols, you’ll have half a dozen guards up here in no time.”

“He’s right,” Ballenger said. “Better use a knife.”

Clint was trying to think fast, but ideas for saving Williams’ life were not coming very rapidly. There wasn’t much time to come up with something. He glanced at the fright-stricken eyes of the guard as Williams, realizing Clint was his only hope, silently pleaded with him for help. “Yeah,” Clint finally said, “best done with a knife.” He turned to Yancey then. “Give me your knife. I’ll take care of the guard, and the rest of you can get a head start. Leave me a horse and I’ll catch up.”

Ballenger didn’t respond at once. He just stood there staring at Clint, trying to determine whether he was attempting to fool them. Up to that point, he wasn’t even sure the young man wanted to join them, but he couldn’t deny he was amused by Clint’s response. After studying Clint’s face for a long second, he turned to Yancey. “Give him your knife.” Turning back to Clint, he said, “Now you can cut the bastard’s throat, but we ain’t goin’ nowhere till we see the job’s done.”

Clint took the long skinning knife from Yancey, and looked at the quivering guard. Williams, seeing no hope for his safety, took that moment to bolt for the barn door. “I got him!” Clint exclaimed, and immediately took off after him. He caught him before he could reach the door and tackled him to the ground. Yancey started to go after them, but Ballenger, still finding the situation amusing, caught his arm and said, “Let’s see if he can do it.”

Wrestling with the desperate man, Clint, with desperation of his own, managed to pin the guard to the ground. With his lips close to Williams’ ear, he whispered frantically, “If you wanna live, you better damn sure play dead. I’m gonna have to hurt you.” Sitting on the guard’s back, he suddenly jerked Williams’ head up and made what he hoped was a convincing show of pulling the knife across his victim’s throat. The slash, though not deep, was enough to cause Williams to cry out, and was sufficient to immediately bring blood. Realizing then that his life was hanging in the balance, Williams ceased to struggle and lay still. Clint wiped the knife blade across the guard’s shirt and got to his feet.

The others started toward him to confirm the kill, but stopped when Clint warned, “There’s a couple of guards lookin’ this way.” He stared out the open barn door as if watching them. “He’s dead,” he stated, anticipating the question forming in Ballenger’s mouth. “Let’s get the hell outta here while we’ve got the chance.”

Ballenger hesitated for just a moment, giving the guard’s body another look. “All right,” he finally decided, “let’s get goin’. You’ll be needin’ a horse. You’d best be quick about it.”

Like it or not, the die was cast for Clint Conner. To refuse to escape with Ballenger and his men would mean a death sentence. And although he had no desire to accompany the small band of outlaws, neither did he have any wish to defy them when the odds were four to one. He had gone to sleep many nights dreaming about escaping his imprisonment, but he never intended to actually attempt it. Now the decision had been made for him. He grabbed a bridle from the tack room and ran into the corral to pick a horse. The only saddle left, after Washburn took the best one, was a well-worn single-rigged model. The last rider to use the saddle was evidently short in the legs, but Clint didn’t waste time adjusting the stirrups. Climbing aboard a mousey dun gelding, the best of the lot of poor choices left in the corral, he could not deny a feeling of freedom to be on a horse again. Ballenger held the gate open for Clint while he waited for Yancey to bring his horse from behind the barn. When all had mounted, the five fugitives left the prison grounds at a fast lope, riding on a line that kept the barn between them and the main prison until crossing a low hogback that offered concealment. Veering south then, Yancey led them toward Colorado, the daring daylight escape a success.