“Thanks for the info Bill, are you okay?”
“Yea, I’m going to be fine, got a sore head, that’s all,” Bill said as he rubbed the back of his bald head.
Jon turned his attention to the crowd of onlookers. “Let’s all go home now, folks, Jack’s going to be okay. No use hanging around here.” People grumbled as the crowd began to slowly break up. Libby came close to Jon and laid her hand on his shoulder. He smiled at her as his eyes squinted into the sun.
“Promise me you won’t take any unnecessary chances out there Jon, promise me,” Libby exhorted her lover. “You’ve got more than just yourself to worry about now!”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little face Libby, I’m going to be fine,” Jon said confidently as he yanked the billet straps tight and loosened the bridle a might on his faithful companion, Babe. “I hate to rush off Darlin’, but I’ve got to catch a couple of varmints who have a pretty good head start on me. I’m going to grab some supplies and go after them right away. I’d like to catch them before dark if I can.”
“Godspeed,” Libby said quietly, trying to control her emotions. She knew that when the lead started flying, someone could get maimed or killed - even a man like Jon. That’s what tormented her.
Jon smiled and winked at her as he hurried up the rickety stairs to the general store. He grabbed several strips of jerky, a few cans of beans, a bag of flour and a few canteens of water off the shelves and arms full, he quickly left the store. Ed had rushed down to the livery stable and was waiting out front with Babe. Jon quickly stuffed the goods in his leather saddle bags and mounted his anxious steed; he stopped for a moment and spoke to Ed.
“Malone’s down. Ed, you need to stay here and mind the store. I can take care of these two lowlifes myself.”
“If you say so, Boss,” Ed said disappointedly. “But be careful. Someone said the older one is Zing Fuller, a gunman from down Pecos way.
“Thanks Ed; I’ve heard of him,” Jon replied as Babe leaped forward to begin his pursuit of the shooters. He glanced down at the fresh tracks heading south from town toward the Gila River. “Let’s go girl!” He spurred Babe on, anxious to make up for lost time. He hoped to catch the culprits before dawn, but the winter sun was setting fast in the reddish-gray sky. He had to hurry.
As he rode along, the trail suddenly curved and dropped down a steep bank toward Black Rock Creek, a small tributary that had splintered off of the Gila. Jon moved quickly, but carefully, down the sharp incline. At level ground, Jon spurred the big mare forward toward the creek which was slightly swollen by recent rains. He pulled up suddenly.
“Whoa girl, whoa!” Jon shouted. Babe reared up and pushed backward with her hind legs, her front hoofs knifed into the muddy bank. Hoofs slipping, she climbed up the bank to level ground.
“Okay girl, it’s okay,” Jon said softly, as Babe pranced nervously. Jon quickly examined the tracks leading to the stream.
“Looks like an old Indian trick to me, girl.”
The tracks had taken a sharp turn to the east just before entering the stream. This should indicate that the savvy varmints had gone into the creek and then traveled east, but upon closer examination, Jon eyed a deep hoof print just above the water line on the opposite side of the creek. “That print’s pushing west; they turned on us and went west. Let’s get after ‘em!”
Jon rode rapidly alongside the creek looking desperately for any evidence of the lowlifes that shot his friend, Jack Malone. After a while, the desert ironwoods, creosote bushes, and cat claws were growing thick along the bank of the creek.
“The brush is getting too thick, we’re going to have to go in,” Jon whispered. Babe whinnied as he prodded her into the stream.
Neigh! Neigh! Babe suddenly reared up, almost throwing Jon off; a spotted Gila monster slithered up the muddy bank. Jon patted Babe’s neck and continued on. The creek began to narrow and the bushes got thicker as Jon struggled forward in the icy creek. Soon he was in a darkened, eerie, tunnel-like space. He was surrounded by thick brush on one side and a steep incline of slippery boulders on the other. It seemed like forever until a sliver of light appeared up ahead signaling the end of the shadowy channel. Jon picked the twigs and stickers off his brown felt hat and denim shirt, tossed them aside and continued on.
“Let’s find that sunshine,” Jon whispered. He rode toward the light and then pulled up. Babe’s ears pricked as she pranced in the gurgling stream. She was warning her master. Jon listened closely; he could hear men’s voices off in the distance.
“It has to be them girl,” Jon muttered. “We haven’t passed any abandoned campsites or seen any other hoof prints along the way. Let’s go girl.”
Jon felt crowded and trapped as he inched forward through the creek. Thick brush and slippery boulders bordered the dark passageway. He looked around for a way out but couldn’t find an opening. One thing for sure, there could be no turning back for big Jon. Trapped or not, he was moving on. Those men had to pay for shooting Jack; he would see to that. There would be no quarter asked, no quarter given.
Jon struggled along the stream toward the voices. As he got closer he decided to look for a way out of the creek. He jumped into the rushing water and waved his hand in front of Babe’s eyes, signaling her to stand still until she heard his whistle. Jon felt the cool water on his legs as he sloshed through the gently flowing stream. He heard the voices again; they were on both sides of the bank. An ambush! he thought. Jon stepped over and moved quietly along the north side of the stream next to the thick brush; he was soon just fifty yards from the culprits. He ducked down in the shadows of the brush and leaned forward. He could see the two men standing on opposite sides of the creek talking to each other. The well dressed older man had to be Zing Fuller, the other man was too young.
“Wonder if that deputy’s dead?” the younger man shouted.
“Don’t know,” came the reply from the other side. Jon watched as the nattily dressed Fuller popped a couple of bullets from his gun belt and slid them carefully into the cylinders of his six gun. Jon knew that Fuller was a dangerous man.
“His eyes were as big as saucers when I let him have it,” the young man boasted.
“I reckon so. He thought he was playin’ with amateurs,” Fuller replied.
This conversation infuriated Jon. He knew what kind of man Jack Malone was and he knew that he wouldn’t have shown any fear to these lowlifes. The “eyes as big as saucers” comment was the wrong thing for big Jon to hear. These cowards had shot Jack without warning and they were about to face a deadly shootout with an angry Jon Stoudenmire.
“Better quiet down now,” the older man remanded his younger counterpart. “Won’t be too long before that sheriff’s gunna be here. Somethin’ must have spooked his horse a little while ago, I heard a whinny. He should be here anytime.”
“Yea, I guess he’s a pretty bad hombre.” The young man seemed jumpy as he hocked a big one on the ground.
“That’s what I hear,” Fuller replied. “Now let’s both just shut up and hide in these rocks before he gets here.”
An angry Jon wanted revenge, but he knew he had to be careful with these two. Fuller sounded like a pretty hard case and was reportedly good with a gun. The younger man sounded nervous and kind of jumpy. He was the one who shot Jack. In a tight spot he would more than likely shoot first and ask questions later. His kind was predictable - trigger happy and very dangerous, but predictable. The older man would be less nervous and more calculating.
The two men had settled in and been quiet for some time when Jon decided to move out from behind the bushes and cross the creek to the other side. Jon had to be careful, both were packing rifles as well as six guns. Jon moved over and looked up at an opening in the brush at the