Chapter 5

Dammit, I was almost "babied" to death. Mrs. Martha Sims took over and had me jumping to her tune in no time. I think that the first thing she did was to stash me in a comfortable chair with my left leg supported at just the proper angle. I was ordered to stay there except for trips to the outhouse while she "put the house in order."

Putting the house in order took a week, but I only lasted two days. However, she had been right about my leg, and I was able to walk short distances without my cane when she finally let me up. Yep, I was coming to appreciate that woman and what she could do for me. Martha even let me out of the house for about three hours to visit the saloon. It also served as the local gentlemen's club, so I had a chance to see most of my friends. I even played a little penny-ante poker.

By noon of the next day, I was starting to feel a bit stir-crazy. I decided that I was going back on the road the next day. Martha was against it, but even she finally gave up when I proved too stubborn for her nagging. I did calm her down by promising to be back within five days and to stay off my leg as much as possible.

The road to Bowman had proved to be fruitful on my previous trips, so I figured to keep at it until it dried up. This time, I was past Newcomb before I ran into anything interesting, and, to my surprise, this "anything interesting" involved the stagecoach.

The stagecoach was stopped and under attack by four bandits. I never understood why robbing the stagecoach was so popular among the local bandits. It never carried anything of much value other than the passengers, and they would be good for no more than about $30 each, if that. I guess that it was just a sign of how tough the economic times were that men would risk their lives for such paltry returns.

Anyway, a gunfight had been going on for a little while when I showed up. The road was blocked by a tree limb, so the stagecoach was not going anywhere until it was removed. All four bandits were scattered about and not gathered together. That suggested that this was not their first stagecoach robbery, so I had better be cautious as I approached.

I dismounted in some trees about 100 yards away from the robbery site and took my sawed-off shotgun and a bandolier of the shells modified to fire the shot as a single slug. I did not want to chance messing up faces just in case any of these men were wanted by the law and needed to be identified. I used my cane to pick my way through the woods until I could see one of the bandits.

I drew a bead on his back with my shotgun and fired one shot. As usual, I scored a hit as normally happened when both the target and I were stationary, and the range was under 50 yards. The slug hit the man at about his right kidney, and his body was almost cut in two by the force of the concentrated buckshot. That was one man down, and I now had only three more to face.

By this time, the fight had been running long enough that the shotgun guard had been wounded and was no longer shooting. I later found out that his shotgun had fallen over the side of the driver's box and was lying on the ground well out of reach of any of the defenders. That left only pistols to be fired by both sides, so the sound of my shotgun going off was distinctive enough to let everybody know that there was a new factor added to the mix.

My powder smoke pointed out my location, so the driver could see me when I waved my hat at him to indicate that I was a friend. He waved back and drew some bullets in his direction for his effort. He was not hit, but he did duck back behind some planks when those bullets whizzed past him. I thought that it was odd that virtually everybody carried a gun, but very few ever took the time to become very accurate with it, so that many shots could be fired with nobody ever scoring a hit. Except for the shotgun guard, this appeared to be the case with this robbery.

The remaining bandits kept shooting at the stagecoach, especially the driver. I suppose that they had so much already invested in the robbery attempt that they figured to stay with it until the end. Whatever the reason, I now had three more bad guys to take care of. I slung my shotgun over my back and started after the nearest bandit.

I stayed back among the trees as much as I could, and that slowed me down because of the cane. Finally, I got disgusted with it and leaned it against a tree where it could easily be found. From then on, I stumbled from tree to tree as I tried to find the next shooter. That was not difficult because I just followed the signs of powder smoke. At last, I caught up with him, and he must have given up on me because he was concentrating on shooting at the stagecoach.

I managed to find a good tree to lean against about 50 yards from the bandit. I took my time to line up my shot with the shotgun and blasted the man in his side just below his ribcage. Again, that wad of 12 #00 buckshot arriving in a single mass practically tore the man in two. Okay, that was two down, and it was time to go after the third one.

The other two men were across the road, and that gave me good reason to pause. There was no way that I could run across the open road nor was there any place where I could sneak unseen across it. I figured that my only choice was to use my cane to cross the road at a point out of range of the pistols that the bandits were using. Considering their lousy aim, I figured that 100 yards from them would be safe enough.

I retrieved my cane, but I used the trees as support as long as they were available. However, I had to go with the cane exclusively when I came to the edge of the tree line. Taking my courage firmly between my teeth, meaning that I grit them, I used the cane to help me get across the open spaces and the road. Yes, a few shots were fired in my direction, but none of them came close enough to cause me to regret my plan.

I parked my cane as soon as I reached the trees and went back to moving from tree to tree for support as I closed with the next bandit on my list. It took me so long to get through the woods that the bandit must have forgotten about me because I was able to get to about 35 yards of him without him ever seeing me. That was plenty close enough, and I shot him with my shotgun. This shot did cut him in half when it hit him in his right side. Man, that was a bloody mess, but his face was preserved for comparison with a picture on a wanted poster.

It was now time to go for the last man, so I resumed my stumbling from tree to tree as I pursued him. Unfortunately for me, he got wise and ran away before I could find him and take a shot. The people in the coach, both crew and passengers, had been able to follow the progress of my battle from the sound of the shotgun blasts even when they could not see me. Therefore, I was warmly greeted when I reached the stagecoach.

By this time, my leg was so tired that I could hardly move, so I was not able to help clear the road or recover the horses and dead bandits. The two male passengers and the driver did that while the woman passenger tried to help the shotgun guard. I was able to describe the locations of the things that I needed recovering so accurately that even my cane was returned to me.

The two and one-half bodies were wrapped in a tarpaulin and thrown into the luggage boot of the stagecoach. I mounted my horse and our slower than normal pace to the next relay station was maintained. At the station, I got a receipt from the manager for the three dead bandits, and I found that one of them was worth $25 from the State of Texas. Thus, I was going to collect $115 for this day's work. I gave the crew and passengers of the stagecoach the money I got for selling the horses, etc., except for the one I had to use to haul the corpse to the nearest marshal for a receipt that would be honored at a courthouse. Oh, I did check before they were sold, but none of the bandits had been using a Starr DA.