Split Trails Ranch

The crew, all twelve of us, bellied up to the bar. We watched them through the mirror, as they talked and mumbled to themselves. One of them finally got up and stood behind me.

"You stole our horses, you bastard!"

I turned around, looking him over. He was young, too young for the life he was leading. He fancied himself with a gun, I could tell by the way he wore them low on his hips. I grinned.

"Accusing a man of being a horsetheif is mighty serious business, youngster. I could shoot you out of hand and no one would say a word. You want to tell me why you think I got your horses?"

"We saw them in the corral, asshole."

"Oh, now besides being a horse thief I'm an asshole. I must be a pretty horrible person. How can you stand to talk to me? If you're referring to those horses I picked up on the trail, I turned them over to the Captain, telling him somebody might be by to claim them. He seemed mighty interested in a couple of the brands, though. I hope you got your bills of sale."

This conversation wasn't going anywhere near the youngster wanted it ot go. He figured he'd be standing over my dead body right about now, but I had kept my hands clear of my guns. "Why don't you go on over and fetch your horses. I'm sure you got places to be. Let's say I did take your horses. If I did, it was for your own good. You were about to do something that would not turn out well for any of you. So you got sore feet, big deal. At least the buzzards and skunks ain't stripping your carcass, which is what would have happened if you'd caught up with us. Consider it doing you a favor and saving you from yourselves."

My crew had fanned out, putting a little space between each other. Brad was by the end of the bar, his everpresent shotgun lying on the counter. The crew the kid was with were caught sitting down, and most of them knew they'd be dead before they could get their guns out. One called out to the boy.

"Let it go, kid. They got us boxed. There's always another day."

"Like hell I will!"

I have to say, he was damn fast but it seemed I was faster. What he didn't expect was me stepping forward just like I did with Jack, covering the short distance between us before he could bring the pistol to bear. I grabbed his hand and bent it until everyone in the bar heard the crack. Screaming with pain, he went for the other pistol, so I broke the other wrist, tossing his weapons across the room.

"You got sand kid. I think, though, it might be a long time before you can brace another man with a gun. It might be never. You should think seriously about another line of work."

I looked at the others. "We're walking out of here now. If you try to follow us, we'll go to the ridges and pick you off one by one. You might take a message back to Butch Kramer for me. I'm coming for him. He's got until I get back to my ranch and gather the rest of my boys. Just so you know, there won't be any talking. We'll kill you where we find you. Understood?"

The men nodded. The youngster, who had been sobbing with pain, looked up and grinned. "You ain't got a crew, not no more. Butch and the Preacher decided to pay your ranch a little visit. They're probably shacked up in that big house right now, enjoying those stuck up bitches. I just wish I was there instead of here. I always wanted me a redhead."

The world slowed. My vision narrowed, and I could hear my heartbeat. I didn't realize it, but my crew had their weapons in their hands, thinking about the women who had fed them, clothed them, taught them to dance. They were probably thinking of my daughters, their laughter as they joked with them, the cookies, sandwiches, and lemonade they brought them when they were thirsty and hungry. If ever anybody looked into the eyes of death, it was that bunch, and they knew it.

"Shut up kid! We don't know that for sure. He's just talkin', mister."

Before he knew it, I had my Remington out, crossed the room, and put the barrel to his balls. He looked like he was going to throw up. "You want to keep them shriveled up balls, you'll start talking right now. If you don't, I won't kill you, but you won't be a man anymore. If fact, if somebody don't speak up, I geld the lot of you before I leave."

Carlos was grinning, a wicked looking knife at the crotch of the youngster. The man with my barrel to his balls couldn't talk fast enough. "Butch thought it would be a good idea to hit the ranch while you was gone, burn it down, kill or take the women with him. Thought he could get you to agree to a lot to get them back. Maybe even sign over the whole ranch. We ain't with him because we won't attack women and children. That's why he sent us after you."

"When was he going to attack?"

The man paled, knowing what my response would be when he told me. "Three days ago."

I pulled the pistol back, noting the man immediately reached for his crotch and covered it with his hands. Yeah, that would have helped.

"We're leavin' now. If any of us see any of you on this range again you'll be dead. If we catch you alive we will geld you, stick a hot knife to the wound, and let you go. Understand?"

He couldn't nod fast enough. The youngster, getting brave because Carlos had pulled the knife back, mouthed off. "I''m going back. Butch promised me that little blond spitfire, and I'm going to enjoy breakin' her in."

He knew as soon as he said it he'd just killed himself. The word about what I'd done to the first asshole to threaten Jess, how I'd shot his head almost off and dragged his carcass over twenty miles had made the rounds of range gossip quickly.The knife in Carlos's hand flashed, and he fell to the floor screaming, trying to stem the flow of blood from his crotch with his broken hands. Carlos snarled something in Spanish, and Brad was glad to translate.

"He said it would be interesting to see you try anything with a woman now, you little bitch." I looked down, noticing the severed end of his cock lying in the sawdust. The Captain rushed in about then with half his troopers.

"Can't talk, Captain, gotta go. See you next year."

"Hold on there! Somebody needs to tell me what the hell is going on here!"

"Ask the bitch lying on the floor. I have to go, and go now. You wanna charge me with anything, you can do it after I'm done with what I have to do."

We still had our weapons in our hands. The six troopers were holding their single shot carbines, their pistols still fastened in their holsters. The Captain wisely let us go. Two minutes later all he heard was the thunder of hooves.

We found out later that after he got the story from the bystanders, he immediately dispatched forty men under a lieutenant. Not to arrest me, but for support. They had a snowball's chance in hell of catching us. We had a full remuda, and we would ride for six hours, change horses, and ride six more, all at a full gallop. We rode eighteen hours before we stopped for six, letting the horses rest while we ate and napped. Not one hand complained, hitting the saddle when I did.

We made the ten day trip in four and a half. I topped the rise to see the house still standing. We all breathed a sigh of relief that turned to horror as we got closer. We found Long Tom first, on a ridge above the bath house. It must have been a hell of a fight, judging from the empty shells. He died with his rifle in one hand and a pistol in the other, both empty. He had a paper in his breast pocket. "Did the best I could. Give Sunshine my rifle. Let Shadow have my knife."

Sunshine was his nickname for Jessica, Shadow for Sabrina. I started growing cold. His position wasn't one to cover the ranch. I looked around to see what he was defending, and my eyes fell on the bath house. I was in the saddle at a gallop before the others knew.

I counted six bodies as I approached. Two had been killed with head shots, just a lump above their shoulders. I knew what could cause that damage. A .410 shotgun loaded with slugs. The rest had bullet wounds, small holes in their chests and head. Jessica's little rifle. The door to the bath house was open, and I leapt through, both pistols at the ready. There were three more bodies in the changing room. One's head was a mess but not quite blown off, Sabrina must have been down to birdshot by then. The other two had at least two holes each. They were probably using pistols by now. The concrete floor of the bathhouse was covered in blood, but it was empty. There was huge ache in my heart as I came out, to see the hands ringed around in a defensive formation. We rode slowly down to the ranch, expecting the worst.

I almost fell off the horse when Claire stepped out on the porch. It was plain to see she was in shock, but she shrugged, and gave me a smile. "I'm most pleased to see you, future husband." I was off the horse and holding her in my arms as she swooned from relief. Paris came out, a bloody bandage on her arm, and helped me get her back inside. We lay her on the fainting couch, me thinking for the first time how aptly it was named.

"How bad?"

Tears started as she bathed her sister's head with a cool cloth. "I'll let her tell you the details. Bud's gone. Sissy died standing over him with a shotgun in her hands. Jack, Shorty, and Blackie were in the house with us when the shooting started. All gone to their Maker."

She stopped and sobbed once, rubbing her eyes fiercely, trying to hold herself together. "Courtney's gone, dying in her sewing room while she was fetching cloth for bandages. For once her aim was true, though, and she got her killer."

My head was swimming but I forced mself to ask. "Jess and Sabrina?"

"Sabrina's here. We found her in the bath house after the fighting stopped. She'd been shot in the side, but I guess Jessica managed to get her bandaged. I think they thought she was dead and left her. She's lost a lot of blood, but I think she's going to recover."

She stopped, tears dripping dowm her cheeks. "They took...they took Jessica. Sabrina told us when she woke up for a bit. You have to go get her, Zeke, you have to."

I looked her in the eyes and made a promise. "I will, Paris. I'll get her back if I have to move heaven and earth, and kill every outlaw west of the Mississippi. Where's Henri?"

"She's resting. She was hit in the shoulder, but it didn't hit bone. She'll be sore for a while, but she'll recover."

Carlos was listening, and when he heard she'd gotten shot, he ran from the room. She put her hand on my shoulder. "Claire's in shock, I think. She held us together, organized the defense. I don't think she slept a wink for the whole three days we fought. She's been just going through the motions since the fight."

Claire woke up, realized I was really there, and let out a scream like a wounded animal, crying herself to sleep again. Brad came in with a report. Bill was shot up, but would probably pull through. He was on the range and saw them coming, and killed a horse getting back to warn the girls. "With all of us gone on the drive and at line camps, there was only eight hands when they attacked. You got Bill and Scholar left. And Sonny, but he took off after them as soon as they were gone. He took that Sharps with him."

Scholar was a man of education. He often sat on the porch with us and debated weighty things with the girls. Most of it went over my head, but I enjoyed listening. I think he came from money and he never seemed to be broke. My guess is he liked the lifestyle. I walked out to the porch and rolled a cirarette. I rarely smoked, but it seemed the time to me. Scholar saw me and climbed up the steps to the porch, sitting wearily in one of the swings.

He paused, collecting his thoughts. "It was a hell of a fight, Zeke. Bill gave us all time to get ready. The girls went through the house dropping shotguns at strategic locations, along with shells. Claire went upstairs with her rifle, taking Shorty with her. The rest were behind heavy furniture, shotguns at the ready. Kramer must have been going for shock, because he thundered into the yard with about thirty riders, hailing the house."

"Ya'll come on out now, and no one gets hurt. We just want you to be our guests for a while, to make that hardheaded man of yours a little more reasonable."

They had agreed to not give away Claire's position, so Paris answered. "As kind as your offer is, sir, I'm afraid we choose to stay here."

"Be reasonable now! If you don't, I'll come in and get you, and your stay won't be nearly as pleasant. For you anyway. My boys don't get in to town much, and are craving female compansionship pretty bad."

"So then, if we go willingly you won't rape us? You can guarantee that?"

"Several of the outlaws laughed, and Butch changed his attitude."

"You'll take what we do to you and not complain. I'm running out of patience. If you ain't out in thirty seconds, I'm coming in to get you!"

The only thing that saved Kramer was the man beside of him getting anxious and moving his horse forward a little. The bullet Claire meant for him got the other rider instead. It went through him and lodged in Kramer's shoulder. The rest of the girls and the hands had been waiting for the shot, and they opened up with the shotguns. Six horses and riders went down, and only one got up. Kramer, realizing they were sitting ducks, called for them to pull back. Claire managed to get one more before they got out of range.

He tried one more charge later. He didn't know the hands had stretched two ropes between the house and the bunkhouse. They hadn't fired the first time to make the outlaws think they were all in the house, and when the came thundering through they pulled the first rope, catching the horses and sending men flying. Then they pulled the second rope, boxing them in. Ten shotguns opened up, with more loaded at their feet ready to go. They killed another five and no one knows how many they wounded before they got through the rope."

Paris came out, bringing Scholar a shot of whiskey and continuing the tale.

"After that, it was potshots all times of the day and night, to wear us down, I think. Claire made us sleep in shifts. If you're tired enough, you can sleep through gunfire and the sound of glass breaking. We were keeping them at bay, but it was costing us. Henri got hit. She couldn't use a shotgun so she went to the pistols. Two days later they had finally had enough, sneaking up on foot in the dark. We managed to see them and get two shots off before they were on us. They weren't dumb enough to try the doors, so they jumped through the windows. By then there wasn't enough of us to cover all of them, so some got in."

She sighed, reliving the nightmare. "After that, it was room to room. Courtney and Blackie were upstairs, fetching bandages for our wounded when three men burst in. Blackie got one, and Courtney got another. The last one shot her dead center, but Blackie managed another shot, wounding him. He staggered out of the room and right into the shotguns of me and Claire. Courtney died in Claire's arms, while I stood guard. Claire got up, took Courtney's pistol and reloaded it, then pulled hers. She was like the Angel of Death, going room to room, killing everyone. I followed along with both shotguns, dropping each when they were empty and pulling my pistol. Henri had killed the man that wounded her, and fell into step with us, four pistols stuck in her belt. She'd empty one and drop it."

I think the sight of three bloodied women screaming like banshees and shooting everything that moved broke their nerve and the few who were left ran. There were maybe four riders left, the rest lay on the porch and in the house. Scholar came out of the bunkhouse, telling me Bill was in bad shape. He'd been hit three times and was still shooting when he passed out. He's hurt bad, Zeke, I don't know if he'll make it, but he's tough."

Paris finally wound down and collapsed from exhaustion. We went through the house, dragging bodies out. Eight outlaws were in the house, nine more in the yard. If they came with thirty men, they left with less than half, and many were wounded. It was a costly effort for Butch Kramer.

We stripped the bodies of their weapons and anything they had in their pockets, dragged them to a ravine about a mile from the house, and tossed them in. It was all the burial they deserved.

I was saddling up to go after them when Brad stopped me. "Wait a day. The men need rest, but if you go now they'll be right behind you. They're killin' mad right now, and they want blood. Let's take them into action clear eyed and rested. Jessica will be all right, they'll know better than to harm her, she's their only bargaining chip. We'll get her back, brother. And they'll pay. They don't know it yet, but they don't get to go to hell. Hell is coming to them."

It killed me, but it made sense. It was good we waited, because the troopers showed up that afternoon. They just sat there, looking at us. Finally the Lt. asked us a question. "Where'd all them bodies come from?"

They'd seen the vultures and sent a scout to investigate. When he got back they changed course to look.

"My family and hands killed them."

"You ain't going to give them a Christian burial?" I looked at the trooper and he averted his eyes. "I doubt seriously any of that lot were Christians. If it bothers you, have at it. Just make sure you don't dig a grave on my property. I'd hate to insult the land by burying filth on it."

"How far to your property line?"

"I pointed back the way they came. "About a day's ride in that direction, two in that one, three and a half that way, 'bout four days and a half in the other."

"You expect us to drag them that far?"

"I do if you want to bury them."

The Lt. had been listening. He finally spoke up. "You got a wagon we can borry?"

I shrugged. "Buckboard's in the shed there. The boys will show you the horses you need."

He detailed the speaker and three troopers to go collect the bodies and transport them off the ranch. The corporal who'd asked to bury them wanted to know if I could identify them.

"I shore can. They're a murderin' bunch that attacks women and children. That's about as much as I want to know. We got their personal stuff piled up in the barn. Maybe you can find enough names to form a common marker. Might as well take it all. I was going to extend the courtesy of informing their families of their death if I could find them, but you can do it."

"I'll need to make a report."

I looked at the Lt. "Make it then. I ask that you don't make my women go through the memory of trying to tell you. Besides, they got my daugther. We're leaving at first light to find her and finish this. I will tell you that when we find them, surrender will not be an option. If you want to tag along to pick up their bodies, that's your choice."

I finally offended him. He sat up ramrod straight on his horse. "I think that with my military expertise I should..."

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

"This is a private matter. The military need not concern themselves with it. If you want to go along you can, but you may not interfere with our plans. We clear here?"

He finally let his outrage show. "I'll have you and your men arres..."

That was all he got out before my hands had their pistols out. Another corporal spoke up. "You need to think this through, sir. These men are a salty lot. You know what happened to the man at the post. They've lost their friends, their family, their ridin' partners. I doubt anything you say will deter them from their purpose. You ain't been out here long, sir, and these men have gained a reputation since Mr. Walters took over. You mess with one, from the newest hand to the boss, and they all come after you. They don't tolerate a lot, sir. Maybe we should try to work together here."

"Your man is right," Brad said as he lowered his shotgun. "If you want, come along, but we're ridin' far and fast and we won't wait if you can't keep up. Now rest, feed your horses, get a good meal in you. We'll talk tomorrow, after the funerals."