Hell's Gate (Ben Blue Book 8) Page 10

  I looked over my shoulder and saw Claybrook and the others coming up… “Don’t worry, Mister Time, I’ve got a pretty tough bunch myself.”

  The shadows were falling, and neither Claybrook nor I wanted to mount an attack that may have us still shooting in the dark. There’d be too much of a chance of them slipping away in the dark.

  We watered the horses and filled our canteens at the reason Hell’s Gate exists. Well back from the cabin there was a spring flowing from a crack in the lower end of the clam shell. Half a wooden barrel was set under it and was constantly full. The overflow ran into a small pond that had been lined with a stone bottom and sides. The overflow from the pond went a short ways and disappeared into the sand.

  “I found that twenty year ago, an it ain’t been dry fer a minute… she just keeps runnin’.” Davis Time told us. “I was gonna sell water for money, but nobody came to buy it ‘cept them Injuns an they ain’t got no money… besides, since then, I took up the hermit persuasion. An who ever heard of a hermit with money?”

  I had little experience with hermits, so I didn’t know if they had money or not. Shad Cain was the closest thing I knew to a hermit, and he had money enough to get by, so I didn’t comment. I just thanked him for the water and commented on his engineering.

  We set up camp on the far side of the shell. We’d be leaving before dawn, and waking up the village dogs and children wasn’t part of our plan. We could get up and slip out in the dark. Claybrook wanted to post men on both sides of their camp and call them out with the daylight. It made sense to me.

  At dusk, Flynn and I rode about three quarters of a mile to the north. We could have easily walked the distance, but I didn’t like the idea of getting that close to that bunch with no quick escape if things went wrong. We led the horses the last quarter mile.

  The overhang the outlaws were using was lower and shallower, but it was wide and seemed wider due to the way the overhang was part of a bulging rock formation. The overhang was at one of those points where the rocks came out and dropped back creating a bend in the trail. Instead of looking like a clam shell, it reminded me of a wide half closed duck’s bill. Someone at some time had dragged up some rocks to make a breastwork of sorts. Someone had used it as a fortress at least once.

  Back in camp, I told Claybrook what we’d seen with the help of a stick and some drawings in the dirt. The overhang was about a hundred yards wide, but looked much wider because of the bulging roof. From the corners it would be a little over fifty yards deep, their fire was in the middle.

  One thing was bothering me about Davis Time. It wasn’t the fact that he was walking a narrow ledge between being peculiar and totally wild man crazy, but something he’d said, had turned a lamp on in my head. I turned it down because of how he was, and maybe it was just a coincidence. I needed to clear it up, so I paid him a visit.

  “Mister Time, earlier today you told me those outlaws were Copeland’s boys. Do you remember sayin’ that.”

  “Oh sure, Sonny, Copeland’s boys and they’s eatin’ Copeland’s salt pork… just like me… Oh sure.”

  “Could you tell me what he looked like.?”

  “Lemme see… He was a white man… kinder youngish, but not as young as you… more like that other Marshal… the good lookin’ Marshal. He was a little chubbyish…He was taller’n me, but nowhere near as tall as you… kinder like that Arishman… He had yeller hair, but no whiskers. And he was a city feller…like the other Marshal… the good lookin’ one.”

  The hermit didn’t need to add that last comment… I got it the first time. He had used Copeland’s name with such a matter of fact tone, I had missed it. I couldn’t wait to get the information to the good looking Marshal.

  Back at the camp, the first thing I did was take a good look at Claybrook. I walked all the way around resting my chin on my thumb and forefinger. I gave him a couple of “Hmmm’s”. He asked what I was doing and I told him there was an old squaw looking for a new man, and I gave her his name.

  He didn’t think it was near as funny as the rest of them, so I told him about Copeland. He asked if that was another joke, and I said it was not. He was still a little leery until I told him how the old fella described him right down to being a city man like the good looking Marshal.

  Holding up my right hand I said, “Honest, Ethan, that’s what he said.”

  I guess he found humor in that because he laughed and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Who would have guessed.” He said, “I’d have bet on the preacher being the ring leader before I’d have suspected him. In fact I had trouble finding a place in my mind that would even accept him as a saloon owner.”

  “When the old man casually mentioned him… the idea was so outrageous, it wouldn’t stick.” I said.

  “As soon as we get back to town, we’ll wrap this business up.” Claybrook said.

  Chapter 18

  By the light of a shielded match, my watch said it was three o’clock. The stars didn’t show under the clam shell, but they would have backed up the watch’s claim, I was sure. There were cook fires being built among the hogans, so I didn’t worry about building one and making coffee. We would need it, and we couldn’t count on anything later.

  By the time water was boiling, a few heads were poking out from under the blankets. We drank our coffee and chewed on cold biscuits in silence. Nobody felt like getting up in the dark, although, it was something we did almost every day. We saddled up and everyone took the time to make sure all weapons were fully loaded and in good working order. No one had to tell any of us to have our guns as good as they can get.

  I led off because I’d been there. When we got close, everyone got down and led his horse till we were close enough to tie them. Mike Flynn, Billy Stevens, and I were to take positions at the far end of the overhang. I would have liked to take out horses to the other side with us, but we couldn’t take a chance of making noise.

  When we reached the rocks I had made note of last evening, we each took a place among the tumbled down boulders. I could barely see their fire, it wasn’t much more than embers with an occasional flame trying to get something going.

  “We’ve got about an hour before we make a move, so if you fellas want to catch a few winks, I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

  Flynn was asleep before I finished my speech, but Billy was a jumble of nerves.

  “You cold, Billy, these high desert nights can really get chilly. Just pull your collar up and get some rest.”

  “I’m all right…No… I’m scared, Ben… I was scared back at the cabin… I was scared when I volunteered to go back and watch out for Buck.”

  “But you went up to that cabin, and you watched over Buck.” I told him.

  “I’m sittin’ here shakin’ like a leaf, and you’re as calm as can be.”

  “Billy, when I was twelve years old, our farm was raided, I was hiding behind the barn scared to death… I killed two men that day because I didn’t have a choice. It was thrust on me. After the first one I was shakin’ like a leaf. But I didn’t have time to be scared.”

  Every man who goes into battle carries fear with him. I’ve known men who would throw up before a fight, and I’ve known men who would throw up after the fight… I’m scared right now, only a fool wouldn’t be. But some things just have to be done. And I suspect you’ll do your part when it starts.”

  “Are you just tellin’ me that to make me feel better?”

  “No Billy, I pegged you as the most solid man in the bunch, next to that Mic sleepin’ there, but he’s had experiences I can’t imagine… I picked you to be with Flynn and me…. so don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”

  “When the shooting starts, you just do what you know how to do, but be careful. And take that hat off…. Your hat will come up a second or two before your head does… they’ll be waiting for it. And don’t come up from the same place you went down… move a little.” He looked down and noted that my hat was on the ground.

 
He thanked me for the advice and the encouragement, and set his hat next to mine. I figured one of us would step on them both before this was over, but I’d much rather have a stomped on hat than a ventilated head.

  The sky was starting to take on that predawn shade of gray. Features in their camp were starting to take shape. Their horses were all held at the far right side of the camp area. That was good; it would keep them out of the line of fire. There might be a ricochet bullet hit one but not a direct shot. I hated thinking about horses getting shot in this kind of affair… They didn’t start any of it.

  It was getting lighter, but it was still pretty dark under the overhang. I told Stevens to give Mike a shake, and let him know it was time to start waking up. He barely touched Mike’s sleeve when his eyes opened and they swept everything in his line of sight. He had been laying on his back with his jacket for a pillow. His Smith and Wesson was at his side on his hat, and his hand was on it before he finished checking out his surroundings. Stevens took note of how smoothly everything went. Flynn was wide awake and ready to move in a matter of a few seconds.

  The gray light started filling in all the black, and more and more could be seen. I saw sparks fly up from the embers of the fire and the figure of a man moving about adding fuel to them. Within a half a minute a winking light was coming from what had been almost invisible before. I heard the rattle of pots and pans and saw other figures moving. Some seemed to be rising out of the ground. Voices could be heard, but what they were saying will forever remain a mystery… A mystery I didn’t care to solve.

  The overhang would keep the camp, the horses, and the men in shadows all day until late evening, so we expected to hear Claybrook arrest them at any second. We waited. And at the moment he deemed to be the right moment, he would and then he did.

  “You in the camp.” He yelled out from cover. “This is Ethan Claybrook, Deputy US Marshal… You are all under arrest… Throw down your wea…” Was all he got out before a volley of six-gun and rifle fire hammered at his position.

  That was our cue to open the ball and we each raised up and fired one or two shots. And then we dropped behind our rocks. I’d seen on man go down, I couldn’t tell who he was or how bad he was hit. Taking fire from this side was unexpected, and they all turned their fire our way. Billy ducked down and hugged his rifle. He had gotten at least one shot off in the first volley. He’d do.

  The rifles from Claybrook’s three started speaking again, and fewer slugs were bouncing off our rocks. So we started again and each man was pulling the trigger as fast as he could jack another cartridge in the chamber. Then we were taking fire again. We had them penned down, but we couldn’t quite score the shots we wanted. We weren’t looking to kill, but we would. Our goal was to get a surrender.

  This went on for several minutes with little damage being done by either side. Flynn spotted an exposed leg and busted someone’s knee, and Billy had received a piece of shattered rock along his cheek bone, which would give him character in years to come. But we were stuck in a stalemate.

  The firing became sporadic, with neither side wasting ammunition. The outlaws were keeping low behind their rocks and we were doing much the same. As I turned to rest my back against a rock while I reloaded, I looked out over the place where the devil lived behind us. The wind had quit overnight, and the rising dust had settled to the bottom. I could see the hills on the far side through what little dusty haze there was. I could see it was a large irregular depression… probably an ancient dry lakebed. Even without the dust it was not inviting.

  “Squire, have you ever played snooker?” Flynn asked and I thought it a strange question for the time and place.

  “No.” I replied, thinking he had a story to pass the time. “I can’t say that I have… don’t know much about it either.”

  “Well sir, it’s a game with balls and a flat table. The main thing in snooker is being able to direct where a ball goes by hittin’ it with another ball… sort of like this.”

  With that he raised up just to point his rifle a little left and well above the outlaw hiding place. I was able to watch where he was aiming without raising up. He pulled the trigger and the bullet struck the overhang behind them, and then it kicked up dirt in front of them.

  “Tis a bit out of practice, I am… I’ll give her another go.”

  With that he aimed a little higher and squeezed off the round. That shot hit the rear side of the rocks and ricocheted back into the depths of the lower back wall and into the dirt. One of the outlaws near where the bullet struck rock jumped up and started to run. Billy Stevens got him in his crouching run. The outlaw stumbled and dropped from sight.

  “You get the idea, Squire?”

  “I think snooker may be the game for me… I’ll give it a try.”

  I aimed a little to the left of where he’d shot and a tad bit higher. Someone screamed. I couldn’t tell if it was from pain or terror but a shot from Billy and Mike was enough to keep their heads down. Claybrook’s bunch wanted to play snooker as well and soon bullets were chewing away at the ceiling of the overhang.

  The fire from six rifles was wreaking havoc on those behind the rocks. Yells and screams were being mixed with the echoes and whining of hot lead being redirected. Anyone who tried to escape was turned back by rifle fire.

  Finally, Claybrook called a cease fire, and the silence was deafening. Our ears still rang from the noise and we waited for the next move. The sounds of moaning men and cursing started breaking through the ringing in our ears.

  “You have sixty seconds to throw down your weapons and come out.” Claybrook called out to them. “In fifty nine seconds we’ll resume fire…. fifty eight seconds. We have plenty of ammunition.”

  In no more than ten seconds the first rifle was thrown over the rocks. A second came just behind it, and then a third was tossed. Three men stood up and showed their hands, as they started moving away from the protection of the rocks. One man was limping badly and was being supported by another.

  Ethan directed them to move toward our position, where Flynn and I covered them, while Stevens searched them for weapons. More were coming and the routine remained the same. Several men were bloodied from more than one wound. When they were searched, they were made to sit down on the hard packed dirt.

  “I’ve got six men here, Marshal. That leaves Bob Cutter and Jesse Peters still there.” I yelled to Claybrook across the way.

  “Roberto Cutter ees muerta, señor.” Rio Sanchez volunteered as he crossed himself. “He take a boolet een the troat.”

  “They tell me Cutter is dead… only Peters left in there.” I yelled.

  “We’ll start shooting again five seconds… four… three… two …” another rifle was thrown out and, Jesse Peters stood up with his arms extended toward the overhanging ceiling.

  He was limping, but not as bad as some of the others. As he came across the rocky ground between his rocks and ours, he had about as much hatred showing in his face as I’d ever seen. He knew his fate was sealed. He had no bargaining chips. We knew about Copeland, and we’d deal with him. I doubted that any of the others had ever dealt with Copeland in anyway other than a saloon operator, except for Johnny Speers. He would hang for killing Cooter Singleton.

  “Speers, why didn’t you leave town when I told you to?”

  “Had a hundred dollar job to do… needed travelin’ money.”

  “You know killin’ Cooter is goin’ to put a rope around your neck?”

  “Reckon so.” was all he said. I don’t think it even bothered him… It was just another thing to get through… It was just another page in the story of Johnny Speers.

  Coaker and Stevens took two of the lesser injured prisoners to get their horses saddled. When they brought them up, they went after our own horses. All rifles and six-guns were tied behind the acting Sheriff’s saddle.

  Riding along the red rock face of the towering cliffs above I marveled at the size and rusty layers of color. And that there were so few people who
had seen them. Thinking about the red rock cliffs helped me keep my mind off what was on the other side of the trail. That tawny colored lake looked peaceful this morning, and I couldn’t help wondering how deep the dust was. Only a little was stirring, and it rose up like wafting dirty smoke from a low burning fire.

  Claybrook led the way back to our camp, where we would gather anything we’d left in our early morning departure. We also wanted to get some of Copeland’s salt pork and take advantage of the water there. We rode with rifles across the bows or in hand. Most of those men were in no condition or mood to make trouble, but some were barely hurt. Those were the ones we worried about.

  The outlaws rode in single file, while we rode with Claybrook in front and me in the rear and the other four spread out along the flanks. As we approached Hell’s Gate, I noted what looked like a trail leading down into the dry lake. Why would anyone want to go there? I wondered. Maybe there’s a way across it.

  The front of the line had just passed the trail, which I deemed would truly be the gate to hell, when Curly Mathers jammed the spurs to his horse and pulled right. His horse slammed into the cowpony Coaker was riding nearly unseating the puncher. Mathers went straight for the trail, and Coaker fought to keep his animal away from the brink. Flynn rode up and got between Coaker’s mount and the edge until Coaker was able to quiet the animal.

  All guns turned to the prisoners, but none of them wanted to cause trouble. We quickly pushed the rest of them into a group under the half clam shell. When I saw, all was under control; I wheeled and headed for the trail to hell. I could see the trail of dust rising from his horses hooves, but it was more dust than I had ever imagined one horse could raise. He had started straight across at a gallop, but his speed had slowed down in a hurry. His horse seemed to be zig zagging wanting to turn back.

  I had the thought, that his horse was disoriented and close to panic. With each turn, the dust would catch up with them and swallow them. He seemed to be urging the animal to the left, which would be the closest bank.