Chapter 5: "First job as a shootist"

Thank God, that was the only time I had to take on nine enemies all by my lonesome. In fact, that was the last time I had to face any bandits. I worked for Mr. Jameson for seven months before he decided that I had cleared out the bandits, and he no longer needed my services. To be honest, I was getting pretty tired of hustling my ass back and forth between Green Junction and Hallys Crossing day after day with nothing but a few gold pieces to show for it. That was a good example of how young I was; if I had been older, I probably would have relished a job that paid that well, but did not require me to do much but ride fast horses.

I figured that it was safe for me to head toward El Paso, so I thanked Mr. Jameson for putting up with me and rode toward the west. I didn't have any special reason for going to El Paso, it just seemed like a good idea at the time. I did make a point of picking up the latest batch of wanted posters just in case I ran into somebody interesting, but I was not expecting much.

The country was beginning to look kind of dried up as I got closer to El Paso. It had been a while since the last rain had fallen around here, and the grass was pretty damned dry. The longhorn cattle did not seem to be put out too much, but I did see some sheep who did not look so happy. I figured that them sheep had a better grasp of the situation because it sure looked to me like the land was drying up. Without water, this section of Texas looked to me like it could blow away.

The nearer I got to El Paso, the rougher the country got. I was coming into hill and valley country, and I was not too happy about that. Them hills and valleys made it too easy for road agents to lurk close to the road. I was about 30 miles from El Paso when I found out just how right I had been. I rode past just such a hill and valley which was more of a gully than anything else. Two men rode out of the little valley behind me and yelled for me to stop and raise my hands.

Well, you can bet that I was not about to follow that kind of demand. Instead, I bent over my saddle horn as far as I could get and jammed my spurs into my horse's flanks. He was surprised by that, but that did not keep him from remembering his training and taking off in a dead run.

I think that the two road agents were as surprised as my horse because it took them a few seconds to react. They were befuddled long enough for me to get out of pistol range, and my life was saved for the moment. However, that did not keep them from chasing me. My horse must of been a little faster than theirs because I managed to gain a little more distance on them.

That was why I had time to recognize another of them little valleys and duck into it before the bandits were close enough to give me any real trouble. I figured that the best way for me to escape was to ambush them, so I rode a little way into the valley and dismounted. This time I did not bother with my Henry; I planned to let them get damned close and shoot them, not taking even a moment for conversation!

I slapped my horse on the hip and sent him farther away from the road. He was pretty much out of sight before the two bandits had reached the mouth of the valley. I was nestled behind a decent sized boulder and waiting for the two galoots to come close to me. I was holding the pistol from my right shoulder holster in both hands and had the hammer at full cock. I did not plan to take any chances with these two.

As expected, they turned in to follow me, and I started shooting at a range of about 50 feet. I only needed one shot for the man in front where I had a clean line for my aim. He went down immediately with a bullet hole in his chest. I switched my aim to the other galoot, but that was where my plan went to hell.

This shot was fired double-action, and I was not expecting anything but another dead outlaw. However, the horse moved its head at just the right time to put it between me and my intended target. The bullet hit and blood spattered in all directions, but the problem was that I had shot the horse and not the rider!

Let me tell you, that galoot was fast! He reacted in all of the right ways by falling with his horse, but not letting it land on him. On top of that, he fell so that the body of the dead horse was between him and me. Thus, he had sort of a breastwork to protect him from my bullets. Dammit, I had not planned on this; now, what do I do?

I fired another shot at him to make him keep his head down while I tried to figure out how to live through this mess I had made for myself. One thing for sure, neither one of us was going anywhere until the other one was dead! I had fired three shots from my pistol, so I had three left. My first big decision was whether or not to switch cylinders to have a full load available if I needed it. It did not take me long to make up my mind—I switched cylinders. That left me with two fully loaded cylinders in my pockets and one partially loaded one. This did not seem like the time to take chances.

The other guy could not run away because there was no cover near enough to him. I had pretty much the same problem, except that I could go part way up the hill while still being behind some brush. Them bushes were never going to stop a bullet, or even deflect one, but I could make it up there without being seen if I was careful enough. That looked like my best bet, so that was what I planned on trying.

Before I could do anything, the other guy shot four rounds at me. If he was using a Colt, then he had only one shot left in his gun, but if he was using a Remington or a Starr, then he could have two shots left. Of course, there was no way for me to know which it was, so I had to make sure that I did not do anything stupid, or, for that matter, anything a little bit foolish.

Normally, I would have shot back at him as courtesy required, but I was feeling a bit out of sorts, so I was going to try to trick him instead. He might even think that he had wounded or killed me when I did not shoot back, and that might make him do something that was not too smart.

Anyway, I started to work my way up the hill. I was very careful not to rustle the brush any more than I could help, and that made climbing real difficult. I just did not have enough eyes. I needed to watch carefully where I was going so as not to bump the bushes, and I needed to keep an eye on the galoot's little fort in case he started to run. If he was as smart as I hoped he was not, he might get away while I was concentrating on climbing that damned hill.

It took almost 15 minutes for me to get high enough to see over his horse's carcass. There was nothing between me and him but some thin bushes, but I was now high enough that I could see his ass and a little bit of his back. There was enough room to put a bullet into his lower back or pelvis if I did not screw it up.

I sat down on the dirt and rested both of my arms on my pulled up knees to help steady my aim. I used both hands to hold the gun and I cocked the hammer to single-action position. That was everything that I could do to assure that my first shot was going to be accurate. I lined up my aim and gently pulled the trigger.

The smoke and the recoil kept me from seeing the galoot for a few seconds, and then I saw where my bullet had gone. There was a splotch of red on his back at about his waist and centered from right to left. I could not have fired a more accurate shot with my Henry, so I was right proud of myself. That jazzbo was not going anywhere with the wound made by my bullet. At worst, he was going to linger for a couple of hours before he died, but there was no way for any human to survive that wound!