Sipping Whiskey in a Shallow Grave (18 page)

The herd was bunching up. Ira and Edwin waded their horses through the cattle and sided up next to Casey. Between the three of them, they could block the width of the road. To Edwin, this was like watching a water tank fill up. The cows kept coming around the corner but there was nowhere for them to go.

“Like holding back the ocean,” Edwin said.

“You can't hold the
ocean
,” Ira told him. “It's all watery.”

Casey hoped Steve and Rufe would figure out what was going on, and keep the cattle from turning up the road towards Ward. After going to all the trouble to avoid that town, Casey would hate to have to search for strays up there.  If the McGonkins could just hold them in Spring Gulch until the road cleared, things would work out.

Coming around from the opposite side of the stagecoach, Bill Ewing, Ned, Poqito and Caverango filed out on foot. Bill glanced around curiously. He saw Casey, Edwin and Ira holding back the herd. The cows moaned and lowed, swishing their tails.

“Told you I herd beeves,” Bill Ewing told Ned.

 

Chapter 35

 

Edwin was annoyed. His hat was gone. His scalp was sunburnt. And LG kept ribbing him about everything from girls to grizzly bears. Now all these cows were bunched up, noisy, and all he could smell was cow stink.

“Gotta get
through
here,” Edwin called to Bill, raising his voice above the lowing. “Move that damn wagon!”
 

Bill turned to look at Ned, and Ned raised his eyebrows.

There was something about their demeanor that made Casey uneasy. The four of them lined up in a row. Casey twisted around in his saddle so he could face them better and wondered where LG went.

“You deaf? I said move that damn thing!” Edwin shouted again.

Casey gave the boy a stern look, but he did not notice. Edwin had taken to squinting since he lost his hat.

It made Edwin mad that LG took the herd through Spring Gulch. They could have trailed right down the canyon through Ward — it would have been twice as fast and Edwin could have bought a new hat in town. Plus he would not have to put up with Ira's constant fears about a grizzly bear that did not exist. But Edwin did not have a new hat. And he had to squint all day. And now these dummies were blocking the road.

“That's quite brazen,” Ned said to Bill.

“Certainly is,” Bill replied. “
Quite
brazen.”
 

Poqito and Caverango stood there quietly, staring darkly at the cowmen of the B-Cross-C.

“Hey, little turnip. Recognize this fella?” Bill asked Edwin. “This here is Ned Tunstall.”

“Ain't heard of him and don't care to,” Edwin replied. “Ain't no
turnip
!”
 

Casey had a Colt .45 in the middle of his coat, which was unfortunately tied in a roll behind him. He started thinking about it. He noticed all four of these men wore gunbelts. All of them. Didn't Edwin see that? Maybe if he saw they were wearing guns he would shut his mouth so things wouldn't get worse and they could get their cattle down the mountain. Denver was still a fair distance away.

Ira sat his horse, listening, shaking his head. He twisted the end of his droopy mustache. He liked Edwin for the most part. The boy was mouthy and had a salty tongue, of course, but sometimes Ira thought that was pretty funny — since the kid had a pudgy baby face. Without a hat, Edwin looked about twelve years old. Ira smiled to himself and barely held back a chuckle. A twelve year old with a salty tongue! What a thought. Of course, the kid was older than that, Ira knew. But the thought still made him want to chuckle.

 “Ain't heard of Ned Tunstall?” Bill wondered. “Well…if I'm being honest, that don't surprise me none. Ned ain't his proper given name.”

“Then why'd you say it, like I'd know?” Edwin said.

Casey cleared his throat. The boy heard it and looked over. Casey had a sour look on his face.

“Most folks know me as Charley Crouse,” Ned announced and tipped his hat.

Edwin did not know a Ned Tunstall or who Charley Crouse was. However, seeing Casey's scowl made him wonder if he should — since Casey never scowled at anyone. Edwin hesitated.

“Charley Crouse cut the guts out of the Speckled Nigger,” Bill explained. “Speckled Nigger ran the ferry on the Green River up on the far end of Brown's Park. Heard of Brown's Park, turnip?”

“I was drunk,” Ned said in his defense.

 

Chapter 36

 

LG was stuck under the tree. Specter refused to take another step. It turned out he did not like enclosed places, nor did he like the sound of pine cones crunching under his feet. The horse stood stock still, no matter how many times LG jabbed his spurs in the gelding's side. This was especially embarrassing since LG prided himself on being a top hand. He hoped Casey and the boys had not noticed his predicament.

Bill's voice carried. LG heard everything as plain as day. Things were going south back there and here he was, stuck under a tree. He edged out his .44 caliber Colt Army pistol and looked at it. It was an old gun — the cap and ball style. He hoped it would fire properly. Or fire at all for that matter. With Edwin mouthing off like that, it sounded like he was going to need it. The .44 was his father's gun. He had been a lieutenant in the Confederate army. But, his father was dead now, and LG carried it mainly as a family heirloom. Since the Indians were beaten — Geronimo had surrendered just last year — the only thing LG needed a handgun for these days was for show.

“What's goin' on, Casey?”

That was Steve's voice. LG twisted around, trying to see through the pine needles. He could barely make out Steve — both he and Rufe were trying to get around the bluff but the cattle were in the way. The cows were bunched up so tight, a horse could not even get through.

From up on top of the stagecoach, LG heard someone shuffle around. Rising up in his stirrups, LG pushed his head slowly through the branches. Sure enough, there was someone on top of the coach. The man had a Winchester and was clearly trying to sneak into a good shooting position without being noticed.

Well, this is it, LG thought. Hope this fool horse don't buck, bolt or slip. He knew the .44 was loud as a cannon and didn't know how Specter would take to it. Probably not well.

 

Chapter 37

 

Steve could not believe his eyes. The herd was backed up like water in a dam — and cows were still coming, one after the next. Well, Steve thought, this was a pickle. At least half the herd was still strung out in the gulch, and Lee and Davis had no idea the road was blocked.

The McGonkin brothers had gotten tired of riding drag. Earlier in the morning, they swapped positions with Lee and Davis. Of course, trailing cattle through springtime mountain grass was not nearly as dusty as taking them across the dry prairies below the Front Range. Steve had done that more than once in his time, and being downwind of two thousand cattle was not his favorite chore. He mainly wanted to trade out of the drags before they got down there. Once they made it onto the plains, whoever was on drag would be breathing dirt and stink all the way to the railyards. Despite setting the herd into a stampede, and he felt bad about that, Steve had no intention of riding drag if he could help it.

Then he noticed there was someone on top of the stagecoach. The man had a rifle and was bringing it up at that very moment. Steve could not tell exactly who he had it trained on, Casey, Edwin or Ira — it was hard to tell. Reaching down to his rifle scabbard as fast as he could, Steve pulled out his own Winchester. He sat up straight and chambered a round.

“Dry-gulch!” he yelled, and fired.

The shot hit the top part of the coach and scattered wood chips everywhere. Too low, Steve thought to himself. He watched Bill, Ned and the two Mexicans duck when they felt wood chips sprinkle down on their hats. Steve knew his rifle sights were off. He wished he had taken the time to properly sight the gun when he had the luxury. Now he knew he had to aim high. Steve locked in another round.

On the rooftop, Lem got on one knee so he could aim better. He liked to take a good moment and aim so as not to waste a shot. He was pretty frugal with his shots. He even took a deep breath and exhaled purposefully before he fired. He knew he got Steve because the man flopped in the saddle and his rifle fell on the ground. There it is, Lem said to himself, and smiled. Take a good moment, no matter what is going on. Breathe in and ease it out. Otherwise you might waste a round. And why waste a shot when all it takes is a moment to clear your mind?

 

Chapter 38

 

Bill flinched at both shots, but was pleased when he saw blood spray up from Steve McGonkin's shoulder. Lem was an accurate long-range shot and Bill was glad he brought him along. Lem had been up in Leadville working for Big Ed Burns until December, which was when Bill rode through.

One night, they got to talking. Even though Lem was part of Big Ed's gang, he did not enjoy being penned up in the city with the rest of them. Lem was a marksman, he told Bill. He needed open, quiet spaces.

Leadville was neither open nor quiet. It was busy, full of smoke from the big smelters, and overrun with chattery starry-eyed miners. Sitting around a dank bordello in Leadville was what Big Ed cared to do, not Lem — so Bill mentioned if he'd like to come along. Lem did want to come along,
much obliged
he said. Bill was pleased. He liked to have at least one man on his crew that knew how to shoot a rifle spot on.

Rufe grabbed his brother's horse by the reins and dragged him back around the rocky bluff, out of sight. Bill sighed softly. Trying
not
to kill people seemed like a good thought back in Grand Lake, when the chips were down. But the circumstances had changed. So Bill pulled out his .45, took two big steps toward Edwin and shot him out of the saddle.

Edwin rolled backwards onto his bay's hindquarters. He slipped off and fell on top of the cows, his arms flinging around. The cows bawled loudly at the sound of all the gunshots — and their eyes got even wider when Edwin landed on top of them. He slid off and disappeared without making a sound.

Bill decided to just work on down the line. He pointed at Ira next and fired.

Like a winter wind, Ira's hat blew off in an upward draft. An upper chunk of his skull came off with it. Ira was a tall man. He swayed funny, then slowly buckled forward over his saddle horn.

Casey was shocked. He tore open his coat roll, got a hold of his .45 and took a shot at Bill. He missed and hit the stagecoach instead. Ned flinched, since it had come close to hitting his head. On impulse, Ned drew and fired back at Casey.

The cattle erupted. None of them liked the sound of the shots and they tried to get away from the gunfire. But the only way to go was back up the road. The embankment was too steep on the upslope, and on the other side was the ravine.

 

Chapter 39

 

Pressing his .44 caliber through the pine needles, LG held his arm out straight so he would not miss. He was close enough to begin with and the coach was not all that wide, but LG wanted to make sure. He stretched and pressed the barrel against Lem's kidney and pulled the trigger. Lem was too busy leveling his rifle to realize LG was right there. The man's torso shook with the impact, and he flew right off the coach top.

Specter immediately lunged forward. Between the narrow tree tunnel, the pine cones crunching underfoot and the gun going off in his ears, Specter had had enough. Somehow LG managed to stay on his horse. He almost got raked off by the thick pine branches, but hung onto the saddle horn.

“Whoa!” LG shouted.

Specter bolted down the stage road, past the coach and the mules hitched to the singletree.

LG knew he would have a bear of a time getting that horse to walk under another tree ever again. He made a grab for the reins. Specter slowed to a prancy walk, and LG glanced back up the road as he got the horse under control.

The mules were standing in their traces, watching. Bitty had her ears up. One was pointed at Specter, and the other was pointed back toward all the gunshots. But Bitty was a good mule. She had been used to guns going off. That was part of her training — after all, Ian Mitchell always carried a scattergun on the driving seat.

The other mules were just as calm. Even Buckshay stood quietly, though he pinned his ears at Bitty out of habit. The coach had been sitting in one place for too long, in Buckshay's opinion.

There was really nowhere to go, but Casey popped his reins and kicked like crazy. Ira had been sitting right next to him, and Casey knew he was going to get shot next if he didn't move immediately. He ran his bay straight over Bill, knocking him flat on the ground. Poqito, Caverango and Ned scattered out of his way.

Casey turned and headed back towards the herd, hoping to find a gap now that the cows were moving. But there were not any gaps. The cattle were still pressed together, wiggling to get past each other and escape up the road. However, in their frenzy, they were locked up tight.

Casey heard Bill yell:

“Gone up the flume!”

A tuft of fabric popped up from Casey's shoulder and blood flecked his face. He didn't even feel it. Casey leaned over the saddle as low as he could. His horse Boot Sock whinnied, and both Dark Bay and Berry Picker whinnied back. The horses were trying to find a way out, too. Since they had nowhere to go either, Poqito and Caverango ran up and grabbed their reins.

Casey whirled around, taking it all in. No place to go. He edged his horse near the side of the road and looked down into the ravine. The slope was far too steep to get down — at least on a horse.

Everything felt so slow to Casey — his horse's black mane, waving; the rasp of his own breathing; the jostling cattle and the swaying treetops. Like water in a well, Casey heard the hollow clop of hooves and hide shushing against hide.