Chapter 4

The next morning, I added up all of the money that I had or was coming to me, and it came out to over $2,000 when I included the remnants of the $500 that my father had given me when I left Philadelphia. Shit! There was no two ways about it—I was rich! Unfortunately, the money had come to me so quickly and relatively so easily that I was overcome with greed. Instead of quitting while I was ahead, I wanted more. Therefore, I was returning to those oh so lucrative woods tomorrow.

I restocked my pack and went out with every expectation of a rich yield from the bounties that I would collect. I followed my usual routine, including retracing my steps from the previous hunt. I had gone about a mile with nobody shooting at me, so I got somewhat complacent. Never do that when you are on a manhunt!

I had gone about two miles, maybe a little more, when two men rode out to challenge me. This had never happened to me on my previous excursions into these woods, so the confrontation was completely unexpected. They were holding rifles, rather than revolvers, so I was not too worried when I first saw them. However, my confidence was shaken a little when one of them said, "Ya're covered from the brush, so ya might as well give up now. Yeah, we're gonna shoot ya, but we'll make it less painful ifen ya cooperate. Now, ya just drop yer guns real careful like, and ya will live a little while longer."

Shit! No question about it—I was in serious trouble! Well, I figured that dead is dead, so I might as well take as many of them with me as I could manage. I tried to put a real scared look on my face, and I wasn't faking it too much, at that. "Don't shoot me, Mister. I'll do whatever you say."

"OK, just ya drop yer iron," he said.

I used my left hand, figuring that would put them more at ease, and reached for the revolver on my right side. I drew it very slowly so as not to cause anyone to panic. When I had the gun in my hand, I pulled the same stunt I had used against the road agents a couple of weeks ago. I kicked my right foot out of the stirrup and dismounted so fast that I left the other side wondering what I was up to.

I started shooting the moment my feet hit the ground, and I put two bullets into each of the two men who had ridden out to stop me. Somebody out there was more alert than was good for me, and a rifle shot rang out before I had finished shooting the first two men. I felt a sharp pain on my right side along my ribs, but I was not hurt enough to make any difference right then.

I dropped the rest of the way to the ground and rolled away from my horse. By this time I had pulled my other pistol, so I was ready to put up the best fight that I could offer. I looked around and saw four puffs of powder smoke, so I knew that I had at least that many more men to look out for. Possibly there was someone who had not fired, but I seriously doubted it. In any case, I had to work with the evidence that I had.

I snapped off two shots at two of the smoke clouds with the left gun and two more with the right gun. I now had four shots left and I needed to reload immediately. I kept rolling as more bullets hit the dirt around me, but I was moving fast enough that nobody could get an adequate bead on me. I kept going until I rolled into a little depression, and that was when I paused to change the cylinder in my empty revolver. That only took about 10 seconds, and I was back in business. I'd had my pistols modified a little bit so that it was even easier to change cylinders. Thank God that I'd taken the time for that before I left St. Louis!

I was now ready to go on the offensive, and I just hoped that my opponents stuck to their rifles. I could use every bit of an edge that I could get. Bullets kept whizzing over my head at a rate too fast to allow time for the shooters to change positions. I decided to try an experiment. I rose from the depression just barely enough to let me see and get my gun hand over the edge of the shallow hole that I was in. I then proceeded to pump six shots at one of the smoke puffs as fast as I could pull the trigger. I hoped that I was throwing out enough bullets that at least one of them would strike my adversary.

I didn't hear any cry of pain, but no more shots came from that specific location. I dropped back in my hole and switched cylinders again. I decided to take the chance to reload my used cylinders, and that was done very quickly. Now I had a full complement of bullets ready to use, and I felt much more confident.

There had been a pause in the shooting, probably to give time for the shooters to reload. That's a time consuming process with a Henry, so I had hopes of accomplishing some good while that was going on. My side was hurting like it was on fire, so I was not anxious to leave my hole if I didn't have to. I had plenty of ammunition with me, so I was not deterred in trying my little experiment again. This time, I selected another place to shoot and opened up just as I had previously done. This time, I did hear a cry of pain, so I figured that I had done some good.

I dropped back and reloaded by changing cylinders. The rate of fire coming at me had dropped off. I was sure that was because the rifles had become too hot to hold. A Henry rifle did not have a wooden fore stock, so it quickly became too hot to hold if the shooter fired off a whole magazine's worth of bullets in the shortest possible time. It could take a couple of minutes to cool down enough to hold the rifle steady so that shots could be aimed properly. That was another reason that I favored the pistol if the range was short enough.

Anyway, I figured that the shooters would switch to pistols pretty soon, and that would still give me an advantage because of the double action of my weapons. As a working hypothesis, I was going to assume that I was now facing only two shooters, so I was in pretty good shape if I stayed alert.

The shooters had now had the time to reload and to move to new locations, so I had to assume that both had happened, since that was the prudent thing for them to do. I had no idea where the men might have sneaked off to, so I had to do something to stir the pot. I had to sacrifice six shots, but I repeated my rapid firing routine one more time and dropped back into my hole.

As I had hoped, the shooting resumed, though at a slower rate. This time, though, the aim was more accurate, and I was having to scrunch well down into my hole to keep from being hit. I changed cylinders again while I waited for the shooting to die down. As soon as the rate of fire dropped almost to nothing, I raised and opened fire again. This time I had fresh smoke puffs to aim at, and I poured in my six shots at one of them. I did not hear any cries of pain this time, so I was not sure that I had hit anything useful, but I had high hopes.

I took the time to change cylinders and to reload the used ones, so I was back to full armament in short order. This time, the shooting from the other side did not resume, and I wondered what had changed. The most likely cause for the halt in shooting was that anyone who was not wounded too badly or was not dead had run off. There was only one way to be sure, so I waited for 30 minutes before I bestirred myself to climb out of the hole that I was in.

Fortunately, all of the horses and my mule were still around, so that was something I didn't have to worry about. I was still in considerable pain from the wound in my side, but I gritted my teeth and stumbled out to look over the carnage.

The first two men that I had shot were still lying where they had fallen, so I ignored them for the moment. I did find three bodies of the four other men in the ambush lying where I expected to find them, but the fourth man had disappeared. I was pretty sure that he had run off when it became evident that I was not going to be so easy to kill. I looked around and found the three remaining horses that the dead men must have owned.