Autumn of the Gun by Compton Ralph

Author:Compton, Ralph
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2010-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

Lincoln County, New Mexico August 1, 1880

The first call for the sheriff’s posse came at four o’clock on Sunday morning, three weeks following Nathan’s arrival. Bib Driscoll awakened the members of the posse. To Nathan’s surprise, Sheriff Wilder had put Driscoll in charge.

“Horse thieves hit the Hitchfelt ranch,” Driscoll said. “We ride in fifteen minutes.”

Thirteen men rode out, Driscoll in the lead. They reached the Hitchfelt ranch to find the house ablaze with light. Hitchfelt met them, a Winchester under his arm.

“Nineteen of my best horses,” Hitchfelt moaned, “and they shot one of my riders.”

“Did you get a look at any of ’em?” Driscoll asked.

“How the hell would we of done that?” Hitchfelt demanded. “It was dark as the inside of a cow’s gullet.”

“Well,” said Driscoll, “do you have any idea which way they went?”

“South, along the river,” Hitchfelt said. “Four of my men was trailin’ ’em.”

“They’re just beggin’ for an ambush,” said Driscoll. “Why didn’t they wait for us?”

“Damn it,” Hitchfelt said, “we didn’t know how long it’d take you. The varmints is on the way to the border with my horses.”

“They may bushwhack your riders and still reach the border,” said Driscoll. “Let’s ride, men.”

Just as first light began to gray the eastern horizon, they rode south. The trail was plain enough and Bib Driscoll’s prophecy became grim reality. Before they’d ridden ten miles, they met a riderless horse on its way to the home corral.

“Damn,” said Peavy Burris, “they done it, for sure.”

When they reached the scene of the ambush, one of the Hitchfelt riders was dead and the remaining three seriously wounded.

“Peavy Burris, Neil Sutton, Rand Dismukes, and Simpson Dumont,” Bib Driscoll said. “Get these men back to the Hitchfelt ranch. The rest of us will go after the thieves.”

But it soon became evident the posse wasn’t going to catch up to the horse thieves. Driscoll reined up and the others gathered their horses around him.

“We ain’t more than half a dozen miles from the border,” said Driscoll, “and we been told not to cross it. Might as well turn back.”

“Turn back, hell,” Slack Tarno said. “Who’s goin’ to know we crossed the border if we bring the varmints back roped across their saddles?”

“We’ve been told not to cross the border,” said Driscoll quietly, “and we ain’t goin’ to. Ride on beyond this point, and I’ll shoot you out of the saddle.”

Tarno wheeled his horse, saying nothing, joining the other riders. Nobody spoke, for in their first foray with the long riders, the outlaws had been victorious. Nathan had seen enough to have his doubts about the effectiveness of the sheriff’s posse. Long before the posse could be alerted, the thieves would be well on their way to the Mexican border.

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