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Posted: August 08, 2007 - 11:40:33 pm
I couldn’t believe I wasn’t dead from the shotgun blast, but I didn’t have time to figure out why or how badly I was injured, as I dived off the side walk in the direction I heard my pistol hit. As was my habit, at work I only wore my single gun rig. I did that so some drunken cowboy wouldn’t mistake me for a gunslinger and try his luck at fast drawing. That’s why I was frantically scratching around in the dirt for my only shooting iron, when I heard one of the bushwhackers stage-whisper to the other.
“I got him Clive, but I didn’t get a clean shot because of the damned corner post. He lost his gun; I heard it hit the sidewalk. Cover me and I’ll finish him off.”
I heard the distinctive sound of the shotgun breaking open and heard both the empty shells ping onto the sidewalk, but I damn sure couldn’t find my Colt. I finally stuck my hand under the edge of the raised wooden walkway and gasped in relief as my fingers closed around the cold steel barrel. I was pulling the gun out from under the sidewalk, when I heard the shotgun close and then a couple of bangs from a small caliber weapon.
I poked my head up as I picked my pistol up left handed, just as the man with the shotgun gave a hoarse cry.
“I’m hit Clive, the whore done shot me!”
Movement to my left caught my eye, so I quickly glanced over. What had caught my eye was Belle rising to her knees with a small shiny pistol in her hand and a fierce look on her face. The man she shot was swinging the scattergun around to bring it to bear on her, but Belle unflinchingly fired another round. My sweetie had probably taken care of it, but I jumped in anyway and ended shotgun man’s misery with a 45 round between his headlights.
Keeping my pistol aimed at the mouth of the alley, I managed to clamber up onto the side walk and get unsteadily to my feet. I realized that adrenalin was all that was keeping me going now as I lurched forward towards the wall of the boarded up building. I could hear the sound of voices and running feet coming from the direction of Dos Amigos, the closest saloon to where we were, but I stayed focused on moving, hoping that I’d get a chance at the second ambusher. I made it to the edge of the building closest to the alley and knelt down to glance around the corner. The alley was empty, the shooter’s partner long gone.
With my back against the wall, I used my legs to push myself up until I was standing. That little move took all the energy I had left. I guessed that my adrenaline rush was finally wearing off, as I slowly walked over to Belle. Bell was also on her feet by now, her little pistol still firmly gripped in her hand.
“Are you all right, Honey?” I asked softly.
Belle nodded, her eyes never leaving the dead man sprawled in the alley.
“It’s all over Belle, so put your gun away and help me holster mine.”
I was still speaking softly, partly to calm Belle and partly because I was becoming too fatigued to talk. When I asked for her help, Belle really looked at me for the first time since I pushed her. Unfortunately as she was looking, a couple of people came rushing up, one of them with a coal oil lantern. The light from the lantern’s reflective back plate made it as effective as a modern flashlight and it illuminated us both brightly. Belle’s expression turned to one of alarm.
“You’re hurt,” she said, as if I didn’t already know it.
I looked down and was mildly surprised at the amount of blood drenching my shirt sleeve and dripping off my finger tips. I nodded dumbly to her question, the edges of my vision starting to blur.
“Yeah, I noticed,” I said lightly, still trying to keep her calm. “I think I’m going to need Doc Willis again.”
Belle had closed the distance to where I was leaning up against the wall. Belle had quickly gotten over the shock of shooting someone, and was focused on me. She turned to one of the newcomers and motioned him to help her sit me down. I didn’t protest as they eased me onto the sidewalk.
The second man at my side was one of the two deputies on duty at night during the week. Belle began filling him in on what happened as she fished a pair of scissors out of her purse and started cutting my shirt off my arm. In all the time I had known her, I had never seen Belle take anything out of her handbag before except a hairbrush, now suddenly it seemed as if she had everything except a set of encyclopedias in there.
The deputy listened to Belle’s story then went over to check the dead bushwhacker. He rolled the man over on his back and peered at his face for a minute before rejoining us. While he was gone, Belle had started wrapping clean strips of my shirt around my chewed up right arm.
“That there is Eldon Watkins; he’s one of George Howard’s hands out at the Lazy H. First time I seen him without that ugly little polecat Blevins next to him.”
Belle answered him without looking away from where she was trying to staunch my bleeding.
“If that ugly little polecat’s first name is Clive, then he was in the alley also. The one you called Watkins spoke his name after the first time I shot him.”
My memories after that were a mishmash of disjointed snippets. I recall seeing Doctor Willis leaning over me and heard the pings as he dropped pellets he pulled out of my hide into a metal bowl. Faces swam in and out of my blurry vision, Anna, Maria, Molly, Naomi, Conchita and most often, Belle. The one constant in my dream world was the unrelenting burning pain I felt in my right arm and side. From underneath my arm, down to my hip, it felt as if someone had flayed the skin from my body. I think that laudanum in great quantities was all that kept me from screaming.
I regained full consciousness while lying on a narrow cot in the same cell in which I’d visited Pedro Diaz the first time I met him. It was deja vu all over again that Pedro was sitting on the bunk across the cell from me, quietly talking with Rosalinda. This time when I woke up, my mouth didn’t feel as if it was stuffed with sand, and I could speak.
“What did you do this time Pedro, and why are Rosalinda and I in jail with you?” I asked.
Pedro and Rosalinda both jumped when they heard me. Then without a word, Rosalinda jumped up and sped out of the open door of the cell. Pedro also leapt off the cot and headed towards me. I was familiar by now with the enthusiastic hugging that Pedro and Rosalinda practiced, so I held up a cautionary hand.
“What’s going on Pedro?” I asked.
Pedro grinned and patted his pistol.
“The sheriff, he put you in here for to keep you safe. Doña Anna knows I am the greatest vaquero in all the world, so she asked my Patron for me to help protect you.”
I nodded my understanding, holding my tongue from commenting on Pedro’s status change from the greatest cowboy in Texas and Mexico to the greatest in the world. Instead, I thanked him profusely. Pedro waved away my thanks.
“Es no problema, amigo, but you must get well for my wedding next month, so you can sing.”
I was telling Pedro I’d be there with bells on, when a tousled haired Belle came rushing into the room.
“How are you, baby?” she asked.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t in a lot of pain anymore, but I felt weak and drawn out.
“I’m tired Honey, but other than that, I guess I’m fine. What day is it?”
It’s Friday afternoon, you’ve been out for about fifteen hours. Doctor Willis said you’d feel tired for a few days, because you lost a lot of blood before he finally staunched the flow. He worked on you for over two hours and dug eight pellets out of you. The good news is that except for a couple of blood vessels, nothing major was injured, and you should recover fully in a week or so.”
Man, all that was good news, I guess I was a lucky SOB. With my physical status verified, I had a few other questions.
“Why did the Sheriff put me in here? Is there something else going on?”
“Not really, some of your friends suggested that you might need protection until you were on your feet. He thought this was the easiest way to accomplish that, given how riled up your shooting has the dancers and working girls.” Belle giggled then and continued, “There was a stampede of women volunteering to be your nurses. Sheriff Faulkner will tell you all the rest when he gets here. You are probably not going to like what he has to say.”
Belle was sure right about that, because when Matt Faulkner sat down and explained things, I would have exploded if I had enough blood in me. With Belle’s description of Eldon Watkins’ accomplice, Faulkner had immediately gone to Judge Howard for a warrant for the slimy miscreant Clive Blevins. Howard had refused his request for the warrant outright, citing that his only witness was a woman of questionable repute. Howard told the sheriff that if I could corroborate Belle’s statement, then he’d consider a warrant. That’s when Faulkner took seriously the notion of me needing to be protected.
Faulkner figured that Blevins was at least a hundred miles from El Paso by now. Even if Howard stooped to issue a warrant the next day, Blevins wouldn’t be near enough to find.
I asked Faulkner if I could have the statements that he’d used to try to get the warrant, because I planned to file for a Federal warrant. Because I was a Federal Marshall, trying to kill me was a Federal crime. Faulkner smiled at that.
“Those were my thoughts also, Ty, so I put together a little package for you with all the information I have on not only your shooting, but any suspicions of criminal activity I have on George Howard’s gang, and Judge Howard’s culpability in keeping that bunch from justice. I also wrote Cahill a letter, in which I promised the full cooperation of the El Paso Sheriff’s Office. I may be voted out of office next year, but I will leave with my integrity.”
Gert
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