Highwaymen 2

Joseph settled into the drafty log structure after a thorough going over with broom and shovel. The sand and debris had accumulated three inches thick in the corners and edges due to its open state of neglect. Furnishings were few; a couple of reed-seated side chairs and a frontier bench, but only one item remaining was a necessity, the broad topped cast iron stove, centrally located in the living space.

The wind whistled through cracks between the logs since virtually all of the chinking had crumbled to dust. The place was going to require some extensive work but the bones were solid and the cedar shake roof was at least passable.

After unhitching the wagon and horses, McKenna took the opportunity to walk the property and familiarize himself further with this new adventure. There was a well house out front with a frayed rope and bucket for retrieval. Joseph hoisted the wooden pail and gave it a whiff to see if the water was potable. Clean, clear and cool, he gladly took a sip then set out to lead the horses down to the creek to slack their thirst.

Running alongside the steady flowing stream, Joseph could see clear indications of attempts at cultivation. Most of the rows had faded with the incessant breeze but patches of wild wheat, corn and melon still remained though parched from lack of irrigation.

McKenna shook his head. He could only imagine how the previous tenant likely approached the task of watering his crops, standing ankle deep in the creek tossing or passing buckets one by one to feed the needy plant life. The method might have been effective in less arid climes, but the high plains had a ceaseless thirst, unquenched by spotty efforts such as that.

Joseph’s mechanically minded eye easily determined the remedy; a sixty-foot trench, controlled by a sluice gate, could have connected the field via the natural contours simply by digging an inlet at the creek’s higher elevation, one hundred yards to the north. One glance toward the family graveyard caused Joseph to grieve for their loss, likely preventable by this one simple act of engineering.

He returned to the cabin, determined to redeem this ranch and bring life and a living back to the dusty plateau.

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The days passed quickly as McKenna busied himself with the many tasks necessary in the reclamation of a once treasured symbol of promise. Mixing clay with dried straw, the drafty gaps in the walls were sealed. He replaced the cracked, leather strap-hinges of the front door with factory forged pin swingers, a product of his former venue. Within one week, the old homestead became downright presentable!

The woodstove kept him warm and fed though the fare was sorely lacking in diversity. Snaring rabbit was a near effortless pursuit as their abundance approached the status of infestation. After several meals of the gamey rodent, questionable providence afforded Joseph the opportunity to sample a dime novel delicacy, high plains rattlesnake!

A three-footer had slithered out from under one of the loose floorboards to McKenna’s great trepidation. A quick sprint to retrieve the makeshift snake-snare from the barn rewarded the determined settler with a writhing mass of fresh reptilian cuisine. Split and stripped, he tacked the menacing skin to the timbers of the front porch then roasted the grayish chunks of meat.                                                                                           

McKenna noted the flavor to be that of “lamp-oily fish”, decidedly destined to join the growing ranks of the inedible in this new environment.

Though his supply of mealtime staples was more than adequate, fresh meat would not keep without preparation. Having stabilized the sod mound and shuttered the window openings, Joseph outfitted the former shelter, repurposed to become a big game smokehouse.

With his belly craving more civilized substance, McKenna prepared to saddle up and hunt the local antelope, spotted grazing in profusion throughout the valley. With his rifle in hand and Navy Colt at his hip, he grabbed his hat on his way out to the corral.

Joseph smiled as he glanced at the hat’s recent ornamentation, a belt made from the hide of the ill-fated rattler. Hating to waste the decorative band, he’d pondered what possible use he could employ, then in a moment of inspiration, it came to him. He’d remembered the tale of the Ouroborus, the ancient symbol for perpetuity, depicted by a ravenous snake eating its own tail. With the head as buckle and the fangs as clasps, Joseph declared his determination to carry on in this new land with every tip of his hat.

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Saddled and mounted, he turned his robust draught horse toward the trail to begin running the ridge overlooking the valley below.

Two hours into riding the range, Joseph halted the beast to crane his ear and determine the source of a noise uncommon in this empty vastness, human voices. In possession of a good sense of reckoning, McKenna located the area, confirmed by the sight of movement in the distance along the valley trail.

He could make out no words but the tempo of their utterance suggested definite indications of distress. Descending the ridgeline, he wove his way through the brush and spotty evergreens in the hopes of getting a better look before approaching them openly. Many a settler became skittish on the open road, oftentimes shooting long before the asking of questions.

Dismounting discreetly, McKenna tied off his horse and proceeded on foot. Occasionally catching brief phrases, he was close enough to make distinctions between the voices; several males and at least one female … whimpering.

One of the men blurted out pained protests while the others seemed to sound amused, apparently quite pleased with themselves. At this, Joseph took to crawling the rest of the way, inching toward the ridge of the gully where the troubling drama was unfolding.

It was then that he was able to grasp the severity of the situation, three men accosting a family of likely travelers, settlers yet to arrive at their destination. One held sway over the other two with pistol in hand, directing their actions.

A heavy-set oaf draped in a threadbare overcoat was given the task of subduing the father with a boot planted in his lower back, clutching his hair and forcing him to watch. The other appeared to be in his younger twenties, pinning the woman to the ground on her back with an outstretched arm.

Joseph could not yet make out their faces as all three had their backs toward him, but the voice of the leader seemed vaguely familiar. Given the high sign by the man with the pistol, the dirty-blond molester proudly brandished a large hunting knife, gleaming in the midday sun.

The young cretin turned his head and smiled. It was then that McKenna got his first glimpse of recognition; it was Josiah Tucker’s loathsome associate! Identifying the other two became a simple matter of deduction.

Joseph anxiously searched for a means to defuse the situation. It became obvious what was next on their horrid agenda, a heinous violation of body and mind for the woman and indelibly tortured memories for those forced to witness the tragedy. McKenna had to act, and do so quickly.

With hoots of encouragement from his enthusiastic companions, the odious rascal positioned himself between the woman’s knees then guided the glinting blade between the house dress and her violently trembling skin, the tip emerging at the bodice. Turning the edge upward, he pulled the knife slowly back toward him as the fabric parted effortlessly to either side. The appearance was that of a man gutting a fish from the inside!

The husband bellowed in weeping anguish while his children sobbed uncontrollably in the back of their wagon, too small to warrant restraint. Joseph grit his teeth, desperate for an opportunity to intervene without acting out of sheer rashness.

Nothing came to him guaranteeing success with surety so McKenna would have to rely on his grim determination and firm standing on moral high ground. He grabbed a nearby stone and hurled it high and long towards the ridge beyond the trio, distracting their attentions until he could get in position. When all had turned, he quietly raced down the embankment, stopping at a place of perfect advantage in the flat behind them.

“Hold your place, the lot of you!!”

The men froze, slowly turning only their heads. McKenna had managed to maintain a clear line of fire for all three, avoiding the endangerment of their captives. Tucker’s pistol arm was in plain view, pointed toward the gully floor, while the large one eyed his shotgun, leaning against a rock behind him, just out of reach.

  

“Easy feller” Tucker said calmly. “We ain’t got no truck with you or yours, we were just funnin’ these folks.”  

Joseph glanced at the face of each family member, fraught with sheer terror.

“Funnin’!?” McKenna struggled to suppress his rage. “I don’t see none of them laughing!! Drop the six-gun to the ground and put your hands on top of your heads!”

Tucker shook his head, smiling in cocky swagger. “And if I don’t …?” Without moving his arm, he discreetly cocked the pistol, ready to fire.

The stalwart settler had had enough; he aimed his repeater just above Josiah’s elbow. Mimicking Tucker’s Kentucky twang, he gave his response.

“Suit yer self …”

McKenna exhaled softly then pulled the trigger. The thunderous report resounded off the canyon walls, followed closely by the tortured howl of the wretched leader’s cries of agony. The bullet shattered the bones of his upper arm, exiting the front and taking a sizable chunk in passing. Tucker’s Colt fell to the desert floor with a clatter.

Joseph shifted his attention to the burly associate, too dumbstruck to venture an attempt. He reluctantly raised his hands in compliance.

Bold as brass but duller than a burnt wick, the wall-eyed delinquent took this as his opportunity to retrieve the knife from his belt, now draped around his ankles.

“Boy, I’d just as soon spare a bullet and take out your good eye, now pull the pig sticker out by the fingertips and toss it to the side!”

Defiant but undeniably defeated, he did as instructed.

“And for God’s sake …pull your pants up!!”

McKenna gathered the uninjured highwaymen to either side of their wailing captain, positioning them on their knees prone and vulnerable. Once they were contained, his focus shifted to the victims.

He motioned to one of the girls. “Young lady, fetch me a blanket and bring it to your mama …quickly!”

The two of them leapt from the wagon, running to the troubled woman’s aid, draping her with the woolen cover.

With a watchful eye on the kneeling criminals, Joseph hurried to free the husband. “What’s your name sir?” he asked.

The man kept his attentions fixed on the young blond scoundrel as McKenna undid his bindings. “Name’s Stewart … Isaiah Stewart.” He shook McKenna’s hand despite the deep chafing of his wrists.

“Joseph McKenna, go see to your wife and we’ll talk later.”

With the innocent freed, Joseph set about trussing the three offenders with rawhide strips tied behind their backs, taking no small measure of delight at their discomfort.

Isaiah enveloped his wife with a tearful embrace then carefully checked to see if she’d sustained injury. He consoled his daughters, dropping to one knee and wiping their cheeks with his sleeve. Giving them assurance and comfort, he sent the three of them to rest in the wagon while he and this kind stranger dealt with the vile trio.  

With each step closer to the repulsive band, Stewart’s sorrow abated, replaced by a mounting sense of rage. While Joseph scanned the terrain to locate their horses, Isaiah paced before the three, stomping the dust with each footfall.

“Mr. McKenna …” he said. “Could I trouble you for your revolver?”

Tucker and his subordinates stirred at the request, exchanging anxious glances and muttering amongst themselves.

“I have a right … to justice!” Stewart added sternly.

Joseph sighed as he joined the despairing settler. “True enough Isaiah, I might be considering the same in your place but are you sure you want to go down that road?”

At this the three began to protest, fidgeting desperately in their bonds. Seemingly incapable of self-restraint, the wall-eyed masher blurted out their paltry defense.

“Hey! We didn’t hurt nobody!!”

The two men standing turned in unison, filled with disgust.  Joseph came alongside the kneeling creature and poked him hard in the side of his temple with the business end of his rifle, drawing blood.

“I think the lady might beg to differ, and what about these two?” He motioned toward their precious daughters. “They’re bearing scars that may never heal! Now shut your yap or I’ll shut it for you!”

“See what I mean!?” Stewart roared. “This deviant’s right to live is forfeit and I’ve been tasked to take it!!”

“Have you …? And who has given you this grievous assignment, your wife …your little girls? Or is it God himself!?”

McKenna knew that few would deny the distraught husband’s entitlement to redeem his wife’s honor. He also realized that the alternative was also exclusively in the troubled man’s hands, the act of mercy.

With great reluctance, Joseph drew the Navy Colt from its holster and handed it to the grimly determined man.

Realizing that Stewart’s vengeful attentions were focused solely on their unfortunate associate, Tucker and his portly partner shifted in the gravelly floor, leaning away from their colleague as he began kicking his feet in an attempt to retreat.

Joseph took to binding Tucker’s arm with his folded bandana as Isaiah leveled the weighty pistol with both hands. In a feeble attempt to intervene, Tucker whispered pleas of justification in McKenna’s ear for the boy, claiming mental deficiency and the like. Joseph was oblivious, instead, calmly giving instruction.

“Mr. Stewart …you’ll first need to pull the hammer back.”

Isaiah complied

His hands began to tremble, so much so that Joseph wondered whether he might fire inadvertently.”Mr. Stewart …Isaiah, look at your wife and children. They’ve seen far more than anyone should have to, are you going to add this to their memory?”

McKenna’s words struck the settler’s fractured soul, wondering whether his motivations were driven solely by his own sense of indignation. He wrestled internally with his thoughts, shaking his head as if to cast out the undesirable, alternating his expression from rage to self-loathing despair.  

The quivering youth winced at each facial display, certain that his death would come with the next grimace. In moments, the spectacle dissipated, leaving Isaiah bearing a countenance of ambivalent resignation.

Stewart took in several deep breaths, calming his nerves. With tears in his eyes, he slowly exhaled then gently pulled the trigger … carefully returning the hammer to the position of safety with his thumb.

McKenna heaved a sigh of relief, as did the others, the flinching monster would live another day and this father of two would not have to bear vengeful blood on his hands.

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Stewart’s wife Sarah recovered as best as she could, washing her face and retrieving a new dress from the wagon. She wanted to rip the old one into shreds, tossing the tattered remnants into the river as if to cast it out of her recollection but Joseph insisted that she refrain, preferring to preserve it as evidence in the rogues’ trial.

“Isaiah, you’ll have to help me bring these three to town to levy charges, but the women can move on to my cabin until we return.”

Sarah nodded in agreement, cupping her husband’s face in her hands with a tearful kiss. The girls hugged their Papa by the waist then joined their mother at the buckboard and were off.

Having sent the women on their way, the men rejoined the disreputable trio, preparing their horses for the wearisome ride back to La Junta.

Jesse Browning, the blond violator, gave little resistance, apparently still ruminating over his near death experience. Tucker, on the other hand, took a more diplomatic approach, offering gushing apologies absent of discernible sincerity, peppered with promises of copious financial compensation. Farley Chapman, the hefty “jailer”, maintained his silence with wide-eyed obsession, anxiously preoccupied with his newfound circumstance of captivity. 

Joseph strung their horses’ leaders together at the bridles to insure that none of them could break from the train individually, with the head charger tied to Joseph’s saddle horn.  Bound behind their backs, the three were incapable of disengaging the leaders and powerless to resist McKenna’s guidance out of the valley and on to La Junta.

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Captain Ferguson gladly received Tucker and his cadre of criminals in the post brig, sequestering them in the lap of gray bar luxury. Their collection of goods stored by the depot were dutifully catalogued and secured in the impound livery behind the barracks for safe keeping while they awaited trial.

“Mr. Stewart” the Captain said. “First, I’d like to extend my deepest sympathies for what you and your family have endured. I promise you that we will do our utmost to bring these men to justice.”

Isaiah nodded.

“But I must tell you that I cannot guarantee that it will be to your satisfaction. The most we can expect, given yours and Mr. McKenna’s testimonies, are charges of assault, possibly malicious detainment. The sentence for such infractions likely will not exceed six months, perhaps eight at most.”

Stewart groaned. He removed his hat, slapping it against his thigh, running his fingers through his hair. “And then they’ll be back at their table, prowling for the next victim!?”

Ferguson sighed, “Not if I can help it sir, but yes … they’ll be free.”

Isaiah and Joseph shared a glance; both wondering at the wisdom of their merciful generosity. Thanking the good captain, the pair mounted up for the long ride “home.”

Isaiah and company would have to remain in the region until the circuit judge arrived at the outpost to litigate Tucker’s men, just under two weeks from that day. Joseph graciously offered his humble homestead to the young family until their roles in this tragic drama were ultimately fulfilled.

To Be Continued…