Chapter 3

Eddy and I were making a run from Bowman one day when we were hit by 9 Mexican bandits. I made that identification because they each were carrying two muzzle-loading rifles. I do not know why, maybe it was just for the devilment of it, but they hit us from the front in two waves. Damned if we were not forced to stop because some bastard in the first wave shot one of the lead mules. That wonderful beast tried to keep running with the rest of the team, but she only lasted for a few steps. However, Eddy was able to bring the whole team to a halt before any other of the mules were injured by the fallen victim.

Shooting that harmless mule really got our dander up! I managed to hit two of the attackers in the first wave with my sawed-off shotgun with the small pellets, but I did not have time to reload before the second wave was upon us. I dropped the short gun to my side and pulled out the long gun loaded with the buck and ball. This I fired at the second wave as they rushed by, and I managed to hit one of the riders in the head. I must have caught him with the ball equivalent because his head exploded into a shower of blood, brains, and bone, though he did not fall from his saddle. That Mexican's saddle with the high back rest did wonders to support the rider, and it dawned on me that I might be able to ride a horse again if I used that kind of saddle.

Anyway, that was for concern later; right now we had to worry about staying alive and protecting the passengers—one woman and two men. The woman dropped to the floor of the coach while the two men joined Eddy and me shooting at our attackers. The passengers had pistols, as did Eddy, but I had the two shotguns, and it was up to me to do most of the defense.

The second shot from my long shotgun only wounded a rider, and the reason that I had missed my mark was obvious: it was too difficult to swing those long barrels to follow a rider sweeping past at a good 25 miles per hour (MPH) when he was also that close. That was something that I had to keep in mind if I expected to live very long in this business.

The objection to the sawed-off shotgun with buck and ball was that the short barrel did not let the buckshot hang with the main slug. Thus I got more scatter than I was used to with that kind of shot choice, but the main slug could still do a very good job of killing at a range of 75-100 yards.

I hastily tried an experiment: I used my knife to cut some shells just below the back end of the shot load. That way, the whole load would come out as a single monster slug. It took only a couple of shots to find that such a load was effective up to 150 or so yards, and was as good as a rifle in most cases, even when fired from my sawed-off shotgun. The Mexicans were just playing with us at this stage of the fight because they stayed on their horses and charged back at us, this time from our rear.

They were now down to five effective riders. Apparently, my shotgun had been the only weapon to do any good, and the only casualty on our side was the poor mule. Had they dismounted and hidden behind barriers, the story might have been different, but they were like Comanches in that they wanted to fight from their horses. While they were turning and getting ready for their next charge was when I loaded my sawed-off shotgun with the slug-type shells and tried taking shots at them from what they must have been sure was a safe distance of at least 130 yards.

I missed with my first shot, probably because I was too hasty in taking it, but I slowed down for my second shot and scored this time. In fact, the shot may have been more effective than was really likely because it seemed to pass through the horse's neck and hit the rider in the gut. So much blood sprayed around that I had trouble telling what I had really hit. The horse fell to the ground and the rider never made any effort to avoid falling with him, so I had to assume that the slug had hit the human as well as the horse.

This was enough to stir up the Mexican's ire to the point of madness. Instead of doing the sensible thing of abandoning us or of taking shots at us with their rifles from safe positions, they chose to charge at us using only their revolvers. I reloaded my sawed-off shotgun with more of the doctored shells and fired at the riders from what had to be too long a distance with a common shotgun. However, my modified loads were amazingly effective. I killed another horse and rider with one shot and hit the man who was probably the leader with the other shot.

That was all the remaining two riders could take, and they veered off into the brush without slowing down. It took less than a minute for them to disappear, and we were left alone to clean up the mess. Okay, there were seven dead bandits worth $30 each, so Eddy and I were not about to leave them for the scavengers. Besides, there were horses and other loot worth recovering.

Examination of the bodies showed that my shotgun had accounted for all of the dead men, but I was feeling generous. I told the two men passengers that if they would help Eddy and me to gather up everything that I would give them each one-third of whatever we got from selling the horses and loot. Eddy was to get what was left, and I would take only the reward money for the corpses. Sure, this gave me the lion's share of the money earned that day, but everybody agreed that I had earned it.

When we finally limped into the next relay station short one mule, we sold the horses, tack, etc., but I kept that special saddle with the high back. We were already so late that it did not make much difference in the time, so Eddy and the passengers put the special saddle on one of the horses and helped me to mount. My God! Once I was in the saddle, it was just like sitting in a comfortable chair! I knew that I was going to make use of that saddle—all I had to do was to work out a way for me to mount and dismount without help. I was still plenty strong, so I would be able to set and remove the saddle by myself. Dammit, I was on my way to being completely independent again.

I had no trouble getting my $210 for the seven dead bandits, especially when Eddy vouched for me so enthusiastically. Having to pay out so much in bounty must have cooled the manager's enthusiasm somewhat because he did not give me a bonus this time. Eddy and I laughed about that after we left the office. This time, I was the one who paid for the bottle of Mexican beer for each of us that we drank to celebrate. Eddy had to tell everybody in the saloon about the fight and how he would be dead now were it not for my miraculous shooting. That story earned us some free beer, but none of it was Mexican.

This was Saturday, so the next day was free for me to try out that special saddle with an extensive ride. The first thing I did was to get a carpenter to come up with a small stepladder that I could carry behind my saddle and use to mount and dismount. I am sure that I looked a bit silly using the ladder to mount and dismount, but I did not care. The freedom to move about the countryside was what I was most interested in.

The carpenter missed church that Sunday morning, but the extra $2.00 I paid him to work that morning more than mollified his wife's complaints about not taking her to church. By Sunday afternoon, I had rented a horse at the livery stable and went for my first ride on horseback in almost two years. I was ecstatic, and I rode for much longer than I should have. Man, I was beat when I finally got back to the livery stable to turn in the horse. In fact, I was so tired that I never left the stable that night—I slept on a pile of hay the whole night. Fortunately, I was sufficiently rested the next morning to resume my job as shotgun guard.

The trip to Bowman and back was uneventful, and I had a lot of time to think and to talk over my ideas with Eddy. Back on Saturday night in the saloon, one of the men I was talking to suggested that I take up bounty hunting. I demurred at the time because I was concerned about how much time I would spend in the saddle at that job. However, it now seemed like a good idea. That new saddle and ladder solved most of my problems with riding a horse. Eddy did point out that, as a bounty hunter, I was going to have to give up making head-shots. With no head, there was no way to identify somebody for the reward. I laughed, but had to agree.