Chapter 17

New Mexico Territory, June, 1896

My recent wound still hurt a little bit if I bumped it; otherwise, it really did not bother me, so I left town in the saddle. It felt good. I was tired of being tied to a place where my only "friends" were other saloon inhabitants. Of course, this did not mean that I would avoid saloons. It just meant that I was glad to escape the saloons in that town.

My next town got me some business, but not the kind I get money for. I rode into town about midmorning and encountered four yahoos molesting what I guessed to be the town drunk. He was dressed in very disreputable clothing and looked like he had not shaved or had a bath in a month, if that recently. He was surrounded by the four thugs pushing him back and forth faster than he could keep his balance. Every time he would start to fall, one of the thugs would grab him and pull him upright before pushing him toward another of the group.

I watched this activity for a minute or so and heard the old man plead to be left alone. The thugs just laughed and kept tormenting him. I rode up until I could reach one of the thugs and had my horse bump him very hard. That got the thugs' attention, enough so that the four switched away from the old man and on to me.

"Don't you have anything better to do than gang up on an old man?" I asked in as level a voice as I could manage.

"Mind your own business!" one of them growled and the others nodded their heads.

"I make it my business when I see a bunch of bullies taking advantage of somebody who can't defend himself," I announced.

Another growled, "Get off your horse and talk to us, man to man."

"Very well, but I don't see any 'man' around for me to talk to." With that, I swung my horse around to put her between the thugs and me. I dismounted and slapped her hip to move her out of the way.

As she started moving out of the way, I saw the four yahoos start to draw their guns. They probably thought that they were fast on the draw, but I had my lower gun pulled and aimed before they had finished clearing their holsters. Instead of freezing when they say I had them covered, they continued to pull their guns. I started to fire when I saw this, and I shot all four before they had a chance to shoot. It was all over in an eye-blink! I was standing in the middle of the street, reloading, with four mortally wounded men lying at my feet, when the town marshal ran up.

"I saw it; it was self defense," he said, "but you are in a world of trouble!"

"How could I be in trouble if it was self defense?" I asked, somewhat puzzled.

"You're not in trouble with me," he said. "Those four bullies were the sons of the most powerful rancher in the territory, and he won't take this easy. If I were you, I'd get on my horse and move on before word of this gets back to old man Harrison."

"Since I don't want to cause you any trouble, marshal, I'll do that, but it galls me to be run out of town like this."

"I don't blame you, son, but there have been several bushwhackings in the last few years that I am sure were ordered by Harrison, but I can't prove it. You'll need eyes in the back of your head to stay around here!"

"Well, thanks for the warning. I guess I'd better be moving on."

About five miles out of town, I heard a shot and a bullet whizzed by my ear. Thank God that most people have trouble hitting anything over fifty yards away over iron sights! I made for some rocks a few yards away, grabbed my rifle, and ducked my head. I took off my hat and carefully looked around for my assailant. There he was!

He was in a bunch of rocks about a hundred yards down the way I had been headed. He was not exposed enough for me to get in a good shot, so I thought to change position by moving more to my right. Apparently, I wasn't the only one with good eyesight—I had hardly moved when he shot at me, again. It was a good shot; I was cut by stone fragments. I ducked and wiggled back to be sure I was out of sight.

I knew I couldn't stay hidden long; he was sure to move once he realized that I couldn't see him. Then I had a brainstorm! I took off my hat and placed it so that it was barely visible to the bushwhacker; I hoped that would hold his attention for a few minutes. I pulled my bandanna around to cover my head. No way was I going to wander around in the sun without some sort of head covering!

I then slipped over to my left and tried to get to the side, or behind, the bushwhacker. I saw his legs sticking out from cover, so I took careful aim and fired. I was close enough that my bullet crashed completely through one leg and lodged in the other. He screamed and I ducked!

Not unexpectedly, I heard crying and moaning coming from the bushwhacker. I set down my rifle and drew my lower pistol. I crouched a little as I ran over to see his situation. I was flabbergasted to see a fifteen-year-old boy! I pulled his rifle and pistol out of his reach and knelt down beside him.

"Why did you shoot at me?" I asked.

Between sobs, the boy said, "I saw you shoot my brothers! Nobody gets away with hurtin' a Harrison! I'd 'a' got you, too, just like I did those four others, if I'd been a little luckier. But I'll fix that now!" He pulled a knife from his boot and lunged at me.

I was still holding my pistol, and, reflexively, I gut-shot him. At this range, I nearly blew him in two, but he still left a gash on my upper arm. "What the Hell!" I mentally kicked myself for not checking his boots; after all, that's where I kept my hide-away.

I used his shirt sleeve to bandage my arm. I found his horse and put him on it. I then went back into town to find the marshal.

"Here's your bushwhacker, marshal. He tried to get me as you can see. He told me about it just before he died."

"Well, I guess I'm not too surprised. The kid worshiped his four older brothers. I guess he just thought he was copying them and protecting family honor. I'll take him out to his ranch and explain what happened to his father."

"I'll be on my way, then. I'd just as soon be away from this place before you tell his father it was me that killed them." I left town at a fast lope, planning never to return.

It was a couple of days before I got to the next town, so I was glad to reach the saloon. It was really a small town: it had only one saloon and no marshal! I asked around for information, but nobody had anything for me. I spent the night in the livery stable hay stack and then moved on.

It was three more weeks before I got any action. I was following the railroad tracks for the easy access to water, when I spied in the distance a train stopped for water. I didn't think much about it until it dawned on me that the train should have moved on, by now. I increased my speed to a run, in case there might be some profit for me; I figured that there were enough people on the train that any human or mechanical trouble would be covered.

It became obvious that a robbery was in progress. There were a couple of bodies on the ground and the side of the express car was severely damaged, as it would be by an explosion. Just before I got to the train, I saw six men run to a group of horses and ride away. I switched directions and followed them. I also slowed down a bit; I didn't want to tire my horse too quickly. Of course, the bandits saw me, so I settled into a protracted stern chase.

The riders took off into a range of low hills, I supposed, planning to lose me in the twists and turns. I didn't think that would work—I was too good a tracker to be lost over any less than a long run of rocky ground. I was aware, though, of the strong possibility of an ambush. I expected the whole gang to stop for that, since I was sure that no one bandit was stupid enough, or trusting enough, to stop to waylay me while the rest of the gang rode away. I was safe for a while, since they would figure that there was always a chance that they could lose me as they rode, besides, there was no good place, yet, for an ambush.

We rode like this for an hour or so, but we couldn't keep it up without tiring the horses too much. Just before the point where I would have to stop riding and start walking to give my horse a rest, we came into an area perfect for an ambush. I stopped immediately and looked closely for likely ambush sites. There were too many; this was bushwhacker's heaven! Caution was now essential: if either my horse or I were injured here, I might as well resign myself to death! I dismounted and dropped the reins to the ground, knowing that the horse would remain there, "ground hitched," while I had a look around. I took my rifle, extra ammunition, and a canteen and went in search of the bandits.

I must have searched for half an hour before giving up. There was no sign of the bandits, except for their tracks. I did find where they did slow to a walk to rest their horses, but I didn't find any other sign. I went back to my rested horse and resumed the chase. The chase continued for nearly two more hours without a sign of the bandits, except for the obvious trail they were leaving. I began to wonder if this too-obvious trail was meant to lure me into a trap?