Ralph Compton - Down on Gila River

Sam Sawyer was a patient man, but he had his limits. His gun skinned from the holster and he stuck the muzzle between the Indian’s eyes. “Here’s how it’s gonna be,” he said. “If it turns out that it ain’t Hannah you saw, but it is Moseley I saw, we play it your way and light a shuck.”

“And if I don’t cotton to that plan?” James said.

“Then I’ll scatter your brains. And I mean right now.”

“The white man always makes good argument when he holds gun to Indian’s head.”

“Do we play it my way?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I just gave you a choice. You stick, or I blow your damned brains out.”

“Then we do it your way. But only until you know if the Hannah woman is with the Indian-eater.”

Sam holstered his Colt. “You’re a wiser man than I thought,” he said.

* * *

James’s ankle was not as badly injured as Sam had originally feared, but it was hugely swollen and the Kiowa couldn’t put any weight on it.

“I don’t think it’s broke,” Sam said. “Sprained, but not broke.”

“It ain’t your ankle,” James said. “It hurts real bad and I say it’s broke.”

Sam took off his hat and scratched his head, trying to puzzle his way through this setback. Finally he said, “Well, broke or no broke, we still got it to do.”

It took Sam an hour to find a suitable Y-shaped tree branch. But even after he cut it free and trimmed it up, it was still a gnarled, crooked chunk of wood.

“It ain’t much of a crutch,” the Kiowa said, eying the thing.

“Well, it’s the best I can do,” Sam said. “Up on your feet and give it a try.”

Sam watched as James settled the crutch in his armpit and attempted a few hobbling steps.

“Crackerjack!” he said. “You’ll be running around in no time at all.”

The Kiowa tripped and fell flat on his face.

“It’ll take a bit of getting used to, is all,” Sam said.

* * *

After just five minutes and three more tumbles by the Kiowa, Sam Sawyer was forced to admit that the crutch wasn’t working.

And worse, if someone came up the trail, James would never be able to get out of the way and hide in the brush in time.

His face dry with grief, Sam said, “James, split ass back down the trail to the rock ledge. You’ll find grub and the makings for coffee.”

“What will you do, Sammy?” the Kiowa said. “Declare your intentions.”

“My intention is to get close enough to see what’s goin’ on, I reckon,” Sam said.

“I’m sorry about the rifle,” James said. “It would have helped.”

“Don’t make no difference. I was never much of a hand with a long gun anyhow.”

Sam pulled the Kiowa to his feet.

“I don’t know the why of it, but I’ve got a nagging feeling that Moseley might be in cahoots with Dan Wells about something and is still with him. So you got time to climb on your hoss and save your wife and kid,” he said.

“But you have no eyes.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to make do with the pair of throwaways the good Lord seen fit to give me,” Sam said.

“Be careful, Sammy.”

Sam smiled. “James, a toothless dog always chews careful.”

He turned the Kiowa until he was facing in the direction of their back trail.

“Now git goin’,” Sam said, giving him a gentle push.

The Indian nodded. “Good luck, Sam.”

He watched the Kiowa wave again, then make his painful way back to the camp.

Suddenly Sam felt very alone . . . the worst high lonesome he’d ever known in his life.

Chapter 15

“Take a good look, Hannah. Is this what you want?”

The three slatternly women lying on stained mattresses on the floor of the adobe stared at Hannah Stewart with expressions that went from sympathy to disdain to outright hostility.

“Sure, honey, come join us,” said the hostile woman, a hard-eyed blonde with a knife scar below her collarbone. “At two dollars a bang, you’ll be riding in a carriage in no time.”

The other women laughed at the joke as Hannah said, “Why did you bring me here, Vic?”

“Because this is where you’ll end up if you don’t become my woman,” Moseley said. “I already talked to Dan Wells and he says it’s fine by him. He reckons you’re a handsome woman and would be a good little earner, but he’s willing to let you go.”

“I’ll die before I’d become your . . . anything,” Hannah said.

“That can be arranged too,” Moseley said. His smile was cruel.

“My daughter,” Hannah said. “What about her? You used to say Lori was the joy of your life.”

“That’s because I was lying,” Moseley said. “I don’t want the brat. I sure as hell ain’t raising some other man’s get.”

“I won’t give up my child for anyone.” Hannah raised a defiant face to Moseley. “You’re evil, Vic Moseley. More evil than I thought a man could be.”

“When I want lip from you, I’ll ask for it,” he said, his face black with rage.

Hannah was terrified, but her eyes were challenging. “Strike me, Vic, and I swear I’ll one day kill you,” she said.

Moseley drew back his hand, but he hesitated and let it drop to his side. “I’ll break you, Hannah,” he said. “Dan Wells is an expert and he’ll show me how.”

“A low-life scum like you won’t break me,” Hannah said. “Now take me to my daughter.”

“Lori is safe . . . for now,” Moseley said. “Maybe I’ll let you see her later.” He grabbed Hannah’s arm. “Don’t count on Mayor Meriwether. He don’t give a damn about you. All he wants is his brat’s pony back and he even hired two idiots to get it. Of course, that’s all to the good. While he’s fretting and worrying about a skewbald pony, I can get on with my business.”

“And what is your business here?” Hannah said. “Me?”

“You flatter yourself, lady. Well, yeah, sure, you’re part of it, but me and Dan Wells have another, more important iron in the fire.”

Moseley’s smirk was mocking. “After I tire of you, I’ll kick you out and you can go look for your daughter. Me, I’d try Old Mexico first.”

Hannah flushed with anger. “You bastard!” she said. She tried to slap Moseley across the face, but he caught her wrist and dragged her out the door.

Twenty yards beyond the adobe, a small dugout with a heavy timber door had been carved out of the mountain slope.

Moseley drew back the bolt and threw Hannah into the dark interior.

“You can cool off in here,” he said. “And when I come back for you, I’d advise you to be a sight more accommodating.”

The sheriff shut the door and slammed the bolt home.

Hannah was left in darkness with her anger and her fear.

* * *

“How you getting along with the Stewart woman?” Dan Wells said.

“She’ll come round,” Moseley said. “Enough about women. We have more important things to discuss, so let’s get down to business. I don’t have much time.”

“Meriwether keeps you on a short leash, huh, Vic?”

“I don’t want to arouse his suspicions, that’s all.” He stared into Wells’s black eyes. “Nobody keeps Vic Moseley on a leash.”

Wells raised his hands. “No offense intended, I’m sure.”

“Should Jake and Jeptha be in on this?” Moseley said.

Wells shook a shaved head as big, round, and hard as a cannonball. “They’re out hunting for the two men Meriwether hired to bring back the skewbald pony. I don’t want a broken-down puncher and a blanket Indian poking their noses into my affairs.”

“I’ll take the pony back myself, get in good with Meriwether,” Moseley said. “Can we depend on your brothers to take care of the puncher?”

“Jake and Jeptha don’t have the brains of a grasshopper, but they’ll find and gun them two men, depend on it.”