The Cassidy Posse (28 page)

Mike smacked the horse’s rump with his free hand trying to coax it out of the valley. No use providing a stationary target for the man on the hill. If it was the crazy Texan with Luke’s old buffalo gun, he was not an expert marksman with it. Why he was so set on killing them would be another question. The assassin, whoever he was, did seem to be focusing on Butch. He had heard there was a fifty dollar bounty for every rustler a regulator killed whose name was on the list. It did not seem the risk here was worth it. Maybe the Sundance Kid was right. Maybe Butch had slept with the wrong man’s wife.

His speculations were cut short by a huge slug of lead that bore into his horse right in front of Mike’s knee. It ripped the heart out of the animal causing it to flop over dead in midstride. Mike was unable to get his foot out of the stirrup fast enough to keep his leg from being trapped under the dead horse. He held up his hands to shield himself from a shower of blood that rose from the animal’s side like a fountain. He pushed up on the saddle horn but could produce no leverage with his right leg underneath the body. He tried pushing with his left foot on the saddle and dragging the pinned leg out. If he were wearing his police shoes, he might have been able to slip his foot out, but the work boots Mary had given him would not allow it. After a few more minutes of struggling, he laid back on the ground, exhausted.

He heard a rider approaching and tried to hold himself up to see over the body of the dead horse. He could only get glimpses of the man as he came at him from the west with the sun at his back. All he could make out was two horses. One was big and black. It moved like Jack’s stallion. When the identity of the rider occurred to him, it was too late.

“I been lookin’ for you for a long time,” announced Kid Del Rio, as he shoved one of Jack’s fancy revolvers in Mike’s face.

“I think yuh got the wrong fella,” said Mike, raising his left hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The holster that held his .38 service revolver had shifted out of reach and was pressing against the small of his back. He knew he was in a very bad spot. This man was going to kill him. What he didn’t know was why. He had to keep his mind working and not freeze up. Police training. Keep them talking. The Texan looked very proud. Very satisfied. He probably really wanted to tell him about it before he killed him.

“Why would yuh want to be shootin’ me? Yuh shouldn’t be wastin’ your bullets shooting the wrong man.”

“Oh, I got the right man alright,” smiled the Kid. “Big time Chicago police detective. You don’t look so big now.”

“I got no fight with yuh. Hell, I dun’t even know yuh. How did yuh know I was uh police detective?”

“Oh, Mr. Simms from Chicago filled me in about you. If your gonna kill a man for money, it’s best ta know what your up against.”

“Who would put uh bounty on my head?”

“Some very important folks in Chicago have paid a lot of money to make sure you don’t ever come back. They’ll get you wrote off as another unfortunate victim of the invasion.”

“Well, just dun’t leave me hangin’,” pleaded Mike. “Who are they? You can tell me that before I die, can’t yuh?”

The Kid started to reply but became aware he had talked too much already. He glanced up the hill to his right to see the whereabouts of the two cowboys who were cutting behind him.

“Enough talk, lawman,” said the Kid, cocking the single action Colt. “Prepare to meet your maker.”

Mike was amazed at the number of details of his life that flashed through his mind in his last seconds: his childhood, his mother, and Mary, with her raven black hair and mysterious dark eyes, looked at him for the last time.

In the valley below, Butch Cassidy worked the lever action of his Winchester and swung into position to take one desperate shot at Kid Del Rio. He had been keeping his head buried, expecting the next shot to come in his direction again. When he heard the report of the big gun and no lead came his way, he and Sean warily poked their heads up from the protection of the creek bank. By that time, Kid Del Rio was standing over the fallen Mike with a gun in his hand that sparkled in the bright sunlight. As Butch stared down the barrel of his Winchester, he pondered the irony of this situation. He had been an outlaw for several years and had always avoided killing anyone. Admittedly, it had not been easy. On a few occasions, it had taken all the bullshit and bravado he could muster to get out of gunfights. Now he was on the right side of the law and he had to kill a man. He had to or Mike would be dead. He quickly judged the effect of the westerly breeze and the elevation of the hill. He aimed high and slightly to the right. It was a shot of over three hundred yards. It was an improbable shot with a Winchester. He had hit a deer from this distance once. Only once. It was a lucky shot. This time it was for a man’s life. Butch slid his forefinger down and pulled the trigger, hoping Lady Luck would be with him again. Unexpectedly, Kid Del Rio pitched forward in a heap onto the body of the dead horse.

“Yep, me and my pardoner Slim here, we been trackin’ this varmint for quite a spell now,” said the short, energetic cowboy as he looked down from his saddle at the prostrate body of Kid Del Rio.

“He was a murderer and a thief,” chimed in the laconic Slim, the smoking Sharps rifle still cradled in his arm.

“We got papers on him and everything,” Little Jake assured them as he waved around a white piece of paper for an instant and quickly returned it to his pocket. “He stole that horse for sure. The whole rig, the saddle and saddle bags too.”

“That was one hell of a shot,” marveled Butch. “I fired at the same time and I thought I got him, but a Winchester didn’t make that hole.”

“Use ta shoot one of these big fifties,” said Slim as he handed the weapon over to Butch. “Hell of a good gun.”

“Yep, ole Slim is one hell of a shooter,” Little Jake conceded. “Army sharpshooter back in the Indian Wars.”

Mike grasped the dead man by the back of his coat and flipped him over. The Sharp’s exit had blown a hole in the front of his chest that a man could put his fist in. He grabbed the corpse by the hair and pulled the head up, the dead eyes staring towards heaven. “What I need tuh know is who is this sonavabitch?”

“Calls himself Kid Del Rio. He’s a Texas gunman,” said Little Jake. “He was a real hard case hired by them damn regulators over yonder.” He motioned towards the embattled invasion force whose sporadic gunfire had become so commonplace they no longer noticed it.

“He answers to the description of a guy named Billy Fayre wanted for killing two men in a bar down on the Rio Grande,” said Slim.

Elzy and Sundance pulled their horses out of a gallop as they approached the grim scene.

“Damn, look at the hole in him,” said Elzy.

“He’s been well ventilated, boys,” Butch assured them. “Dumb sonavabitch left that Sharps up on the hill with the cartridges laying right beside it. Fell into the hands of a man that knew how to use it.”

“Lucky for you he didn’t know how,” said Sundance, motioning towards the body.

“It weren’t me he was after,” said Butch. “It turns out he was tryin’ to bushwack Mike here. Near as we can figger he was followin’ this.” He stooped down and picked up the Derby hat. “Mike and I look pretty much alike at a distance so he was shootin’at the hat.”

“He give you any clue why he was so set on putting a bullet in you?” asked Elzy.

Mike did not answer immediately. He looked sort of dazed. His near death experience had shaken him, and he was not a man used to being shaken. Lying helplessly on the ground looking down the barrel of a Colt .45 caused a man to examine his whole life in an instant. Then to have the ordeal end suddenly with a bloody body being thrown upon him by the impact of the buffalo gun was appalling. He was still reeling from all the emotions he had experienced in the span of less than a minute.

“He said somethin’ about duh big boys back in Chicago,” he said finally. “I need to get uh hold ov Bockleman. I’m duh pawn fer sure. He mustah known somethin’.”

“There’s a telegraph in Buffalo,” said Elzy. “The regulators tore down the line between here and Casper, but the one going east should be okay.”

“I’d rather talk to him on one of those telly-phones. Less chance the wrong person would pick up the message.”

“The closest one would be in Denver,” said Sundance. “That’s a pretty fair ride from here.”

“Well, gents, I can see yah got other urgent business,” interrupted Little Jake. “Me and Slim are just gonna take this stolen horse and take it back tah its rightful owner.”

“Well, aren’t yah takin’ his body?” asked Butch. “You fellas got to clean up your mess.”

“Yeah, don’t you want to take him back to show you served your warrant?” asked Elzy.

Little Jake and Slim got the message the posse wasn’t buying their warrant story, but were grateful enough that they didn’t care what kind of bullshit they made up.

Unable to resist the urge, Little Jake patted the saddlebags and felt the hard round coins that were still inside as he loaded Billy’s bleeding body over his own horse. No one had noticed Jack coming over the hill with Luke’s body draped over his spavin old nag in a similar fashion.

“Is that crazy sonavabitch dead?” Jack demanded pointing at Kid Del Rio’s bloody corpse. He was stark white and trembling with rage.

“Yeah, he’s dead,” said Mike.

“Got a hole blown clean through him,” said Butch.

Jack started to walk towards the body of Kid Del Rio. His fists were clinched and he had a wild look in his eyes. Mike motioned for Little Jake and Slim to move out. They were only too happy to oblige. Jack stood watching as they climbed the side of the valley, the lifeless corpse trailing behind them. When they had disappeared from view, he turned back to look at Luke’s body lying across his saddle.

“This was all my fault,” he said flatly as he gathered the bony horse’s reins. “I had that bastard right in my…” He did not finish the sentence but held out his hand as if holding an imaginary gun and he could not pull the trigger.

“It wasn’t anybody’s fault, Jack,” Mike tried to assure him, putting a sympathetic arm on his shoulder. Jack dropped to his knees and began to cry.

Butch insisted on accompanying Mike and his prisoner to Buffalo to make sure they got a stagecoach to the nearest railhead in Cheyenne. He admitted he was in no hurry to return to the jail in Evanston. The rest came along out of curiosity. Like the lately deceased Red Alvins, they didn’t want to miss out on this important piece of Wyoming history. All except Jack. He had had enough of the posse and being a lawman. With poor Luke’s body in tow, he had headed back to the Sweetwater country to explain things to the Jacobs family. They tried to give him his ivory-handled Colts back but he refused to take them. They packed them away in his saddlebags in case he ever changed his mind.

The town of Buffalo was a raw nerve of excitement. People hurried to and fro wild-eyed with rumors. The most persistent one was the truth. The regulators had surrendered to a troop of cavalry sent out from Fort McKinney in the middle of the night. Few knew the lofty levels in the political system that were called upon to bring this about. Someone had sent a telegraph to acting Governor Barbour telling him that his wealthy backers from the Cheyenne Club were in a deadly situation. He was able to contact Senators Carry and Warren about the grave danger. The two Wyoming Congressmen went to acting Secretary of War Grant, who had access to the White House. The three men awakened President Benjamin Harrison at 11:05 to apprise him of the insurrection in Johnson County. At 12:05, Colonel Van Horn, the commanding officer at Fort McKinney, received a presidential order to “prevent violence and preserve the peace.” Less than two hours later, troops of the 6
^th
cavalry left Fort McKinney heading towards the TA Ranch. They arrived at the battlefield at sunrise - just in time. The rolling wall of logs had moved dangerously close to the front porch of the ranch house, and the regulators were ready to make what would have been a suicidal break for freedom. Colonel Van Horn separated the combatants. All the weary regulators were hauled back to the fort for their own protection while angry armed citizens shouted insults at them for the length of the 26 mile trip.