A Wolf in the Fold

I liked the Butchers. They were a caring, close-knit family. Maybe they were rustlers, maybe they weren’t. A court of law was the proper place to decide that. Me, I was a court of death, and sentence had been passed. Once I was paid to do a job, I always saw it through. Always. Without exception. It was part of why people sought me out to do their killing. They knew they could count on me to get it done.

In all the years I had been at this business, I never once considered whether those I was hired to remove deserved to be turned into maggot bait. It simply did not enter into the scheme of things. The same as when someone swats a fly or a spider. You never stop to ask yourself whether the fly or the spider deserves it.

I always prided myself on keeping my emotions under control. There are some who say I don’t have any, but that’s not true. I have feelings the same as everyone else. I just lock them away and don’t let them out because I can’t afford to.

But tonight I was in turmoil. By the time I reached the Dark Sister, I was a mess. I wanted to turn around and go back. I kept asking myself stupid questions, such as did I really want to kill these people? Which was stupid. “Want” had nothing to do with anything. It shows what can happen when you think too much. I’ve noticed that those who do the most thinking are the ones who are the most confused about what is important in life and what isn’t.

I drew rein. There I was, a quarter of a mile from the Butcher homestead, and I was fighting a battle with myself inside my head instead of paying attention to my surroundings. Mad at my silliness, I gigged Brisco into the trees and dismounted.

I slipped out of my jacket and laid it over my saddle. I opened one of my saddlebags, removed my gun belt with the long-barreled Remington snug in its holster, and strapped it on. From my other saddlebag I took a box of shotgun shells and crammed a handful into my pocket. The scattergun was hidden in my bedroll. I broke it open, inserted two loads of buckshot, and was ready to commence.

Light glowed in the cabin window. It was likely some of them were still up, but that was all right. I would kick in the door and cut loose with both barrels, then finish off the rest with the Remingtons and my boot knife.

I crept toward the clearing. I did not see their mongrel and reckoned it was indoors.

Daisy’s face seemed to float before me in the air. I tried to tell myself that she meant nothing to me, and gave an angry toss of my head to be shed of her image. Not much movement on my part, but suddenly the night exploded with gunfire. I dived flat. The shooters missed but not by much. There were two of them, off to my left, vague shapes in the night, and they had rifles, which gave them greater range. I had to get close for the shotgun to be effective. But that would not be easy, them being backwoodsmen and all.

I laid still a while, thinking they might work toward me, but I never heard so much as a leaf rustle. Along about then I saw that the light had gone out in the cabin, and that the cabin door was open. Someone was peering out, but I could not tell who. They did not make the mistake of calling out to the pair in the woods. Hannah’s doing, no doubt. She was a savvy one, that gal.

I started to crawl to my right. But no sooner did I move an arm and a leg than the dark was shattered by more gun blasts. Only this time the two with the rifles were closer. I saw the muzzle flash of one in front of me, and the slug kicked up dirt in my face. I let the shooter have both barrels, then rolled behind a tree and rose onto my knees to reload.

Figures were gliding across the clearing from the cabin. They were coming after me, all of them. This was not good. I was one against nine and that was too much of an advantage for them.

I had to get out of there. I turned and ran. A rifle barked, then another. Fickle fate favored me and they missed. But I made enough noise that they had an inkling where I was. It sounded like they all fired at once. The trunks, branches, and leaves around me were peppered.

I poured on speed, but they were hard after me and impossible to shake. I willed my legs to their utmost in order to reach Brisco ahead of them, and in that I succeeded. I was in the saddle and reining to the east when someone—I think it was Clell—hollered, “There he is!”

Rifles and revolvers boomed like mad. For one of the few times in my life, I was scared. Not for me but for Brisco. He was a big target and I did not want to lose him. I slapped my legs, wishing I had spurs on. Bent low, I rode for my life.

The trees saved me. There were so many of them, so close together, the Butchers could not get a clear shot. I made it to the trail and gave Brisco his head. Presently the shots and shouts faded.