Chapter Three
Chapter Three
The Criminal
Mike rode for another hour before he pulled the reins in on the horse he was riding. This time he didn’t pull as hard. He didn’t want to take another fall like he did back at the old man’s place.
After he dismounted, he grabbed the canteen from the saddle and drank heartily. Then he looked over his surroundings. It was still hard for him to believe he wasn’t in Omaha and in 1980, not 1880. The only explanation he could come up with is that somehow when that lightning struck him, it did the impossible and took him back in time; but why here?
Sitting under a small shady tree with a small watering hole the horse walked up to, Mike tried to figure out what to do next. That Barrows fellow and the other’s who were following him, or so he felt, were far enough behind him he didn’t have to worry.
Rubbing his butt, he winced when his hand rubbed over what felt like the beginnings of blisters. Getting up, he walked to where his horse was drinking and took the canteen and dipped it into the water to fill it. Then, he scooped up some water and splashed it over his face and behind his neck. Standing, the coolness of the water made him feel a little better. Turning, he decided he had rested long enough when he saw a poster tacked to the side of the tree he didn’t notice before.
Let’s see; wanted: Cody Martin. Robbery, murder, runs with a gang of thieves and cutthroats. Considered dangerous. $2,000 reward. Dead or Alive. Underneath the words, Mike looked at the drawing of Cody.
“You have got to be joking! That looks like a drawing of me, not this Martin guy. I don’t get it. How the hell would anyone here know what I look like? I don’t even know exactly where I’m at to begin with.
None of the makes any sense. No cars, no buildings, no women, no nothing. Cops ride horses and if I get caught for stealing this horse, and that other one, there won’t even be a trial, just a hanging. I know I don’t like where I am, that much is certain. This is just too crazy to be happening. 1880—son-of-a-bitch.
Turning his head to face the way he rode from, he could hear, as well as see a group of riders coming.
Must be Barrows and his men. I better move it. I’m not really wanting to be the guest of honor at my own lynching. This sucks. Having a horse isn’t any more of an advantage than having a car!
Getting back on the horse, gently, Mike continued riding, keeping a distance of a mile or two between him and those chasing him. After another hour of hard riding, he spotted another group of riders heading toward him.
Damn! I can’t tell if their the law or not. If they are, I’m dead in the water because of that poster. If they are, I hope they haven’t seen that poster and try to collect the reward. Being a criminal here isn’t my idea of a fun time, I can see that already.
Mike checked the gun he took from the old man. At least its loaded. Jeez, what a deal. Four or five riding behind me and three coming at me, and me with six bullets and another twelve on the gun belt. Even if I tried to make every shot count, I’d probably still be shy a few and probably end up dead. I need some luck in the worse kind of way.
Veering to his right (and feeling ever saddle rub on his ass), Mike kicked the sides of the horse into high gear. His backside near forgotten as he tried putting needed space between him and these new riders or face almost certain death.
It didn’t work.
The three new riders cut off in the same direction as he did, and their horses were bigger and faster. In nearly five minutes, the rider’s cut off Mike’s escape and had him surrounded on three sides. Even though the distance was still twenty yards or so, the riders had their guns drawn and were prepared to kill him.
Mike drew his gun.
If I have to die, wherever the hell I am, I’m taking some of these local-yokels with me. They ain’t taking out no chump here.
As Mike pulled the hammer back, one of the riders yelled out, “Hey, guys, you see who that is? That’s Cody! Don’t shoot at’em or he’ll put us all in the ground!”
Mike watched with wary eyes as he saw them put away their guns. The one who spoke mistook me for that outlaw, Cody Martin. They must be friends of his. As Mike got closer, he decided to play along with them and see what he could find out.
“Cody! How the hell are ya, pardner? It’s me, Brent. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“I swear, Cody, thought you’d never get outta that pillbox for a prison. I thought when that judge sentenced you to life on the rock pile; you’d be there until ya croaked, but it looks like ya outsmarted all of us. Don’t ya worry none. I still got yer share of the loot from the bank we hit before they cornered ya.”
“Good. What’s my cut and it better be good.”
“Same as always, Cody. Half, what else would it be?”
“I’ve been gone a while, Brent. Had a lot of stuff on my mind if you catch what I’m saying.”
Brent, along with the other two men were rangy in size, mean-looking and they all looked like they could handle themselves in a fight but from what Brent first said, he guessed Cody Martin was deadly with a gun.
“Shucks, where’s muh manners. Cody, this here is Jasper Warner and Clint Sykes. I hooked up with them about five months after you went inside. Wade, Jake, and Ely, took off after you were arrested. Don’t know if their dead or alive and,”
“We got riders coming from the southeast, Brent,” drawled Jasper.
“They’ve been after me more than an hour. I stole this horse and they plan on turning me into the po—I mean the marshal or hang me, whichever comes first.”
“Is that right? Don’t worry none, Cody. The way I see it, the odds are about even now, and all we have to do is sit ourselves by those rocks over there and we can pick’em off like bees take to honey.”
Mike nodded his head, and Mike, along with the rest of the men, steered their horses, to the right, behind a clump of ricks and waited for Dan Barrows and the other riders to come into their sights of three Winchester’s and his .45.
Mike could feel the intensity coming off each man as they lined up their rifles on the approaching riders. He knew that in a few more minutes, gunfire would explode around him like nothing he ever heard before.
Mike knew if were back in Omaha and this were to happen downtown; there would be at least ten cop cars and a SWAT team surrounding the area in minutes. Out here in the wide-open spaces, Mike knew that wasn’t going to happen. But Mike had never shot and killed a man in cold blood before, not that he hadn’t thought about it before. Granted, there were a few times he wanted to. Mike had always believed if he had to kill someone, it would be face-to-face, not from a distance or in the back. What was about to happen was new for him but if he had to be this Cody Martin fellow, he had no choice but to play the part.
“Okay, boys, a few more seconds and they’ll be dog meat. Just say the word, Cody.”
Mike wasn’t prepared for that. He thought they would just start shooting the second they were in range. Now, he had to give the order to kill them. He looked over to where they were riding and could see they were in range. It was all or nothing. He nodded his head.
“Now.”
The shooting echoed all around him as puffs of blue-black smoke filled the air as the smell filled his nose. Mike almost swore he could see the heat rising from the rifles being fired in the heat of the afternoon as he fired his gun as well.
Dan Barrows and his men were caught by surprise. They were expecting to just find Mike, but instead, they ran into a small army. A piercing scream came as one man tumbled off his horse and fell roughly to the dirt as dust kicked up from his fall and lifted a few feet into the air before settling back down unnoticed. Dan had already fallen after being hit by two bullets, one in the chest, the other in his neck. Monte also fell along with the remaining men. None of the men had any time to find any sort of cover and only Monte and Dan were able to fire a few shoots back before they fell. In less than a minute, the shooting stopped and the men below from where Mike and his (now) men were protected, laid on top of their unopened graves.
“That takes care of that, Cody. Their deader than a doornail. Ya can rest easier knowin they ain’t on yer tail no more.”
Mike nodded. “You’re right, Brent. Let’s get out of here and head back for my share of the money you mentioned before. I’m thinking about using some of that to get me some new clothes, a better gun and another horse and then staying low for awhile until the heat is off of me.”
“Sounds good. Me’n the boys could use a rest anyway.”
The four men remounted their horses and started heading south. Mike rode next to Brent, following his lead, but acting like he knew where he was going. Looking back over his shoulder one time, he could see the bodies sprawled out on the ground. Mike felt a lump in his throat for what just happened. Now, he really was a murderer, just like the real Cody Martin.
What Mike or the other’s didn’t see, was a slight movement by Montie.
***
Montie was shot up pretty bad. Once in the leg, the right shoulder, and another bullet entered his chest three inches to the right of his heart. He made a whimpering motion in pain for his horse, Midnight, who came over and gently nudged him, hoping his master as all right.
Monte knew it was an almost ten-mile ride back to the ranch and he wasn’t sure he could survive the ordeal, but he had to try. Trying was all he had left.
Deep down, Monte prayed he lived because he had a score to settle with Cody Martin. He had just killed Dan and the rest of the men, all close friends of his. At the moment, all Monte knew was if he could mend good enough, he was going to chase Cody down if it took him the rest of his life.
Slowly getting to his feet by first grabbing the stirrup, Monte managed to pull himself upright until his hand grabbed the pommel. The intense pain and bleeding along with near-blackness, settled over him twice before he found hidden strength to pull his body up and onto the saddle.
Having the presence of mind, he undid his saddle rope, placed the looped end around his waist and wrapped the rope around him six more times before he tied the other end onto the pommel. Monte knew that dead or alive he would get back to the ranch. Hopefully he would be alive to deliver the bad news to Dan’s wife.
Midnight started walking, seemingly very aware of Monte’s injuries. It was slow moving, but it was the only way. Even in the late afternoon, the sun beat down on him without favor or concern. Nature plays no favorites. Every few minutes, Monte would fade in and out of never-never-land.
It wasn’t until early evening before Midnight and Monte pulled up into the ranch, but Monte never knew it. He had passed out hours before. Surprisingly enough, being tied like he was to the saddle did keep him from falling off.
The whole time Monte lay in a coma, fighting for his life, he had no way of knowing that Dan’s wife, Betsy, had made it possible for him to live. He had no way of knowing she had gone into town, gotten Marshal Teachey and rode out to where the others were killed. They used Midnight to find them. He even seemed insistent for them to follow if that could be believed. But Monte had no way of knowing the funeral was over. Between Betsy and Doc Samms, keeping him alive was their priority. He had been out nearly five weeks with the wounds and a bad fever before his eyes finally fluttered open.
From there, it was another month before he was strong enough to walk and another week before he was out behind the barn target practicing. Monte had a score to settle.
Then came the day he thought he’d never see.
“Monte,” said Betsy, “with all that’s happened, I can’t stay here any longer. I only stayed this long because I owed you that much. You were Dan’s best friend and he thought highly of you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I hate to see you up and leave. Dan put a lot of hard work into making this place work itself into a profit.” Monte swallowed hard. “Even though Dan’s gone, it ain’t gonna be the same after you leave.”
“And it isn’t the same for me with Dan gone, Monte. I’ve already sold the place and I’m going back east. Without Dan, living out here is pointless.
“I want to ask you to come back with me. My parents can get you a well-paying enough job and,”
“Ah, no thanks, Mrs. Barrows. I was born out here and the big city life ain’t what I fancy. Besides, I have something to do.”
“I know. That’s why I’m asking you to leave with me. You plan on getting this Cody Martin and his outlaw gang. Monte—the chances of you succeeding are practically zero. You are lucky enough just to be alive; you lost so much blood. I couldn’t stand to hear you were killed if you go after him a second time, and this time, without help. And this time, you may not come back alive.”
“I thank you for your concern, I really do. But this is something I have to do. Dan gave me a job when no one else would. He treated me with respect and in a lot of ways was like a father to me. I wouldn’t be a man if I didn’t at least try. This is for Dan, for my friends, for you, and for me. If I can stop him before he can do even more harm against people, then this country can be a safer place to live for people like you, ma’am.”
“I thought you would say no. It’s just like a man, to let his pride get in the way. Dan was the same way, you know. When we first came out here, he said there was nothing going to stop him from getting what he wanted from this land. Now, he’s become a permanent part of it.
“Please, be careful, Monte. If you—if you do survive, please, come back and at least visit with me.”
“That I can do, Mrs. Barrows,” smiled Monte.
They hugged each other as a mother and son would, and deep down inside each other, they both knew they would never see each other again.
***
During Monte’s recovery, Mike, playing the part of Cody, was playing the role for all it was worth. His riding skills quickly improved, and he even began to believe he was Cody Martin. He and his outlaw gang had robbed two stagecoach’s, one train, and a bank.
Mike couldn’t believe how easy it was. He didn’t have to contend with alarm systems, helicopters, cop cars or cameras. Since televisions and telephones hadn’t yet been invented, he didn’t have to worry about people calling a hot-line number to tell the law where he might be. As long as he had a fast horse and shot straight; Mike Wesson ruled Nebraska’s flatlands and was enjoying every second of it.
Most of the smaller towns didn’t even have any law which meant he and his gang could do what they wanted, when they wanted, and with who they wanted. There wasn’t anyone who would dare stand up to one of the fastest gun within a hundred miles.
Besides, if things did get too hot for them, they would swing south into Kansas or southeast into Missouri or even go east into Iowa if need be. Plus, they had dozens of places they could hide out as well.
Mike was getting used to the idea that the wild west was his real calling card. What he didn’t and couldn’t know was that Monte would be on his trail and would hunt him down if it took a lifetime.