Chapter 8

At first I thought things were going to go better than I expected, because I saw a herd of about a hundred head being driven down the street to the stock yard at the rail head. I couldn’t count either the cattle or the men moving them, but they had to be Calhoun’s. I didn’t know what to do, so I just stood there. It was maybe fifteen minutes later when six riders appeared at the north end of town, where the railhead was, and began walking their horses towards me. Calhoun was in the lead, and he was headed my way.

I just stood there, ten or so feet from the door to the store. I had no idea what was going to happen, but whatever it was, I wanted to drag it out. If I needed to dive for cover, I wanted to be close enough to actually get there.

He was calm as he approached and stopped. His men flanked him, but were behind a bit.

“The man you wanted was in my barn when it burned down,” he said. “So there is no longer a reason for you to play at being a sheriff. Even if you were the sheriff, you had no right to destroy my ranch. If I wasn’t going to kill you, myself, I’d hold you and smile as you were hanged. But I don’t have that kind of time.”

Then he drew his pistol and, without any kind of warning (other than announcing his intentions) he shot me in my left leg. I believe the only reason he didn’t plug me somewhere instantly fatal was because his horse moved as he shot. Even surprised, I managed to get my gun clear of my holster and shoot back. I wasn’t riding a horse, and his head was bigger than a whisky bottle. He leaned back and, slowly, fell off his horse on his left side. His upper body hit the dust of the street, but his left foot was still in the stirrup. His horse didn’t move, but the horses of the five men all danced a bit. My mother stepped out with a double-barreled shotgun in her hands, and Three Feathers showed himself with his lever gun in his hands. All the guns were aimed at them.

All five raised their hands.

“I have no quarrel with any of you,” I said.

“Well, I wish you’d never been born,” one of them replied.

Chastity ran from the store with strips of cloth to bind my bullet wound. I wasn’t actually feeling much pain at that moment. I guess I was still too fired up, or something.

“It’s over,” I said. “Turn around and ride back to the ranch. It belongs to his daughter, now, and she’ll need your help.”

“The money he just got paid is in his pocket,” said one of the men.

“It’ll be taken to the bank and put on his account,” said my mother. She was thinking like I was. It would be a lot of money and if given to these men it would disappear with them.

The men wheeled their horses and left town at a canter. I knew they could ride off and abandon the girl, who I had no complaint with. Even worse would be to push her aside and take over the operation. I hoped they didn’t, because I wasn’t going to allow that, either. I’d keep an eye on them and make sure she came out of all this with her inheritance, if possible. That was going to be complicated for her and cost a lot of time. There weren’t any of the townspeople who felt any allegiance to her. Only the ones Calhoun had done business with were upset that things had taken this turn. When the cowboys were all gone, I turned around to find Three Feathers and Harold Krupke working to get Calhoun’s foot out of the stirrup. Harold operated a small tannery on the north edge of town, where the prevailing winds carried the smell away. He was also the town undertaker. Chastity got under my arm and said, “Lean on me.”

I reached around and squeezed her breast.

“You are the stupidest man I ever saw,” she growled. “Is there any time you don’t think about sex?”

“Not when you’re within reach,” I said. I squeezed again.

“Bobby! Somebody might see!”

I moved my hand and we got there just as the foot came free and flopped into the dust.

“I’m taking the horse and saddle as payment,” said Harold.

“No, you’re not,” I said. “Your fee can be the gun-belt.”

“And gun,” he insisted.

“And the gun,” I agreed. “You can even have the ammunition,” I said.

Three Feathers and Harold grunted as they lifted Calhoun’s body up on the two-wheeled flat-bed cart Harold used to transport bodies. Long handles protruded from the front, which Harold lifted and leaned forward to pull his new customer toward the tannery. As he moved, Calhoun’s lifeless head rolled and I saw a neat, round hole an inch above the bridge of his nose. The edges of the hole were black, but there was no blood. Not on his face, anyway. There was a huge puddle of blood in the dirt he had been hanging over as all his blood drained out of the back of his skull, where the hole was three inches across, with ragged edges. There was tissue on the hindquarters of the horse that Three Feathers said was brain matter. He said it right in front of Chastity, who leaned over and vomited in the dirt. When she let go of me, my leg gave out and I fell down three feet from that drying puddle of blood.

My mother was there within seconds, thinking I’d taken a fatal bullet.

“It’s just my leg,” I said, as Fred Hoskins arrived with his bag. Fred did double duty in town, as did most people who needed to do that to get by. He was the (self-proclaimed) town doctor, and he also ran the livery stable. He claimed to have doctored during The War of Northern Aggression, as it was called by many of the refugees who wandered into the Wyoming territory after the war, looking to start over or find work.

“I need to cut the leg off,” he said.