Split Tails RanchChapter 5
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We were all shocked when the howitzer shell exploded, watching men tumble to the ground. Some lay still while some screamed in pain. It pleased me to see it because it helped a great deal in evening the odds. My opinion of the prissy little Lieutenant went up quite a bit. I knew we were going to have to strike soon before they tried to slip away into the tunnel. I was in no mood to chase them again. I wanted to end it here and now.
The only thing holding us back were the hostages. I was surprised to see so many, and my heart swelled with pride when I saw Jess sheparding two tiny little girls. My thoughts got darker as I wondered how many of them still had families to go home to, vowing to help them if I could.
A man walked out of a hut, striding over to the wounded men. I was shocked to see him calmly pull his weapon and shoot every one of them. He had on a tattered frock coat and a beat up top hat so I figured he was the one they called Preacher. Sonny let out a hiss and I looked over to see him raising his rifle. I was close enough to reach out and bat the barrel down, mouthing the words “not yet.”
It took him a minute to regain control before he nodded. I turned just in time to hear Jess challenge him, and watched in horror as he pulled the whip from his belt, his intention clear. Just before he raised his hand another grenade hit the fence, making it shake. A few pieces went over the fence, but everyone was hunkered down so no one was hurt. Brad decided to deal us in, stepping out of the shade and cutting loose with his Colt revolving shotgun, half a second before I fired. The man with the whip suddenly had other priorities than beating little girls, like trying to find someone to pick up his hand. Screaming, blood spurting out of the stump, he ran into the tunnel. Sonny was firing as fast as he could work the lever, dusting the ground around im. We saw him stagger, so I figured he scored at least one hit.
Jessica was screaming at the hostages to lie down as she shoved the little girls into the dirt, trying to shield them with her body. Most understood and dropped like rocks, giving us a clear field of fire. Caught unawares the bandits had little chance against eight shotguns and six rifles. By the time they realized they were being attacked from behind, half of them were down.
I recognized Kramer from his description. The giant blond had sand, realizing in an instant what was happening and jumping down off the wall, taking a tumble when he hit. He jumped up and it was easy to see he had been hit because blood was dripping off his shoulder. We found out later it was a wound he picked up when he attacked the house and he had broken the stitches when he jumped. He rose up roaring his pistol blazing. Two of my men went down, one of them the lanky cowpoke from Tenessee. He rose back up, dropping the empty shotgun and palming his Colt.
When the first pistol went empty, Kramer dropped it and pulled another, trying to make the tunnel. he thought he’d made it until I stepped out of the shadows. My first blast hit him square in the crotch, knocking him down. Something must have hit a hip because he couldn’t get back up. Bullets were flying but I let him think about what life would be like as a gelding confined to a wheelchair, then blew his head off. Powder smoke was obscuring vision, but it did part long enough for me to find Jess.
I saw the kid from the mercantile in Big Bend run out and grab Jessica by the hair. They struggled until I heard two little pops. He staggered back and down, and she was on him instantly, yanking his pistol out of his holster. Still kneeling she started picking targets and firing carefully.
It suddenly went quiet and I realized there was no one to shoot anymore. Five or six had managed to make it to the tunnel and escape but it was no mind. We’d catch them soon enough.
One of the hostages had made the mistake of getting up to run and caught a bullet through the chest. She was dead in a matter of seconds. The rest were huddled, the two little girls clinging to Jessica’s legs as she tracked the pistol back and forth, looking for one more target. I walked up slowly because she was clearly in shock. I took the pistol from her gently, tossing it on the ground.
“Jess, honey, I’m most pleased to see you.”
She looked into my eyes, reason returning. “DADDY!” she screamed, before fainting in my arms. I picked her up and carried her into the shade, the little girls following behind. I lay her down and Sonny brought me some cool water from the spring. I gently bathed her face as the tiny redheads watched closely. “You girls all right?”
One nodded solemnly. “Are you her Pa?”
“I am.”
“She told us not to give up or lose faith, that you were coming, and you would take care of us. She promised.”
I stopped, looking at the serious youngster, my heart hurting over what they had been through. “Well then, if she promised it must be true. You girls are coming home with us.”
Jess had woken up long enough to hear the last and she smiled. “I told you little ones. My Daddy is famous for finding daughters. You belong to us now.”
That must have opened the dam, because those little angels cried their hearts out, clinging to me and Jess. I grinned, wondering what the girls back home would make of this.
We had opened the gates and hung a white sheet over the entrance. It wasn’t long until the troopers rode through, staring at the blood and the bodies. I shook the Lieutenant’s hand. “Well done, sir. The piece of artillery was genius. That one shell must have taken out a third of their force instantly. It was the opening we were looking for.”
A Corporal, not the one that had manned the howitzer, asked how many prisoners we had. No one but him seemed surprised to hear there were none. Well there was one, but he was dead, he just didn’t know it yet.
Jessica had pulled the little derringer as Lucas was dragging her. Not able to aim properly she just reached up until she felt flesh and pulled the triggers. She had gutshot him, both balls going in just above the groin and traveling upwards. He was dead, even if we were inclined to save him it would take a doctor too long to get here. I squatted down while he begged and pleaded for a doctor and some water. Reaching down and poking him in the belly with the butt of my shotgun I caused him to scream. I leaned closer, whispering.
“I should have killed you at that dance. Reckon how many people would still be alive if I had? No matter. Does it hurt? I damn sure hope so. It’ll be a while before you die and I hope as bad as it hurts it’s nothing compared to the flames of hell. When you see Butch and his crew, tell them I said it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving bunch. Not counting the others, Corky was worth more than the whole sorry gang. Rot in hell, asshole.” It took him twelve hours to die, screaming in pain until he lost his voice. He went out with a whimper, his last vision on this earth Jessica’s grinning face.
The military was sorting through the bodies when I went back, loading them in a couple of buckboards they’d found. “We’re confiscating everything,” the Corporal told us. “We’re always short good mounts, and this troop will be pretty well heeled from now on.” I noticed almost every trooper had a Winchester, their old single shots piled in a wagon. They were also sporting all kinds of sidearms, Colts, Remingtons, Smith and Wessons, etc.
They had found a strongbox in what had to be Kramer’s cabin. Shooting the lock off they found it contained about six thousand in cash. “What should we do with it?”
“It’s on my property, so by rights it’s mine.” They wanted to argue until I told them I intended to give every man who helped me a hundred dollar bonus. I walked around with Bud and the Lieutenant, handing out cash. The troopers would remember this excursion for a long long time. I made a vow to send the same amount to the family of every man who had fallen.
Thankfully there weren’t that many. The element of surprise and the howitzer had turned the trick. I had four wounded slightly, and two that were going to take a long time to heal. They’d draw full wages while they recovered.
We were just about to wrap everything up when a trooper came up, saluting. “Sir, we’ve found evidence that some may have escaped. There’s a tunnel...”
“Trooper, I’m sure you are mistaken. No one escaped. That is what my report shall say, are you prepared to dispute that?”
He was about to argue when it hit him what he was saying. He snapped another salute. “No Sir! I fear I may have read the sign wrong.”
The Lieutenant nodded. “Very good. Carry on, Trooper.”
He turned and shook my hand. “I hope your drive next year is under more pleasant conditions. I’ll see you then.”
He strode off, whistling. There was one tense scene when Jessica told a trooper in no uncertain terms he was not taking her weapons. He had her little rifle on his horse, Sabrina’s shotgun in his hands. Both pistols were in a wagon. It was cleared up, and soon Jess had Sabrina’s .38 strapped on, her pistol in a saddlebag bound for Mr. Herman to repair. She found enough shells to fill the beltloops, and a trooper rushed up handing her a leather bag of 32-20’s and some .410 shells. She happily filled her rifle and slid it into the scabbard, holding the shotgun across the saddle.
She was back on Sweetie, Sabrina’s little chestnut following along. Pa, Bud, Brad, Paul, Sonny, Jacinto, and Lionkiller sat with me as we watched the troopers fade into the distance. Then we turned and rode through the tunnel. I heard a whinny, and looked to see Jess behind me. She never said a word, riding up beside me after we had cleared the tunnel. Well, I guess I owed it to her to be in on the finish.
They left a trail a blind man could follow. We found one the first day, lying under a tree. They’d taken everything except his clothes, so we just left him layin’ and rode on. The one we found the next morning was still alive, just barely. It was plain to see he was bound for his judgement and after he answered a few questions we gave him a canteen of water and a spare pistol in exchange. We dropped three shells just out of reach and rode on. I figured when it got bad enough he’d use one on himself.
They were four left, judging by the tracks. Sonny had been scouting for us and when he came trotting back we knew he had news. “Two of ‘em at a waterhole ‘bout two miles out. Looks like they took their horses and left ‘em. I almost shot them out of hand, but thought we might want to palaver a bit first.”
He had been grimfaced and brooding since Bud had been killed. I think that we were tracking his father made him more so. I rode up beside him the first day. “You all right with what we’re doing?”
He nodded. “If ever a man needs to go to hell, it’s him. He deserves everything that’s going to happen to him. I just want to make sure he dies for what he’s done to us and every other person he’s brought misery and death.”
Jess had told me a little about what they had endured, and in the rare times I’d seen Bud and Sonny without shirts the scars across their back were plain to see. He’d never whipped Jess with anything that would leave marks, but he’d abused her pretty hard. I won’t deny it was going to give me great pleasure to bring him to an end.
They watched us ride up, fear on their faces. They had no mounts and no weapons, so they couldn’t run or fight. We ranged in front of them and just sat. After a few minutes they couldn’t stand the silence and one spoke.
“I know you’re gonna hang us. I don’t blame ya. Before we go, I want your promise you’ll get Preacher and his lackey.”
He told us the whole story. They were about to ride out when Preacher came running up holding his ruined arm. They had a couple of torches, so they could see how to remove the cover from the back exit. Two held him while another slapped the torch to the stump to stop the bleeding. They gave him a spare horse and made their escape.
“We ‘bout rode our horses to death, knowing you’d probably be comin’. He waited until we were asleep and took our weapons and hosses. He’s crazy, mister. He kept ranting about gettin’ a new gang and coming back for you. Promise me you’ll kill him.”
I promised him, and let him write a letter to his sister. The other man hadn’t said a word, sitting with his head down wating for the inevitable. We made it quick, making sure their necks broke instead of letting them dangle, and rode on. Somebody might come along and cut them down. If not, nature would take care of it.
We caught up to them late the next afternoon. Their horses were blown out, barely stumbling along. Sonny stopped on an a little rise, knelt down and took careful aim. The rifle boomed, and Preacher’s horse went down. He got up as the other rider trotted back with one of the other horses, reaching down to help him up. Preacher shot him, intending to take the mount. That didn’t work because the shot spooked the horses and they trotted off, leaving him standing. We rode up, stopping well out of pistol range. It didn’t stop him from emptying it, then he turned to his horse and tried to pull his rifle out. I was wondering how he would be able to shoot it one handed when Sonny’s rifle boomed again, hitting Preacher in the shoulder of his remaining arm.
He was screaming curses at us when we trotted up, holding his stump against the shoulder. We just sat for a minute listening. He finally ran out of breath. Jess rode forward, Sonny right behind her. Preacher went quiet, fear evident on his face for the first time.
“Hello, Pa. Happy to see us? We’re damn sure glad to see you. It means we can end this, right here, right now.”
He looked at Jess and Sonny before booming out commands. “Children! You must honor your father. The Bible says so. Now help bind my wounds, and take me back to my ranch!”
“Far as we’re gonna take you is that tree yonder. You’ll meet your end there. I bet God ‘s gonna want to talk to you, right before he sends you to hell. I’d like to hear that conversation.”
Giving it up for a lost cause, he tried to run. Since he was going in the direction we wanted him to go anyway, we just followed along. It didn’t take him long before he had to stop, wheezing for breath. Jess dropped down off Sweetie, unrolling the bullwhip she’d picked up. It sang through the air, landing across his thighs. He screamed in pain before trying to run again. She walked along behind him, occasionally landing a blow on his back or legs. When we got to the trees she snapped the whip again, wrapping it around his legs and dropping him. Sonny got down off his horse, walking up and grabbing him by his long hair. “Before we hang you, I need to give you something to remember. Remember saying that? It was your exact words, every time you whipped me. I remember every time I take my shirt off.”
Carlos and Brad helped him get Preacher up and strapped to a tree. Carlos’s knife flashed and we could hear it going through the fabric of his coat and shirt. A few more cuts and they lay in tatters out his feet, his pants around his ankles. Bud snapped the whip a couple of times making him flinch. That’s when the begging began. “Please don ... AAAAHHH!”
The whip hit, cutting a gash from his right shoulder to the top of his left buttock. He sounded like an animal screaming. Before he could draw a breath he got a matching stripe. Then Bud meticulously flayed the skin off his back. His back didn’t look like it belonged to a human when he was done. Pa started forward but I put my arm out.
“This has been a long time coming. It’s family business, and we need to stay out of it. He’ll be done here directly.”
Even as I spoke Sonny stepped back. Then he handed the whip to Jess, who concentrated on his buttocks. One swing managed to go between the cheeks of his ass, the tip curling inwards. When it hit the back of his balls his scream was so high pitched you could barely hear it. He slumped in his bonds, passed out over the pain. That was enough for her, and she dropped the whip and stood back.
Brad and I tossed a rope over a limb, tying it around his neck, not even using the hangman’s knot. The other end went to the pommel of the recovered horse, and we walked her back slowly, dragging him upright. We let him dangle on his toes for a minute, then slapped the horse’s rump. The weary animal trotted forward a few feet before stopping, plain worn out.
We hadn’t tied his ... hand? And he was grasping at the rope with it and his stump, trying to take the pressure off. He didn’t have the grip or the strength and we stood impassively, watching him sway and gurgle. It probably took him two minutes to die. We waited another five minutes, then turned and saw to our horses.
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