Ralph Compton - Down on Gila River

“If the lobo’s still out there, Calvin will nail him,” Ma said. “That boy ain’t sceered o’ nothin’ an’ he can track a grasshopper in the dark.” She glared at Cole. “Unlike some I could mention.”

The wolf howled again, the aching, lonely cry in the shadowed tunnel of the moonlight that wakes a man from uneasy sleep and has him reach for the blue metal comfort of his gun.

“He’s behind us,” Ma said, her eyes moving. “On top of the ridge.”

Cole drew his Colt and stepped to the window at the rear of the cabin and peered outside. He said, “No, I can’t,” after his ma asked if he could see Calvin.

“Then he’s on the lobo’s trail fer sure,” Ma said. “He’ll get him soon. Listen for a single rifle shot like I told him.”

The wolf howled, this time longer, louder, and less plaintive.

A few moments passed. Then a terrified shriek rang through the night, like a demon fleeing an exorcised soul.

“Where did that come from?” Ma said, her heavy-cheeked face alarmed.

“I don’t know,” Cole said. “It sounded like it was all around us.”

The man’s voice shook a little because, unbidden, an unwelcome guest had slunk into the room—a wan wraith named fear.

“Yee naaldlooshii,” the Kiowa whispered, his bottom lip trembling.

All eyes turned to him. “What are you saying?” Ma said.

“Skinwalker,” the Indian said. “A man in the shape of a wolf.”

Cole was shaken. “What do we do?” he said. “How do we kill it?”

The Kiowa shook his head. “Nothing. A shape-shifter is not easy to kill. Now is the time to sing your death song as I will mine.”

“Cole,” Ma said, “git out there and help your brother.”

The man shook his shaggy head. “I ain’t goin’ out there, Ma.”

Ma Capps, her face ugly, went for her son, her whip raised. She stopped in her tracks when something heavy thudded against the cabin door.

“He’s coming for you, Ma,” Sam said, reading fear in the woman’s expression. “The wolf’s at the door.”

The Kiowa began a low, mournful chant, stone-faced, unmoving. Terror had rammed through him like a lance and pinned him to the spot.

“Better open the door, Ma,” Sam said, smiling. “Maybe it’s just Calvin wanting back inside in a hurry.”

Sam was clutching at a straw. He and the others were in a hopeless situation and he prayed that Ma’s and Cole’s fear would give him some kind—any kind—of an edge.

Ma held out her hand to Cole. “Gimme the gun, you craven whelp,” she said.

The man handed over his Colt without hesitation.

As Ma walked warily to the door, Cole two steps behind her, Sam became aware of someone coming up on his left.

Ma stopped at the door, the Colt hammer back and ready.

“Who’s there?” she said. “Is that you, Calvin? Speak up, boy.”

Sam felt a woman’s soft breath on his neck. “Stay right where you’re at, Pops,” Lorelei whispered. “I’m gonna untie you.”

Ma lifted the latch and pushed. The door didn’t budge.

“Cole,” she said, “help me here.”

Slowly, like a man wading through mud, Cole stepped beside his ma.

Sam’s hands were free. As he worked the stiffness out of his fingers, he felt Lorelei push a derringer into his fist.

“You ain’t gonna hit anything with it, but you’ll make a noise,” she said.

Cole put his strength to the door and it creaked open.

Ma Capps screamed.

Chapter 30

The door swung outward, slowed by its heavy burden.

Calvin Capps hung from a nail by his bandanna, the front of his body pressed against the rough timber. His eyes were wide open, reliving the horror of his last moments.

The man’s throat had been torn out. Blood trickled down his chest and legs, and large, scarlet drops ticked from the toes of his boots.

Ma threw herself on her son’s body and shrieked her pain.

Cole hesitated at the door. Then, his head on a swivel, he sidestepped outside, doing his best to avoid the body.

It was the last mistake of his life.

A gun roared somewhere in the darkness and Cole went down, a bullet in his chest.

Ma screamed curses at the unseen gunman, and the Colt in her hand bucked as she shot at shadows.

Sam took his chance. He stepped toward the door, the derringer in his hand.

Clem saw the gun and stood, his arms in the air, trying to talk peace, hindered by the tight bandage around his chin.

Sam let the man be for now and reached the door—in time to hear the flat statement of a revolver and see Ma Capps stagger and almost go down. Fat and ungainly, she stumbled outside and fell across Calvin’s body. She let out a great sigh and then lay still.

* * *

“Stay away from the door, you crazy old coot!” Lorelei yelled.

Sam jumped back into the shelter of the cabin wall.

“You out there,” Sam called out. “You hear me?”

“I hear you.” A voice from the darkness, hollow in the silence.

“Seems like you killed them all, feller, exceptin’ fer one, an’ his jaw is broke, so he’s out of the fight,” Sam said.

“Is that Ma Capps I just gunned?” the hidden gunman said. “It looked like her.”

“Yeah, it was her as ever was. You plugged her an’ Cole, an’ a wolf done fer Calvin. The one you didn’t kill is in here an’ he ain’t lookin’ too good. If’n you’re interested, his name is—”

“I know his name.”

“His jaw’s broke.”

“Yeah, you told me that.”

Sam measured his words like an inchworm and it was a while before he spoke again. When he did, he said, “Well, feller, we’re right obliged to you. Now, if you want to be ridin’ on, we’ll, in a manner o’ speakin’, clean up your mess.” Sam added a smile to his voice. “We’re much obliged to you and when you ride on, be careful. There’s a big lobo wolf out there, an’ he already kilt a man, so you be careful. An’ thanks again an’ it’s been right nice meetin’ you.”

“You talk too much,” the gunman said. “How many of you in there?”

This time Sam didn’t hesitate. “A dozen United States Marshals, all well armed and determined men.”

“How many? And this time don’t lie to me.”

From long experience, Sam recognized defeat when he saw it.

“Me,” he said, “two women, one of them wounded, a young’un, a broke-down Kiowa, an’ the feller with his jaw broke.”

The voice seemed closer this time.

“Come out here, all of you.”

“State your intentions,” Sam said.

“I intend to kill all of you if you don’t come out here now.”

Sam looked at Lorelei. “Think he means it?”

“He’s already killed two, maybe three people. I reckon he means it.” Lorelei walked to the door. “Don’t shoot,” she said. “We’re coming out.”

“I want to see everybody’s hands,” the gunman said. “If I don’t see hands in the air, I’ll drill all of you.”

“Do as he says, Sammy,” the Kiowa said, “and leave the belly gun on the table.”

“Maybe I could get the drop on him,” Sam said.

“No, you won’t,” the Indian said. “I have heard the man’s voice and I know him. He is Santos, a great warrior and brother to the wolf.”

Sam looked into James’s eyes, read the warning clear, and said, “I couldn’t hit nothing with a belly gun anyhow.”

He walked into the night, his hands in the air, like the others.

Clem Capps stood off to one side, obviously frightened. In the moonlight he looked even more like a giant rabbit ready to hop into the brush.

As though he had an instinct for the man’s fear, Santos said, “I have no interest in you tonight, Clem. You can return later and bury the ashes of your dead. Go away now.”