A Savage Retribuiton
by
Greg Norgaard
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Greg Norgaard on Smashwords
A Savage Retribution
Copyright © 2010 by Greg Norgaard
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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A Savage Retribution
Prologue
The plains of the Nebraska Territory tend to be just that: plain and flat. Albeit not the best place for a hiding spot, Frank Savage found his. He found a location just outside a rundown and desolate cowboy town. A surprise to him, he was able to find a secure area.
Frank had become situated among some rocky hilly terrain that afforded him with just the perfect location. He could hide not only himself, but also his horse. Frank crouched down at the base of a dusty cliff with an overhang that could provide cover if it were raining. His colt grazed on some nearby grass on the downwind side of an obtrusion that extended away from the steep but short hill. The position allowed him a convenient venue for his inevitable meeting with a dangerous gunman, his notorious adversary, Victor Danvil. It granted him a situation in which he could watch and listen for the killer headed in his direction.
With the advantage of being on the high ground, he waited. Frank prayed he would catch Victor Danvil by surprise. He needed all the help he could get.
Alert with his Henry repeating rifle in hand and loaded, he eyed the entrance to the shallow valley that led to his hideout from the west. The sun was going down, but it wasn’t below the ridgeline yet.
Frank liked his Henry rifle but it was a new gun, and it had a shiny receiver that reflected too much sunlight. Anyone who wanted a gun that couldn’t be seen for miles had to disturb the shine, which Frank had already done. The rifle was a bit slow to load and during firing it became hot to the touch. He overlooked these imperfections because with a Henry rifle in his hands he was an excellent shot.
Frank’s horse shuffled her hooves and rotated in place. He knew she sensed something or someone was approaching. Ever vigilant, Frank cautiously tilted his head around the left side of his hideout where he anxiously awaited. Thinking ahead so that he wouldn’t be seen, he had removed his brown flat brimmed hat and set it to the side so as not to provide a bigger target.
The sun was beating down furiously upon his head causing beads of sweat to drip into and burn his eyes. With the air still, he was able to hear his heart pounding in his chest. He thought if he had planned this capture better, maybe he would not be so uneasy. Frank wished he had a partner he trusted to watch his back. He sorely needed a friend to aid in the seizure of Victor Danvil. The trek to Omaha with a captive in hand would be difficult for one man.
After three hours of sitting and waiting in the excruciating heat, Frank felt a disturbance. Attempting to stay focused, he strained his ears. After a moment he could hear the clomping of horseshoes on the rocky dusty ground. Attempting to judge the distance by the sound was difficult because every sound he heard echoed off the walls that surrounded him.
If I look too soon or too late it’ll be the death of me, he thought.
Danvil was well-known, not for his skill with a pistol, but for his aim with a rifle. This killer Frank pursued would be wary, for he knew he was a wanted criminal in many states.
Frank fought hard to concentrate on the task at hand. He had to be ready to capture someone who more than likely would rather be shot dead than hung. To be hung wasn’t a glorious way to go. He would fight for his life. Or he would die a warrior’s death.
There was no other option. It had to happen now. Peeking around the corner, Frank squinted into the sun that sat at a forty-five degree angle in the sky. The glare made it difficult for him to see.
Damn, that’s bright.
He saw a tall rider on a black horse that was definitely his target, and a second rider accompanied him. Rightly confused and slightly off-guard, Frank hesitated. He’d heard Danvil had worked with another, but Frank had recently received intelligence information that he was traveling alone. Savage quickly worked out a new plan of attack to allow for the best chance of success, and to ensure his own survival.
Danvil was aware, too aware. He shifted in his saddle and reached for his rifle and eyed Frank’s hideout. It was as if he knew somebody was looking to take him out at that moment. The man on a black horse with carbine in hand squeezed off his shot. The sound banged loudly off the rocky surface of Frank’s temporary fort. The blast stung his ears. The bullet hit directly in front of Frank’s roost, spraying a handful of pebbles into his face that felt of a dozen needles, a clump of dirt shot into his salty bloodshot eyes.
Moving quickly, Savage pulled his rifle to his shoulder. Using every muscle he could muster, he jumped four feet to his left. Exposed, he fired off two quick piercing rounds. He dropped to the dusty floor at his feet. A plume of dust flowed up from the ground into the space around him. Frank squeezed his eyes and blinked furiously to rid them of the debris that blurred his vision.
Lying under a cloud of powder that floated around him, he remained still. His eyes were irritated. With hazy vision he attempted to focus on his intended targets. It was as though he was looking at a mirage through an out-of-focus eyepiece. His left eye was so agitated it was useless. Using only his right eye, he could see a dust devil dancing off in the distance on his left. The twister rotated vigorously, but remained stationary. On the right, he could make out two dark objects in the background that were slowly coming into view.
The tall man on a black horse was sitting straight up in his saddle. He just sat and stared. Their horses were surprisingly impassive. It was dead silent. Frank was confused as to why there was no movement from the two riders he had just shot. He wondered if he’d completely missed both, and if he had, then why didn’t they turn-tail and ride?
The tall criminal ever so slowly listed to his right side, all the while looking straight ahead still holding his rifle. Creeping farther to the right, he was now tilting so far in his saddle that gravity reached its hands out, it gripped the tall wretch and pulled him to the ground with a thud and a burst of earth.
Frank’s gaze fell upon the unknown rider, Danvil’s companion. The man had a small frame and was an average height. He swayed slightly. His right hand reached out. It was suspended about a foot or so above his knee as he sat upon his horse. The stranger’s hand slightly slid side to side then moved in little circles that were barely perceptible, as if searching for the pummel of his saddle. Frank had never seen such a reaction before, and he had shot and killed others before the day had started. The small man’s left hand hung to his side as his horse calmly stood in the now welcomed breeze.
Frank stood and walked toward the stranger who sat on his horse. He moved within about a dozen feet, and he could see into the eyes of the scared one, whose hand continued to search in the air for something. Frank stopped to ponder the situation and could see the man was facing death as he sat. The injured man was crying quietly. Then his body started to let go. His lower back gave out first, causing his frame to shift. His hand never found the pummel, and he slipped out of his saddle with an audible whimper. His horse lowered its head to the injured rider.
Frank felt his world closing in on him as he stood and watched the man crumble to the ground in a heap. He picked up his pace, but he continued to be leery of Victor Danvil who remained motionless. He took a quick look to make sure he was dead. He inspected the still corpse. Frank scanned the body. Victor Danvil had been shot straight though the Adam’s apple. The bullet shattered his neck on its way out of his body.
Moving to the second gunman, Frank noticed that there appeared to be no gun. No weapon was visible either in a scabbard or a holster. Stooping down to straighten out his victim, Frank discovered he was still alive. Blood was trickling out his mouth, nose and eyes. The man’s gaze was deep with sorrow as he reached for air with his damaged lungs. The bullet wound was directly in the middle of his sternum.
Frank was an excellent shot, but he knew his second shot was all luck. Bad luck.
Trembling, with quiet breath, the fallen cowboy said, “Why?”
Frank’s heart was beginning to cramp in his chest. He had reached the depths of the pit in his core before. Frank experienced a broken heart and the loss of a family member, but this was a deep bottomless sadness. A place he had been to only once, and he would have traded places with this man, for he now knew he shot Victor Danvil’s hostage. An innocent person was about to die. The tears that had welled up in Frank’s eyes pushed the last of the dust out.
Choking on his words, Frank mumbled, “I didn’t mean to. I’m, so sorry.” Frank cradled the dying man’s head and held his hand.
The desperate stranger looked up and said, “Tell, I don’t want to--”
Frank could see the life he held in his arms was drifting away. The eyes showed it all. This poor gentleman was slipping away deeper into nothingness, taking Frank’s own soul with him.
Ch 1
John Campbell just turned sixteen years old. He was a stout and hard working lad who woke up early every morning. Sure, everyone woke up early. When you worked on a ranch, you had to. But John didn’t need much sleep, and he was up before the animals.
It was always dark when he readied the kitchen for his mother who wouldn’t be up for another two hours to make breakfast. John not only got an early go of it, but he was a fast worker as well. He required few breaks as he moved through the day. He would have a normal man’s full workday completed by noon, and he was only half done. His folks tried to tell him he didn’t have to work so hard. But John knew he did.
John’s half brother, Jim, was different. He was more adventurous and followed a slightly different path in life. Jim was more like his father, but not as evil. His dad had left the scene before he was born to fight in the war and never returned. The man's whereabouts were never discovered, and Jim’s mother and step dad seemed happy that Jim had no desire to find his father. That didn’t keep their son out of trouble. It wasn’t that Jim was a bad fellow. He just ran with a trouble-seeking group of young men.
Jim was friendly with a clan of cowboys that promised him excitement by way of illegal activities, and the initiation to enter the gang was to steal a horse. He was not wise in the ways of horse stealing. Jim fumbled up the robbery and got in a tiff, while in the act, with a local cowhand who helped run a dude ranch. Why he chose a horse that lived so close to home is anyone’s guess. It was probably due to his inexperience and laziness. In the ruckus of stealing the horse, he got into a fight with Hank Zimmermann, and they fell into a horse pen. Hank received a kick to the head from a frightened mare, and he died three weeks later in his bed.
If Jim had had the wherewithal to stop stealing the horse and run for the town’s doctor, he would have just been looking at a fine and some jail time. He was sentenced to hang for Hank’s death. After the trial, Jim’s mother blamed herself and did everything in her power to keep the household together for her youngest. If she could just keep her John on the right track, life could go on.
The sun had another hour left in the sky, and a storm loomed off to the west when John swung by Cindy’s place of business.
Cindy ran a sundry store and was a friend of the family. She had offered to make some meals for Jim while he waited in the town’s jail. Cindy had shoulder-length brown hair. She was well known for her strong tall figure, but it was still feminine. She was a well-liked girl who had come out west with her parents to start life anew and open a general store. By the time she was twenty-one, the business had done so well that her parents continued westward to California to open a new store in a new town. Cindy, wishing to stay, took over running her parents’ shop and ran it with aplomb.
Before John stepped into the doorway of the store, Cindy cried out, “Now, John, I certainly hope you’re not going to track in some more of that mule crud again.”
John stopped abruptly, put his hands on his hips and replied, “How in the world do you know I’m coming? Every dang time. And I know you don’t have a window on that side of the building. I just can’t figure it out.”
Grinning on the left side of her face, and almost in a whisper, she said, “Why, John, any woman with any sense can just feel your manliness approaching before you even enter a room.”
“Oh, stop teasing, Cindy. You know I don’t believe that. It’s some kind of sixth sense or something, I don’t know.”
“Well, anyway, how are your folks? Are they handling the ranch okay without Jim around?”
John removed his hat. “They both just feel miserable,” he said looking down. “Mom cries all the time and Dad buries himself in the work.” He tugged on the brim of his heat and held his breath a moment.
Cindy walked behind the counter. She pulled up a tray and started assembling the food she made earlier that morning.
“I’m sorry I’m not a better cook. I did put a piece of Mrs. Fairchild’s chocolate cake here, so at least he can end the meal on a good note,” said Cindy.
John, fighting back a tear, remembered how coming to the store used to be the highlight of his day. Flirting with an attractive girl like Cindy would make any teenage boy happy. The last few weeks had been different. He still looked forward to seeing her, but it was a different feeling. It allowed him to be optimistic about his future. Maybe if he finished school and worked hard, he could someday find a woman like Cindy and settle down, and be happy again.
John said, “Thank you, Cindy.”
Cindy replied, “Well, it’s my pleasure. Let me know if Jim thinks my stew is getting better. I’m trying to kick up the spice a notch.”
“I mean,” John said. “Well, thanks for what you’ve done for us during this time, but, thanks for being you, for being my friend.” John choked on his words. “I’ll always cherish the time you took out of your days to be with me. Just to talk and hang out. You always knew I was coming.” He smiled through a tear. “I don’t know how you knew, but you make me smile every time you holler out to me. I will find a girl just like you sometime and make her as happy to be alive as you do for me.”
Cindy pulled John close and gave him a hug. “You’re all grown up now, John, and your parents should be so proud of you, as am I.”
John picked up the tray of food. He exited the front door and headed to the jail to see his brother one last time.
Sitting at a desk in his dusty unkempt office, Sheriff Shayne jerked up in his seat when he heard some loud banging on the front door. With a scowl and a perturbed look on his face, he glanced up.
“Sheriff, are you in there?” John said through the door. “I have Jimmy’s dinner. Lunch and dinner for that matter.” He trailed off with some obscenities that Shayne couldn’t understand.
“I’m coming, stop the banging,” Sheriff Shayne snapped as he pulled his large frame up from his seat using his arms with his hands on the top of his desk. The sheriff walked to the door wearing two pearl-handled Colts, with the butts facing forward, holstered high on his waist.
Bearishly Shayne said, “What the hell you got there? Smells like ass, and I don’t mean donkey. Did you cook that?”
“Sheriff you’re always a joy. Can I see my big brother now or what?”
“John boy, don’t you get smart. You know I have to inspect the food. Besides, you shouldn’t take it so personally. It’s true that I hate you, and your family for that matter. The deal, mind you, is that I hate everyone with equal amount.”
Sheriff Shane Shayne dug his forefinger and middle finger of his right hand rigorously around the food on the plate. Smelling the substance that was stuck to his fingers, he let out a grunt of disapproval and a face full of disgust.
Shane snapped his head in short lurches from side to side, he said, “If we let your brother eat this, maybe we won’t have to hang him in the morning. Better yet, if he does die of food poisoning, I won’t have to sit here guarding him all night babysitting him.”
John followed the sheriff to the door that led to the two cells of the jailhouse.
“Johnny, it’s damn good to see you little brother,” Jim said as he jumped up from his seat.
Jim was a lot like his brother in looks. Both were short and broad in stature. He was surprisingly clean-cut for a member of the local outlaw faction. Jim was to be hung first thing in the morning for stealing a horse and for the murder of Zimmermann, the ranch hand. The fact that he had unintentionally committed murder was inconsequential. Horse thievery was a hanging offense in and of itself.
“Cindy cooked up some grub for you, Jim, so don’t expect too much, but it does come with good intentions.”
John could feel that Jim was happy to see him. A sense of sadness did fill the cell, though. The sheriff opened the cell door, allowing John to step in and place the tray of food on the bed. John stepped out of the cell, and Shane locked the door directly.
Shane said, “Well, I tell you what, you sit right there by the door where I can see you. You can talk with your brother for a while. I’m going to have me a smoke out front.”
“Okay, Sheriff.” John took his seat by the door as the sheriff grabbed a cigar out of his desk and stepped out the front. John noticed that Shane’s twitching head was growing more prevalent.
Jim watched the sheriff until he was clear. Jim stood up and looked at the front entrance through his cell bars. He said, his voice firm, “John, the keys to the cell are in the desk, on the right side, second drawer down, in the back, hurry.”
“I don’t know. Do we have enough time?”
Jim continued, “The Sheriff has the same routine every damn night. He leaves to take a smoke and flirts for twenty minutes with the gals walking to dinner. Do you understand I am going to die tomorrow?”
John didn’t say anything.
“Do you want to spend the rest of your life with the thought that you could have saved me? I’m your big brother. Do as I say, and do it now.” As Jim spoke, John could sense the desperation that permeated from his voice and eyes.
John ran over to the desk and found the keys exactly where his brother had told him to look. On his way back to the cell he stumbled and fell down. With nervous energy he fumbled with the lock until Jim grabbed the keys and unlocked the cell himself. Once the door was open, Jim moved to the gun rack at the back of the office.
“Jim, I think I heard someone outside,” John said. He was scared and wanted to cry. John hesitated with all his movements.
“Calm down, it’s going to be okay. I promise you, I have a plan. The stable out back has six or so horses. Two of them are already saddled and ready to go at all times in case of an emergency.” Jim continued to struggle with the gun rack while his brother watched out the front window.
“Jim, I, I don’t see him no more,” John said. His hands shook.
Ignoring his brother Jim blurted, “Shit, shit, shit." After much exertion on the gun rack, he unlocked the shotgun from its housing. "Finally.”
“Grab the shotgun shells from the desk. They should be in there somewhere,” Jim dictated to his younger brother. John was sweating and visibly troubled.
“I can’t find them, Jim. I just can’t!”
“Okay, forget them. Let’s go out the back. Now!”
Jim tossed the keys back to his brother and followed him toward the back door in a mad dash to escape. John hastily unlocked the door. They started to run to the horse corral. Soon after their escape they heard a voice.
“Yo, boys!” The sound boomed off the surrounding buildings.
Stopping abruptly caused Jim to slide in the dirt on the soles of his boots. He staggered, but stayed upright. John stumbled and pulled himself straight with his hands in the air.
Time seemed to slow down for John as the two young men got their bearings. John’s lower lip began to quiver. He had his back to the man with the powerful voice. He stared straight ahead. He saw his shadow on the side of an old wooden wheel barrel. It was at that point that he recognized the man’s voice.
As John was looking at his shadow, something overcame him. Death was imminent, and he could feel it as he slowly turned with every sense on high alert. His motion was surely quick, but his time lapse was such that he could see the trees just a few feet away with leaves fluttering in slow motion, and birds that flew about as if they were hovering in place.
As his view continued to turn toward his adversary, he heard a female gasp that was then abruptly stifled. He came to a head staring down evil, and it had guns.
They both faced Sheriff Shane Shayne who stood wide-legged with an unlit cigar hanging from a smarmy grin, both guns drawn, one pointed at each brother.
John thought to himself, Shane knew?
“I’m sorry, John,” Jim whispered.
John cried, “What?”
Without any reservation, fury was unleashed as each pistol blasted fire, one after the other. Jim was only conscious long enough to know that his brother would die, too. The first shot hit Jim square in the heart. He died instantly, but the sheriff’s shots were too quick, and he was hit two more times before he impacted the ground. He fell straight down with his knees buckling under him.
The second gun rang true as well, but it allowed the poor younger brother time to know what was happening before he fell. Disbelief and a cry for help overcame his eyes. But there would be no one to heed his desperate plea.
Shane grinned and chuckled. There was no hesitation, doubt, or wavering in the act. Another and another followed each explosion, even after both young men were bleeding into the dirt.
The murderer, Shane Shayne, sauntered over to the two dead brothers with a smile that seemed to intensify with each step. His head no longer twitched. Shane leaned over, pulled a bone-handled knife from his boot and tossed it to the earth next to John’s corpse.
Jacob Sanders stepped into Cindy’s store through the back door exactly as the front door had slammed shut. With a heartfelt smile for the love of his life and a childlike wave hello, he stepped into the rear of the store. When he walked by the aft counter, his arm clumsily bumped into a stack of candy bars that went spilling across the countertop. As he reached out to prevent the chocolate from falling, he kicked over a pile of magazines that were neatly stacked on a chair, causing a dozen to go sliding across the floor to Cindy’s feet.
Embarrassed, Jacob replied, “Sorry, Honey.”
“Darling, you never have to be sorry with me, you know that,” Cindy said with true affection.
“Was that John who just left? I really wanted to say hello to him today. Tomorrow is going to be a horrible day.”
“Yes, you just missed him, but if you hurry you might be able to catch him,” said Cindy.
Jacob carefully stepped over the magazines scattered about the floor and opened the front door. Looking up the boardwalk he said, “Darn, I missed him. He has other things on his mind. You know I have to go over and shoe one of Shane Shayne’s horses today. I could probably catch John on his way home.” With a smart aleck tone he continued, “Shane Shayne, what an evil man with a dopey name.”
Laughing, Cindy joined in and said, “He has the face of a bison’s rear quarters and the breath of the same.”
“I don’t like violence, Cindy, but someone, someday, is going to have the courage to take that man out of this life and in the process save others. I know he kills without hesitation, and we need to get together as a town and do something before someone else gets killed,” Jacob said, redness flushed his cheeks.
“Darling, please don’t get so upset. Life is not long, and it’s not worth the precious time we have to waste it getting so angry.”
“Okay, but I was hired to do a job for the town today, and that’s to shoe the posse’s horses. I’m going to do that now. Do you want to walk over? It’s almost lunchtime, and you could keep me company while I work.” Smiling ear to ear, he continued, “I only have one shoe to work, and they have all the supplies I need so I can do the job on the spot.” With a wink he added, “You know I love showing off my best girl around town.”
Sternly Cindy replied, “Your best girl? I think, Mr. Sanders, you meant to say your only girl.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I said ‘only’, but if I didn’t, I’m certain that’s what I meant.”
Jacob reached out and pulled his girlfriend into a hug. He said, “Now, how about a kiss, Sweetness?”
“Well Mr. Sanders, if you say so.” She kissed Jacob with hesitated passion and then pushed him back. “We better get moving. I know you all too well. Once we get going somewhere, there’s no turning around and no detours.”
Cindy placed a closed sign on the front window and locked the door. They proceeded to the stable where the horses used by the sheriff and subsequent posses were kept. As the two walked they spoke quietly and flirtingly to each other, mostly unaware of any other pedestrians.
As they rounded the boarding house situated next to the sheriff’s office, they sauntered between the two structures to the back. Behind the jail was an open courtyard with a few trees around the perimeter and an old wheel barrel that looked unused in over a year. On the backside of the courtyard was the stable that could house about a dozen horses along with their saddles and bridles. In front of the pen of horses was a small area that allowed enough room to saddle or shoe a horse. Between the corral and the courtyard there stood an old oak tree and some bushes.
Cindy said, “I love that old tree. I remember when I used to come here when your Dad was the sheriff, and we used to play in this very spot. I miss your father.”
“Me, too. Someday I’ll find out what happened to him. I sometimes dream about that day when he went out with that posse. I somehow think that if I stay in this town and keep coming back here to this stable, maybe something will come to me. Maybe an answer will show itself.”
Cindy threw up her hand and said, “Wait. Quiet, something isn’t right.” Pausing for a moment and grasping Jacob’s hand, she pulled him to a squat. “Do you hear anything?”
“No, I don’t,” Jacob said while looking around intently.
Everyone in town learned to trust Cindy and her instincts. The last few years had shown that when Cindy had a feeling, it was best to believe her.
Jacob was not a gunfighter, and he didn’t carry a weapon at Cindy’s request. Jacob whispered, “I should be carrying, shouldn’t I?”
Cindy swallowed hard and said quietly, “Yes, this time, yes.”
As they looked over the bushes into the jailhouse courtyard, they saw Shane standing by the back of the jail. He had two weapons drawn and a cigar hanging low from the corner of his mouth.
“What the?” Jacob said just as John and Jim came bolting out the back door of the Jailhouse.
“Yo, boys!” Shane hollered.
The brothers stopped running immediately, they almost lost their footing. Jim dropped his shotgun, and John was obviously unarmed.
Cindy knew what was about to happen a moment before Shane pulled the trigger on his left-hand Colt.
Everything moved too fast for the two brothers. Cindy went to cry out just as Jacob’s protective instinct took over, and he grabbed her by the arm to drag her away from the shooting. They were downwind from the violence, and a round came within a few feet of them. Jacob tugged on her arm, and they tried to stay low. The ricochet sound of gunfire filled their ears from every side.
Cindy pulled up on her arm, causing Jacob’s grip to fail. They both stood behind the oak tree to look on at their fallen friends. Cindy’s mind was fully aware of what had happened. She couldn’t comprehend as to why.
Shane arrogantly slipped his left pistol into its housing and meandered over to John. He seemed to notice John had no gun on his person. He slyly bent over and with his free hand pulled a knife from his own boot. He placed the knife by John’s now deceased body. Shane paused a moment as he watched the dirt soak up his victims’ blood.
Still holding his pistol in his right hand, Shane then went to remove the hat from his head with his left. There was no sound as he removed his cover and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his forearm.
A shot sprang out from the deathly silent scene. A quick sharp discharge broke into the courtyard with as much fervor as the previous slaughter. Shane hollered out. Blood shot from his hand. The squirt sprayed with a rate that matched his heartbeat.
The bullet had entered between the knuckles of the forefinger and middle finger of Shane’s right hand. The lead drilled a path severing tendons, veins, arteries, and nerves all along the way. The ball finally came to rest in the bones of his wrist. It shattered and destroyed all the tissue in its wake.
White-faced and with a look of confusion, Shane stood shaky-kneed staring at his hand as the blood continued to flow. The dark red thick fluid moved down his fingers onto his gun. It streamed over the barrel uninterrupted and overran the end of his pistol to his feet.
Jacob went to grab Cindy to run. As he turned and looked, he bumped into the tree. His jaw dropped. Cindy stood with an outstretched arm. She held a single shot Marlin Derringer, and it was smoking from the barrel.
The murderer looked up and glared at Cindy who was standing by the oak tree with a weapon in her hand. Shane stepped forward towards her. Walking briskly, he leveled his pistol in Cindy’s direction. With total and utter hatred pasted across his mug, Shane attempted to kill the woman who had shot him, and who was a witness to his atrocity. But his hand failed him. Shane couldn’t pull back the hammer. Not only was he unable to fire the gun, he couldn’t even release it from his grip. Shane yelled in disgust as he reached for his second gun with his good hand. At that instant Jacob swung in and escorted Cindy off at a flat-out run.
As Jacob and Cindy turned the corner between the two buildings where they passed earlier, a crowd started to work its way into the courtyard on the other side of the jail.
A professionally dressed, and visibly agitated man barked, “Sheriff! What the hell is going on?”
Prying his gun from his bloody hand, Shane replied scornfully, “Mayor.” He grimaced from the pain. “They were trying to escape.”
“Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?” asked the mayor as more people swarmed into the courtyard.
“Can’t get much by you, can I?” Shane answered with contempt.
Shane wrapped his wound with his tie. “Oh, and by the way, where the hell is Odekirk? I want to see him. I have a job for him,” Shane uttered. He sneered, looking over his shoulder in the direction that Jacob and Cindy had escaped.
Staring down the street, Shane noticed that a scruffy looking man with a missing front tooth stepped into his field of vision.
“On time, as always, Odekirk. You’ll earn your pay with this one,” said Shane
“What’s all the ruckus about?” Odekirk asked.
“Get your horse and your knife and your gun, and everything else you enjoy killing with,” Shane said. He attempted to hold back the pain from his wound. “I have a killing for you to do.”
“A job I can surely handle, Mr. Shayne, and with pleasure,” Odekirk said.
Shane said, to his accomplice, “Cindy, and her boyfriend Jacob. Kill them. And do it, slow.”
Odekirk smiled.
Ch 2
Cindy was trailing behind Jacob as she rounded the corner onto Main Street. At that moment, she caught a glimpse of a bright flash of light in the corner of her eye.
“Did you see that?” Cindy hollered.
“Hurry, Cindy,” Jacob said. He reached for her hand.
Cindy looked back over her shoulder to see a luminous cloud coming into view from the west. A dramatic storm was brewing, and it was beginning to darken the sky. The storm’s anvil hung high with a blackening horizon at its feet. It would be the perfect cap to an imperfect day. The massive squall line was bearing down on the town and was about to wash away all the blood that had been spilled.
Cindy could hear the treading of their footsteps as they darted past the many onlookers, most of whom were more interested in getting to the jail to see what the ruckus was about than to even notice the two runners. Cindy looked at the faces as she ran past, and she knew that they would never be able to see these people again.
“Do you know what we have to do?” Jacob said with heavy breath.
“Yes, I do.” Cindy choked up on her words.
The pace slowed as they approached Cindy’s store. The run seemed long, especially for such a small town. Jacob led the way, and with little delay he opened the front door and closed it immediately after Cindy had entered. They proceeded to get busy gathering goods and supplies. They moved about the store simultaneously as if they had a plan and were thinking as one.
“We’ll gather only the necessary items, then we’ll split up,” Jacob dictated.
“Understood,” Cindy answered laconically.
“Yeah!” Jacob said excitedly to himself. There was a hint of a devilish grin as he eyed the rifle he had removed from the enclosed case that sat behind the counter. “We might need this carbine if they catch up with us. We can both head to the house and then I’ll run over to the stable and saddle up our horses. You go home to gather some clothes and pictures and what not.”
Rain started to fall, and it came down in heavy sheets. Jacob turned as a horse blazed by the front window. It was gone as quickly as it had arrived. He thought aloud. “Why would anyone be out riding in this weather?”
Cindy moved about in a mad rush to garner up foodstuffs for the trek that lay ahead. She walked deliberately to the back room. Next to the wall, she pulled a wooden plank from the floor and removed a metal box.
Cindy announced, “I have the box of cash and the deed to the store.”
“Great,” Jacob replied. “Hopefully we can get our money that’s in the bank when we get settled.”
“What about the store?”
“We can get a lawyer, someone we trust, to do the sale of the store. That is, when the time is right. It’s more important for us to get out of town before Shane can get to us.”
“Toss me that gunny sack,” said Cindy. Jacob heaved Cindy a sack. Cindy moved all the supplies she had gathered into it. When she was done, she noticed the ceiling was starting to leak. She grabbed two buckets along with a pot and strategically placed them so that they would catch the water leaking through the roof. Jacob watched, but didn’t say anything. He looked as if he had fallen in love with her all over again as he relented to a small smile.
“Okay, ready?” Jacob said as he moved to the door and peeked outside. “I want to make sure we have a clear path farther up the street.” He loaded his rifle with four rounds and shoved a handful of shells into his pocket.
“Ready,” Cindy answered.
Jacob grabbed the sack from her and threw it over his left shoulder with the carbine in his right. They gave each other a quick kiss and sprinted out the door up the street. The two runners were instantly wet. Darkness was slowly slipping onto the small community.
Cindy had been renting a two-bedroom house on the edge of town. It was cattycorner across the street from the stable that housed Jacob’s horses. As the two structures came into view, they separated.
“I’ll be there as quickly as I can. Wait for me inside,” Jacob yelled as he veered right, running across the road to the livery stable.
Cindy was only a short distance from the front of her house when the clouds cracked intensely, jolting her senses. A torrent of rain bombarded her as she sprang up her front steps. She had her key in hand and opened the door with a swift and smooth motion. She was halfway into the room when she heard the door close behind her. She stopped. With quiet breath she stood. She made no movement except for a silent shiver as water crept down her skin. She could hear the rain slamming against the windows and an explosion of thunder from the storm that loomed over the town.
Her dress, normally bell-shaped, was heavy with water, and it drug along the ground under her feet. She felt, as she moved in the wet and heavy garment, that it restricted her movements.
She listened carefully but all she could detect was silence. She realized she had made a grave error. She was vulnerable in the middle of a dark room. The only light she could see emitted into the living area from the windows. The solitary illuminated spot was a picture above the fireplace of her with her parents and little brother. She looked away so that thoughts of her family wouldn’t cloud her mind.
In the torturing silence of her home she knew she wasn’t alone. There was a disturbance, but she couldn’t pinpoint its source. It left a revolting image stamped on her psyche. Cindy’s instincts told her it was close. She then concentrated on her senses one by one.
She looked for any movement in the dark. Maybe, she thought, I can catch a shadow or something out of place. Lightning lit the sky and beamed into the room. Every piece of furniture, every chair, table and even the paintings on the wall looked like a person. Her mental image showed her that one man lurked in the dark. Somehow, she remained calm.
She concentrated on her hearing. She held her breath as she listened for any snippet of sound she could wrap her ears around. Nothing.
She focused on scent. She could smell the stew she cooked earlier in the day, as well as her candle. Something was off, though, and it wasn’t the change in weather. Cindy knew that smell and liked it. This odor made her uncomfortable. This was a stench that caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand up and the adrenaline to move through her body.
She targeted the kitchen with her senses and could feel the danger that prowled in her home. She knew there was only one hiding the shadows, but she also knew he was vicious.
Jacob was worried. It was dark as he approached the stable. His initial concern was to get out of town before the storm hit. With the horses at a full gallop, he planned to leave without ever being seen. During such time, he hoped, everyone would have taken cover of the storm or would be distracted by the commotion that had occurred behind the jail.
Jacob wanted to hole up in an adobe block house that had been abandoned. Only a few people knew about it. It was located about a half mile up the road, then farther along on a lesser-known trail. He was optimistic that the storm would cover their tracks, possibly even slow down the sheriff and his posse.
Jacob’s intent was to stay in front of Shane Shayne and his henchmen. The sheriff was a heinous man, and Jacob hated him. Shane had the city council and mayor under his thumb. He was able to control the townspeople with fear. He had connections with nefarious friends who used malicious and destructive tactics. It was rumored that at his ranch lurked some revolting fiends whom nobody had seen. Jacob had no desire to be introduced.
On most days Jacob was clumsy, and he knew he was. But now he was steady, and he moved as if Cindy’s life was at stake.
“Mr. Masters, Mr. Masters, are you here?” Jacob bellowed, then whispering to himself, “Of course you’re here. You never leave this place.” He continued his search. “Mr. Masters, it’s me, Jacob. I need my horses please.”
“I’m coming. Hold your horses,” Masters said with a laugh, he spoke with a coarse, but jovial voice. “Oh, I never get tired of that one, oh my. I do find myself amusing, don’t I?”
Joe Masters was a waif of a man, but he wasn’t one to push around. He was short and had a bit of a hang to his shoulders, and he could make himself chuckle. “What is it, lad? Going for a little night ride with your sweetie? Oh goodness, how do I do it?” Joe grinned with self-adulation. He moved slowly as he exited his office inside the stable. He walked using small steps.
Jacob was saddling his horses, and he worked feverishly.
“Well, son, I’m not one to pry, but what in tarnation are you up to in the middle of this storm? We got ourselves a squall moving through. I knew all along because of my damn knee, and my elbow, hell, all my joints hurt. Oh, dad-blast it, they always hurt, rain or shine, who am I kidding? You know what I mean? I never was the type--” Joe trailed off with his monologue, knowing his words fell on deaf ears.
“Joe, here’s what I owe you,” Jacob said while handing him money. Two horses were saddled and the third was ready for carrying supplies and such.
Jacob said, “Now if anyone asks, Joe, you know what to say.”
“I don’t know where you are, and I hadn’t seen you. Right?” Joe said.
Jacob added, “That ought to do it. You could add that--”
Joe interrupted, “Now don’t go and beat a dead horse about it. A dead horse. I’m funny, yes sir, I am.” Joe was smiling as he walked back to his office.
“Alright, Joe. I don’t know of too many people who know where I keep my horses anyway. You take care,” Jacob said.
Jacob patted his horse on the neck and whispered, “That’s one good thing about living in this piss-hole town. No one gives a damn what you do.”
Jacob ushered the way with a tug on the reins of his lead horse. The remaining two followed close behind tied in trail. He stepped into a wall of water and the drops made a heavy thumping on the brim of his hat. A flash of lightning spooked his horses.
“Whoa! It’s okay,” Jacob said with a calming tone and a reaffirming hand on the neck. “There's nothing to be afraid of. I don’t want to be out here anymore than you do. This will pass soon. It always does.”
Picking up his pace he ran the horses into a small barn in the back of Cindy’s home. After making some room in the barn for a temporary sanctuary, Jacob closed the barn door and looked over to the house. He noticed a hole in the corner of a window with shattered glass on the flowers below in the back of Cindy’s home. Jacob gasped, “Oh no.”
Cindy felt she was at a crossroads in her mind. She was debating whether to stay put or move. She thought that if she moved, she would make too much noise. She would have to do something eventually, it was too dangerous to stay in the house.
A bombardment of thunderous explosions shook the floorboards under her feet. She saw an image of a man in her mind. A rush of air whisked by her. She felt the movement with a flicker of her hair that hung in her face. The air was being pushed violently, and Cindy visualized that someone was forcing himself in her direction. An image of her perpetrator’s face became apparent to her.
Instinctively she ducked in a linear motion downward just as a fist flew over the top of her head. Always aware of her position, she maintained her balance as her aggressor lost his footing.
Cindy couldn’t stop herself when she hollered out, “Odekirk!”
Odekirk fell flat on his face on the hard oak floor. Rolling forward toward the front door, he whacked his head on the doorknob.
Cindy was now at the top of her game, and with a smirk she moved with purpose.
Odekirk scowled and growled and rubbed his forehead. His head snapped left and right as he scoured the room for his prey.
Desperation permeated from his pores as Odekirk reached for his gun. His hand stopped abruptly and he slid his pistol back into his holster. He slowly pulled a knife from a sheath that hung from his belt.
Pitch-blackness enveloped the entire room as if everything had been swallowed up by the night sky. Odekirk reached out in front of his face with his free hand into the darkness of the room. His hand circled searching for where his quarry may have hid. He found some cloth lying on the floorboards and he grasped it tightly. He pulled the clothes with all his strength and flung his entire body forward with his knife, swinging. He flew through the middle of the room.
Odekirk was right, it was Cindy’s dress, but Cindy wasn’t in it. His homicidal rage pushed him too far, and he had entered into the arena of self-destruction. As he flailed headfirst through the empty space of Cindy’s living room, he impacted a writing desk with his chin. When he settled to the floor, his body fell onto his knife. It dove into his guts. He squeezed Cindy’s dress as he gnashed his teeth. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. As he sat with his back to the wall and a six-inch blade sunk into his intestines, blood began to pool up in his crotch. He sniveled slightly. Cindy heard him.
Holding the blade with both hands, Odekirk slowly pulled the weapon from his body. His eyes fluttered and almost shut, permanently. He began to apply firm pressure to his gaping wound with the empty dress he still held tight in his hand. Stomach acid streamed into his mouth and leaked out the corners of his mouth.
Cindy was lying on the floor in the kitchen listening to Odekirk. After shedding her dress, she had dashed to the back door, but in the darkness she didn’t see the table that had been moved to block the rear exit. She impacted the wood solidly just below her waist with all the force she was using to flee her opposer. She lay on the floor with legs aching. She heard another groan come from the front room. An intense heat rushed to the back of her neck when she came to the realization that she ran into a table that she knew was already there.
Cindy sat up and paused. “I have got to get moving,” she whispered to herself. “Think, damn you. Trust your instincts.”
With the back door blocked, she committed herself to escaping out the front door. She thought, Where is Jacob?
Cindy calmed her nerves and subdued the pain in her legs with her will. As the pain slowly evaporated, so did her anguish, and she was quickly up on her feet in one fluid motion.
Standing in the middle of the kitchen, she could see a sliver of light shining through the front door window. In her undergarments, Cindy dominated her surroundings. Her muscles twitched showing a lean and muscular body in the narrow beam of light that reflected off her still and wet figure.
Strong willed and unwavering, she stood and studied her primary exit: the front door. Cautiously she stepped forward. She could see that there were only a few quick steps to the entryway. The living room was all that separated the kitchen from her freedom. The thunder was sounding from the east as the storm was moving away.
Cindy closed her eyes. She could see Jacob. In a split-second decision she rushed forward, and just as she was passing through the entryway to the living room, her antagonist lurched from around the corner. One hand was holding his stomach and the other hand swung around with the gun pointing at Cindy’s face.
She moved decisively to the side just as the gun went off beside her head. The barrel was too close to her right ear. She felt the burning discharge from the blast and a deafening bang that slammed on her eardrum and caused it to rupture. The pain was excruciating, and her hair caught fire.
Desperately she grabbed a handful of her hair with her right hand to quash the flame before it spread out of control. With her left hand she took hold of the barrel of the gun that was still in Odekirk’s hand. Just as she grasped the pistol, it burst once more with a bullet exiting out the kitchen window. Even though it was hot to the touch, she was able to hold on and pull down, ramming her knee into the brute’s stab wound. Odekirk cried out in agonizing pain. He yanked back the gun and fell into the kitchen on one knee.
Jacob screamed with torment from outside, “Cindy!” The agonizing voice of her boyfriend sent a chill through her body.
Cindy saw her opportunity, and she took it. She darted towards the front door. As she opened it and exited the front of her house, she knew she was being pursued.
“Cindy!” Jacob cried out again as he was running around the corner from the side of the building at full bore with rifle in hand.
Jacob’s feet splashed through the small flood that flowed through the yard as he held his rifle. In a smooth and flowing motion with one hand, he cocked the rifle with the lever-action.
A bullet in the chamber and ready for use, he tossed the weapon, butt end first, to Cindy who was on the porch. Catching the gun with both hands, she swiftly turned to her attacker and unloaded a round into the house. With determination, she maintained her attack. In quick succession she worked the lever action of her rifle, unloading all four rounds into the dark house.
Moonlight was now breaking through the cloud cover and Cindy noticed the motion of a man standing in the darkness with pistol in hand.
Rotating the gun around and holding the piece by the barrel, she stepped back inside. She swung the hard wooden end in an upward motion like a battle-axe. She smacked Odekirk solidly under his jaw. His head snapped back, his muscles relaxed, and he dropped unbending to the ground. As his two hundred-pound body fell, his weight caused a leg to break with a loud snap.
Cindy stared into Odekirk’s vacant face and said, “You were dead the minute you stepped into my house.”
Jacob said, “Cindy?”
She turned, let go of the rifle and ran to him.
Rushing into each other’s arms, Jacob noticed blood coming from her ear. “Are you okay?” he asked. His hands held her wet face.
“I think so.” She touched her neck and wiped some blood and looked at her fingers. “He blew out my eardrum,” she replied.
“I’ll never leave you alone like that again. I promise," he said as he grabbed and pulled her close to his chest.
“He underestimated me.” She sighed.
“He won’t be doing that again anytime soon, or ever, for that matter. And where in the world did you learn to take care of yourself like that?”
Cindy looked into his face and said, “Your father taught me.”
“I wonder why I didn’t learn anything.”
With a grin, and holding her ear, she said, “You, my dear, were too busy falling in love with me.”
Jacob gripped her arms tightly and kissed her.
Ch 3
Frank Savage rode his horse aside his friend and colleague, Derek Wright. They had been riding for three hours when they came across the small town of Sabotage. The sun set atop a cloudless blue sky, and it was a calm crisp spring day. They were beginning to see the outskirts of their destination. Frank watched the wisps of clouds as they rolled over the tops of the roofs of the dirty brown structures of Sabotage. It wasn’t an official city, not anymore. It was an abandoned village. It had grimy dilapidated wooden structures that might have one day grown into a town if the railroad had not sidestepped around it.
Working their way slowly into the deserted hamlet, they kept their horses abreast of each other. The two cowboys had always worked well together. Frank, at one time, was a counterpart of Derek’s.
Frank was trying to move away from his violent past. In his attempt to start a normal quiet life, he bought a store with a nice elderly couple in North Fork. After the store was up and running, he received a telegram from his old boss. It informed him that his friend and old partner, Derek, was beginning a new mission, and Savage was needed. Derek’s new assignment required Frank’s presence to establish a foothold on the case.