{"id":639,"date":"2020-06-15T00:55:00","date_gmt":"2020-06-15T00:55:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/?p=639"},"modified":"2020-06-13T19:42:25","modified_gmt":"2020-06-13T19:42:25","slug":"a-bullet-for-henry","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/2020\/06\/15\/a-bullet-for-henry\/","title":{"rendered":"“A Bullet for Henry” by Donald D. Shore"},"content":{"rendered":"\n


Henry Dunn sank the posthole diggers into the ground. Hard, dry soil crunched beneath steel. He worked the handles, lifted, and released the soil next to the freshly dug hole.

A worn hat shielded his face from the sun as he carried the posthole diggers back to the buckboard. Drops of sweat streamed down his face as he lifted another post from the wagon bed.

Henry\u2019s horse shifted in the tackle and stomped its hoof, letting out a gust of air. Henry scanned the country, keen to his animal\u2019s unease. He moved toward the buckboard\u2019s bench seat where his Spencer Carbine was stowed and watched as four riders came from the west.

A cloud of dust sprayed out before him as the riders pulled reign. Henry watched the men size up his horse and wagon with steely eyes, ignoring the sweat-soaked man in front of them.

\u201cFrank,\u201d Henry said, keeping his arm close to the hidden Spenser.

Frank McCord nodded. His sharp angular face was one Henry knew well. \u201cHenry,\u201d he said.

Henry eyed their horses, lathered and thin, saddlebags bulging at their sides. \u201cLooks like you boys rode a piece.\u201d

\u201cYou know how it is, Henry. It\u2019s a big country.\u201d

Henry motioned toward the canteen hanging from the side of the buckboard. \u201cHave a drink.\u201d

\u201cWhisky,\u201d said one of the men.

\u201cDon\u2019t be rude, Dusky,\u201d Frank said, with a sharp crack to his voice. He turned back to Henry and said, \u201cDon\u2019t mind him, Henry. He just forgot his manners.\u201d Frank motioned to the other men. \u201cThis is Waylon Fritz. That\u2019s Sancho. The rude one is Dusky Jones.

\u201cBoys,\u201d Frank went on, \u201cthis is Henry Dunn.\u201d

The men stared down at Henry, their eyes telling him what they thought of a man with no six-gun on his hip.


\u201cI heard you was out here, Henry.\u201d Frank shook his head and spat. \u201cYou a homesteader now? A sodbuster?\u201d He smiled at his own joke. One of the other men laughed. Henry didn\u2019t mark which one.

\u201cNever known you to leave New Mexico, Frank. What brought you this way?\u201d

\u201cNew Mexico got too small for me, Henry. Heard you was out this way, figured it was time for a reunion.\u201d

Henry didn\u2019t like the familiar glint in Frank\u2019s eye.

\u201cWhere\u2019s your stock?\u201d said Dusky Jones. \u201cAll you got is that old horse?\u201d

Henry didn\u2019t answer, keeping his eyes on Frank.

Dusky grunted.

\u201cHow about you invite us to supper,\u201d said Frank. \u201cDo some catching up.\u201d

\u201cI don\u2019t have much to offer.\u201d

\u201cWhatever you have,\u201d said Frank, \u201cI\u2019m sure is fine.\u201d

\u201cI got the rest of these posts to sink,\u201d Henry said.

\u201cThat\u2019s fine, too\u201d said Frank, pulling his reigns and starting his horse. \u201cWe\u2019ll head on over. Don\u2019t be too long.\u201d

The men filed past Henry, following Frank McCord. Wary men, their eyes constantly searching. Back shooters afraid of getting back shot. Once they were gone, Henry went back to planting his posts.

Henry drove the buckboard back to the cabin, an adobe structure held together with packed mud and prayers. Tired eyes fell on the four horses turned out in his corral, then to the three men lounging within the scant shade slowly taking hold at the front of the cabin.

Dusky and Waylon sat on their haunches, their backs pressed against the wall. Sancho stood next to them. The Mexican\u2019s head was tilted so the sombrero he wore covered his weather-beaten face. When Henry came near, Sancho stood up and vanished inside the cabin.

Henry moved the Spenser from the floor of the buckboard to his lap as he pulled the buckboard into the yard. Sancho stepped back out of the cabin and took his place against the wall. Henry came down from the wagon, Spenser in hand, and set about unhitching the horse from the buckboard.

\u201cYou sure you don\u2019t have any whiskey,\u201d Dusky called out.

Henry closed the corral gate and turned to the men lined against the wall. They were men from another time in his life. They were strangers, but he knew them. Knew they would kill with the least provocation. Kill for the sake of killing.

\u201cI don\u2019t drink whiskey,\u201d said Henry.

Henry moved forward and Dusky Jones stood up from his place at the wall.

Dusky said, \u201cYou\u2019re a rude, gut-licking dog. And a liar.\u201d

Henry\u2019s hand tightened on the carbine.

Frank McCord\u2019s voice broke from out of the cabin. \u201cCome in here, Henry.\u201d

\u201cWe\u2019ll have us a talk later,\u201d Dusky said. \u201cJust me and you.\u201d

Henry didn\u2019t answer. He stepped past the three men and went into the cabin.

He found Frank McCord sitting in one of the two chairs Henry owned, a cigarette in one hand, the other on the table next to a Smith and Wesson. The bulging saddlebags Henry had taken of note of were piled against the wall behind him.

Frank raised his eyes at Henry, light falling across him from the bare windows and doorway. He smiled, flicked ashes to the floor, and said, \u201cQuite a spread, Henry. You\u2019ve come up in the world.\u201d

Henry leaned the Spencer against the wall and poured water from a pitcher into the wash bowl.

\u201cIt suits me,\u201d he said, cleaning the dirt off his face.

\u201cHenry Dunn, a dirt rancher,\u201d said Frank. \u201cI never would have believed it.\u201d

Frank laughed. Henry dried his face and hands. He turned to Frank, looked him over. The lines in Frank\u2019s face had grown deeper and the gray at his temples had spread since he\u2019d last seen him.

\u201cHow long has it been, Henry?\u201d

\u201cA long time.\u201d

Henry took a box of matches from the edge of the stove, stuck some kindling inside the belly, and struck a flame.

\u201cLet\u2019s see,\u201d said Frank. \u201cI heard you did five years down in Huntsville \u2013 how long you been out now?\u201d

\u201cTwo years.\u201d

Henry set a kettle of beans he\u2019d left soaking in a pot onto the eye of the stove.

\u201cTwo years,\u201d Frank repeated, \u201cand not a word from you.\u201d

\u201cYou aren\u2019t exactly an easy man to find, Frank.\u201d

\u201cI found you easy enough.\u201d

Henry shrugged.

\u201cThings are different now, Frank. I\u2019m a different man.\u201d

Frank\u2019s eyes narrowed. He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaled, and let the butt drop to the floor.

\u201cI\u2019d wager you aren\u2019t so different,\u201d said Frank.

Henry crossed the room to the chest at the foot of his bed. He opened the lid and reached inside. A heavy thud on the table brought Henry\u2019s eyes back up.

\u201cIf you\u2019re looking for this,\u201d Frank said, nodding to Henry\u2019s Colt Peacemaker, \u201cthe boys already found it.\u201d

Henry came up with a clean shirt in his hand. He stripped off the work shirt and slid into the clean one.

Frank\u2019s laughed filled the cabin.

Henry closed the trunk and dropped the soiled shirt into a corner. He crossed the room and took the chair opposite of Frank. He said, \u201cLooks like you took up with some competent company since we parted.\u201d

\u201cCompetent enough,\u201d said Frank. He smiled again. \u201cI told you, you haven\u2019t changed much. That brain of yours, always working. What\u2019s the angle, Henry? I know you\u2019re not out here fencing in a dirt farm. You\u2019re working something.\u201d

\u201cI\u2019m different now, Frank. That five years inside changed me. I made a promise to myself. I\u2019m not ever going back in there. Ever.\u201d

\u201cMaybe you want to hear what I have to say before you make up your mind.\u201d

\u201cI don\u2019t want to hear it. You and your boys can stay the night. After that, I\u2019d be obliged if you rode on.\u201d

\u201cThere\u2019s fifty-thousand dollars in those saddlebags. More where that come from. A lot more. I got a line on a silver mine down in Juarez. Every month there\u2019s a payroll delivery.\u201d

\u201cSounds like you\u2019ve got it worked out. What do you need me for?\u201d

\u201cI need men I can trust, Henry. We were partners once. Ride with me again and we\u2019ll be rich in a year. You can buy any ranch you want, if that\u2019s what suits you.\u201d

Henry shook his head. \u201cI\u2019m not going back to having bullets thrown at me and keeping company with killers. That\u2019s how you get locked up. Or tied to the hanging end of a rope.\u201d

A shadow drifted across Frank\u2019s face erasing his smile. He stood up, holstered his Smith and Wesson and slipped Henry\u2019s Colt into his belt. He stood at the cabin door with his arm braced against the frame and stared out at the empty country.

\u201cWe\u2019re staying here until I say we move on.\u201d

\u201cThat\u2019s the way it is,\u201d said Henry.

\u201cThat\u2019s the way it is.\u201d Frank nodded toward the stove. \u201cDon\u2019t let those beans burn. The boys get ornery when the grub isn\u2019t up to their standards.\u201d

The sun went down with all of them except Sancho inside the cabin. An oil lamp hung above the table breathed shadows over the four men cramped inside the tight space.

Frank McCord occupied one chair and Dusky Jones sat in the other, lazily shuffling through a deck of playing cards. He eyed Henry, who was on the narrow bed shoved against the wall. Waylon stood fidgeting in the doorway.

\u201cWhy do you only have two chairs,\u201d Waylon said, breaking a long silence. \u201cCan\u2019t even have a good card game with two chairs.\u201d

Waylon regarded Henry with dark, deep set eyes, then turned to Frank.

\u201cWhy don\u2019t I ride to town, fetch a couple bottles of whiskey and bring back a chair.\u201d

\u201cNobody\u2019s riding anywhere,\u201d said Frank. \u201cQuit your belly aching.\u201d

Waylon put his back against the doorframe, his eyes planted on Henry.

\u201cWhy does he get the bed?\u201d

\u201cThat rights reserved for the leader of this gang.\u201d Frank stood up, picked the two pistols off the table, holstered his, and shoved Henry\u2019s into his belt, and stepped toward the cot. Henry stood up and took a place in the corner of the cabin. Frank laid down, stretched out his legs, crossed one boot over the other, and set his hat low over his eyes.

\u201cTake the chair, Waylon,\u201d said Frank. \u201cPlay your cards.\u201d

Henry fell asleep against the wall with his head on his knees. He looked up to see Sancho standing in the doorway, a Springfield rifle held in both hands.

\u201cRider coming.\u201d

Frank McCord sprang up from the bed. Dusky and Waylon shifted at the table where they had slept with their heads down.

\u201cAlone?\u201d Frank asked Sancho.

\u201cSi,\u201d said Sancho.

\u201cHow far out?\u201d Frank crossed the cabin to the stove and picked up Henry\u2019s Spencer.

\u201cCouple miles,\u201d said Sancho.

Franked worked the Spencer\u2019s lever. Shells landed with a dull thud against the table and rolled metallically. He tossed the Spenser across the room to Henry.

Frank turned to Waylon and Dusky. \u201cYou two stay here.\u201d

Henry followed Frank out into the yard, Sancho behind them.

\u201cSaddle up the horses,\u201d said Frank. He stared out across the country where small cloud of dust disturbed the blues and grays of the early morning horizon.

Sancho climbed into the saddle, bringing his horse around to face Henry.

\u201cHe means you, gringo<\/em>,\u201d he said, and put heels to his horse\u2019s flanks.

\u201cWhere\u2019s he going?\u201d said Henry.

\u201cDon\u2019t worry about him,\u201d said Frank. \u201cSaddle the horses.\u201d

Half an hour later Henry and Frank were within closing distance of the rider.

\u201cYou know him?\u201d said Frank.

\u201cBurl Aberdine,\u201d Henry said. \u201cThe sheriff.\u201d

Frank leaned over the saddle and spat. \u201cGet rid of him.\u201d

Henry searched the edge of the country for Sancho.

\u201cHe\u2019s out there,\u201d said Frank. \u201cTrust on that.\u201d

Henry tapped the butt of his Spencer and said, \u201cWhat\u2019s the point of this?\u201d

Frank kept his eyes on the approaching lawman. \u201cIt might seem peculiar for you to be unarmed. You just remember that Mexican\u2019s out there, and he\u2019s a hell of a sharpshooter with that Springfield. Maybe better than you were.\u201d

Henry walked his horse forward a few steps to meet the sheriff.

He said, \u201cWhat brings you out this way, Sheriff?\u201d

Aberdine leaned to the side and spat a long stream of tobacco. He looked past Henry to Frank.

\u201cWho\u2019s your friend, Henry?\u201d

\u201cBob Woolard. Hired him on to help with the ranch.\u201d

\u201cBob Woolard,\u201d Aberdine repeated. \u201cFriend of yours from Huntsville?\u201d

\u201cThat\u2019s right.\u201d

Aberdine leaned over and spat again. He brought his eyes back to Henry.

\u201cGot word of a Comanche making trouble,\u201d said Aberdine. \u201cIndian named Hachi. You run into him, I advise you to ride the other way.\u201d

\u201cThought the army licked the Comanche out here,\u201d said Frank.

Aberdine considered the man wearing the heavy pistols before he answered. \u201cI reckon not.\u201d

Aberdine spat another stream of tobacco. \u201cGot other homesteads to warn.\u201d

The sheriff put his horse to a walking pace and rode on.

Henry said, \u201cHachi\u2019s a bad one.\u201d

\u201cGood. Bad Indians keep folks away. You did good Henry. Keep doing good.\u201d

Dusky and Waylon were sitting in the ribbon of shade painted in front of the cabin as Henry and Frank McCord rode in.

\u201cWell?\u201d asked Dusky.

Frank ignored him. He handed Henry his bridle reigns and walked to the water barrel at the side of the cabin. Dusky trailed after him.

\u201cWell?\u201d Dusky demanded.

Frank cupped his hands in the water and washed his face as Henry led the horses into the corral.

Dusky put a hand on Frank\u2019s shoulder. He said, \u201cAnswer me, you \u2013,\u201d

Frank reared and slapped Dusky with the back of his hand. The force of the blow sent Dusky to the ground. He came quickly to his feet, hand on the butt of his pistol. He froze with Frank\u2019s Smith and Wesson inches from his face.

\u201cI talk when I\u2019m ready to talk,\u201d said Frank. \u201cTake your hand off that pistol before I decide to split the take three ways instead of four.\u201d

\u201cSure,\u201d said Dusky. He raised his hand away from his pistol. \u201cI was just felling anxious, Frank. You boys riding off, leaving me and Waylon sitting here all alone.\u201d

They turned, hearing Sancho ride up. Frank holstered his pistol and Dusky took a few steps away, rubbing his face.

\u201cI followed him far enough south to know he wasn\u2019t doubling back on us,\u201d Sancho said from the saddle.

Henry listened from the corral. He reached a hand under his horse to unbuckle the saddle strap when Frank called out to him.

\u201cLeave them saddled.\u201d Frank snapped. \u201cWe might need to ride.\u201d

Henry came out of the corral and stepped across the yard toward the cabin. Frank stopped him at the door.

\u201cYou can set that Spencer down.\u201d

Henry turned to Frank. \u201cYou scared I might use it as a club?\u201d

\u201cBest not to take chances.\u201d

\u201cWhat do we need him for anyway, Frank,\u201d said Dusky.

\u201cHe might prove handy if that lawman decides to double back.\u201d

\u201cOr the Comanche,\u201d said Henry. He set the Spencer down next to the door and stepped inside the cabin. He sat at the table with his back to the door. His eyes fell on the Spencer\u2019s .50 caliber bullets Frank had left scattered across the table and swept a couple of the shells into his palm.

He heard Waylon outside. \u201cI thought the Comanche were all dead.\u201d

Frank McCord\u2019s boots thudded into the cabin. Henry slipped the shells into his pocket as Frank came around the table, saying to Waylon, \u201cDon\u2019t waste your time worrying about one renegade off the reservation.\u201d

Frank glanced at the shells on the table. He picked one of them up, examining it like an artifact.

\u201cWhat if it that posse shows up here?\u201d said Dusky. \u201cWhat if that Comanche comes around here, or that lawman comes back?\u201d

Frank tossed the shell into the air and caught it.

\u201cHenry will deal with the lawman,\u201d said Frank. \u201cIf the Indian comes around, we\u2019ll deal with him.\u201d He tossed the shell and caught it again. \u201cMaybe he\u2019ll take Henry as a peace offering.\u201d

\u201cI didn\u2019t sign up to deal with no Comanche,\u201d Dusky said.

Henry felt the weight of the bullets in his pocket, knowing two bullets were not enough.

\u201cYou signed on to do what I tell you,\u201d said Frank. \u201cIf any of you want out \u2013.\u201d He didn\u2019t bother finishing the last part as he caught the shell again.

\u201cSancho!\u201d Frank called out and took a step toward the cabin door.

\u201cSi,\u201d Sancho answered from the yard.

\u201cGo watch the trail to the west. You see a posse, that lawman, or an Indian, you come back here and get me.\u201d

\u201cSi.\u201d<\/em>

Henry turned in his chair, watching Sancho ride out, wondering how to get rid of three men with two bullets.

Sancho chose a spot where he could watch the western trail without being seen against the skyline. The valley stretched out below him like a worn blanket as he scanned the country with an old pair of field glasses.

Sancho like being alone. Scouting was a job that suited him. He didn\u2019t eat much, he didn\u2019t drink much, and he had little use for conversation. Sancho didn\u2019t care much for Texas, or Texans for that matter, and preferred the mesas and arroyos of New Mexico. But when money was involved, Sancho adjusted his temperament. Money was one thing Sancho did care about, and he cared about it a great deal.

The horse grazing behind him bellowed. Sancho lowered the field glasses. The feeling of being watched tickled the nape of his neck like a senorita\u2019s lithe fingers. He searched again, his dark eyes hovering over the sparse mesquite bushes dotting the valley.

Sancho didn\u2019t like it. He went to the horse, put the field glasses in his saddlebag, and slid his Springfield from its boot. Turning, he came face to face with a Comanche.

Suddenly, Sancho felt weak. A warm wetness spilled down his crotch and legs. He dropped the Springfield and looked down at the red gash across his belly. At the blue-gray entrails spilling out. At the knife in the Comanche\u2019s hand.

Sancho fell, the world going black. His ears were filled with the piercing screech of the Comanche\u2019s war cry.

\u201cThree kings,\u201d Waylon said, setting his cards on the table.

\u201cThat\u2019s five hands in a row,\u201d Dusky Jones said. \u201cNo man wins five hands in a row without cheating.\u201d

\u201cI don\u2019t like it,\u201d Frank said from his place at the door.

\u201cWhat don\u2019t you like?\u201d said Henry, from the bed.

Frank turned his eyes on Henry for a moment, then went back to gazing out on the country. The sun had begun to slip into the west and a thin pink ribbon had formed against the horizon.

\u201cYou boys go check on Sancho. He should have checked in by now.\u201d

\u201cWe got a game going here, Frank,\u201d Dusky protested, his eyes leveled at Waylon.

Frank exploded. \u201cI don\u2019t give a damn what you got!\u201d In an instant, he was beside the table with a hand on the walnut grip of his holstered Smith and Wesson. \u201cGo check on Sancho before I take both your futures.\u201d

\u201cWe\u2019ll ride out there,\u201d said Dusky. \u201cBut I\u2019m awful tired of being bossed around, Frank.\u201d

\u201cIf you want your shares, you\u2019ll do what I tell you, when I tell you. Now, go.\u201d

Frank watched them mount and ride off.

\u201cYou seem nervous, Frank,\u201d said Henry.

\u201cThere\u2019s a lot of money in those bags. More waiting for me in Juarez. Nothing\u2019s going to get in the way of that.\u201d

Frank cut his eyes back to the doorway.

\u201cYou won\u2019t see him until it\u2019s too late, Frank.\u201d

\u201cWho?\u201d

\u201cThe Comanche.\u201d

Frank spit out the doorway, his eyes searching. \u201cI never seen an Indian I couldn\u2019t beat.\u201d

“You won\u2019t see this one either. That\u2019s my point.\u201d

Frank stepped toward Henry.

\u201cIt\u2019ll take more than a boogieman to scare me off. I suggest you sit there and shut up. Hope I don\u2019t notice you more than I need to.\u201d

\u201cAll right, Frank.\u201d

\u201cYou\u2019re a sad case, you know that, Henry? You used to be something. You had money. Women. Now, look at you. It makes me sick to see you like this. I got half a mind to put you out of your misery right here and now.\u201d

\u201cYou don\u2019t want to do that, Frank.\u201d

\u201cWhy not?\u201d

\u201cIf Hachi is as bad as I say he is, you\u2019ll want more than a couple of saddle-tramps backing you up.\u201d

\u201cYou just keep talking, Henry Dunn.\u201d

Waylon was only half listening to Dusky. His attention was focused on the country ahead, and what might be out there.

\u201cWe been taking orders long enough,\u201d said Dusky. \u201cThe last job was it for me. Fifty-thousand split two ways. That\u2019s twenty-five thousand dollars for each of us, Waylon.\u201d

Waylon pulled his horse to a stop.

\u201cWhat is it?\u201d Dusky said. He followed Waylon\u2019s gaze toward the sky. Several buzzards circled lazily in the late day sun.

Waylon pulled his pistol. Dusky loosened his own, peering up at the dark shapes hovering low in the sky.

\u201cYou smell it?\u201d Waylon asked. \u201cSmells like an injin.\u201d

They sat for a minute. Searching.

\u201cSancho wouldn\u2019t let no injin sneak up on him,\u201d said Dusky.

\u201cWe gone far enough. Let\u2019s head back.\u201d

Dusky turned in his saddle. \u201cI never thought you was yellow.\u201d

\u201cI\u2019m going back,\u201d Waylon said. \u201cI seen enough.\u201d

Waylon pulled his horse around. The rifle shot almost knocked him out of the saddle. He dropped his pistol and held on to the saddle horn as his horse bolted in a cloud of dust.

Dusky fell in behind Waylon. He drew his pistol and fired. Hot lead whizzed and whined past him.

Dusky overtook Waylon. Waylon\u2019s face was pale. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. Dusky put his pistol barrel to the head of Waylon\u2019s horse and fired. Waylon\u2019s horse somersaulted and crashed to the dirt, spilling its rider in a cloud of dust, as Dusky raced away.

Frank McCord heard the staccato beats of a galloping horse. He exchanged looks with Henry and they both went to the door. Beneath soft, white moonlight, they saw Dusky Jones, his horse lathered and slick with sweat.

Dusky slid out of the saddle and went to the rain barrel without glancing at the two men. They watched Dusky dunk his head in the water and come up for air, breathing heavily.

Frank said, \u201cWhere\u2019s Sancho?\u201d His eyes cut back to the encroaching darkness of the prairie. \u201cAnd Waylon?\u201d

Dusky stood with his hands on the rim of the rain barrel, looking into its depths, as if the answers were just below the surface.

\u201cDead.\u201d

\u201cDead,\u201d Frank repeated.

\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d said Dusky. \u201cComanche got \u2018em.\u201d

\u201cAnd you got away,\u201d said Frank.

\u201cHe come out of nowhere. Got Waylon with the first shot.

\u201cThat\u2019s fine,\u201d said Frank. \u201cThat\u2019s just fine.\u201d

\u201cWhat\u2019d you want me to do,\u201d Dusky demanded, \u201chand my scalp over to him? I did what any man would do.\u201d

\u201cHard to believe anyone got the drop on Sancho,\u201d said Frank.

\u201cYou can ride out there and look for yourself if you don\u2019t believe me. Just follow the buzzards.\u201d

\u201cLeaves a bigger share for you.\u201d

\u201cGo to hell.\u201d

Frank went for his gun. Dusky got a hand on the butt of his pistol before Frank cut him down. Dusky fell dead in the yard as the sound of Frank\u2019s shot echoed into the night.

Frank turned the smoking barrel of his pistol on Henry. \u201cGet that horse in the corral.\u201d

Henry stepped around Dusky and led the worn-out horse into the corral. He shut the gate, turned to Frank, and said, \u201cThat horse is about dead, Frank. I don\u2019t think he was lying.\u201d

Frank waved his pistol toward the cabin\u2019s doorway. \u201cSit down where I can watch you.\u201d

Henry went into the cabin and sat down. He tried not to look at the Spencer leaned against the door. He\u2019d never get it loaded before Frank cut him down.

Frank reached a hand into his vest pocket and placed a half-smoked cigarette between his lips and lit it with a match. His eyes were black slits.

\u201cGo on,\u201d he said, without looking at Henry. \u201cTry for it.\u201d Frank shook out his match.

A shot shattered the silence. The lantern fell from its hook and flames shot up from the table.

Frank flattened himself against the wall and Henry tore the blanket from the bed, quickly smothering the flames. Another shot slammed into the adobe. Splinters pelted Henry\u2019s face. He threw the table down and barricaded the door. His hand went for the Spencer.

\u201cTouch that rifle and I\u2019ll spill your brains out all over this floor.\u201d

\u201cDamn you, Frank,\u201d said Henry. \u201cThat Comanche will kill the both of us!\u201d

\u201cHe might,\u201d said Frank.

\u201cI don\u2019t care about your money. You can ride off a rich man. I\u2019m more worried about my scalp!\u201d

Silence grew between them. Frank\u2019s face was pale in the moonlight breaking through the windows. Outside, they heard the horses racing out toward the prairie.

Frank reached out the window with his pistol and fired two quick shots into the night.

\u201cGive me a pistol,\u201d Henry said after Frank flattened himself back against the wall.

Frank looked down at Henry for a long moment. Finally, he drew Henry\u2019s Colt from his belt and handed it down to him. Before letting go, Frank said, \u201cI won\u2019t think twice about blowing your brains out.\u201d

\u201cI never doubted you would.\u201d

Time passed slowly inside the cabin. Both men on edge, poised to act on the slightest sound or shift of air. Anything that could mark the passing of the Comanche.

The war cry came in the morning, rising above the pounding hooves. Henry peered over the edge of the table and Frank stole a look out of the window. Hachi passed the side of the cabin and streaked across the yard. Frank emptied his pistol at the Comanche, a small target shielded by the body of his horse.

Frank fell back against the wall, ejecting spent shells.

Henry said, \u201cWe need to draw him out.\u201d

\u201cHow we do that?\u201d said Frank.

\u201cOne of us makes a run for it and the other draws a bead with this.\u201d Henry held up the Spenser. \u201cThere\u2019s two rounds.\u201d

\u201cSure,\u201d said Frank. \u201cYou get me out there and you get to walk away with fifty-thousand.\u201d

\u201cI don\u2019t care about your money,\u201d Henry said. \u201cIt\u2019s the only way to draw him out.\u201d

Frank took the Spencer.

\u201cFine,\u201d he said. \u201cBut you\u2019re the one going out there.\u201d

\u201cYou better be as good a shot as you used to be.\u201d

Frank holstered his pistol and checked the round in the Spencer.

Henry crouched behind the table and put his hands on the edge, readying himself. Frank took position in the window and clicked the hammer back on the Spencer.

\u201cGo,\u201d said Frank.

Henry jumped through the doorway. He ran for the sliver of cover the corral offered and tucked himself behind a post. A distant shot broke the silence. Henry ran again and threw himself flat against the dirt. Another shot rang out. He glanced back at the cabin. Frank was in the window, waiting for his chance. Henry forced himself up as a bullet pelted into the dirt near his feat. He leaped over the corral and ran out onto the empty plain.

The galloping of a horse and the piercing cry of a Comanche rose from behind him. Henry turned, still running. The Comanche barreled down on top of him, mouth wide, screaming his war cry with arms stretched out, a Winchester in hand.

Now, Frank, now!<\/em>

The Spencer\u2019s shot echoed from the cabin and the Comanche tumbled from his horse. Henry stopped his run and turned to see the warrior writing on the ground, breathing heavily. The Comanche, twisted, pushed himself up with a grunt. Henry drew his Colt and thumbed back the hammer. The Comanche raised his head, dark eyes like lances stabbing into Henry\u2019s quivering guts, then fell to the ground dead.

Henry breathed the breath of a man who\u2019d just escaped certain death. He walked toward the cabin on wobbly legs and faced Frank, who stood in the doorway aiming the Spencer at Henry\u2019s chest.

Henry nodded and took another step.

Frank squeezed the trigger and the Spencer clicked dry. Henry took a bullet from his shirt pocket and tossed it onto the ground between them. Sunlight bounced off the brass casing.

Frank dropped the Spencer and went for his pistol. Henry fanned the Colt\u2019s hammer and Frank slumped against the doorframe, sinking slowly to his knees. Henry stuck his pistol into his belt and slipped past Frank, clinging to the doorframe, life bleeding out of him. His eyes followed Henry to the saddlebags, watched as he gathered them up, and went out again.

\u201cYou \u2013 said \u2013 didn\u2019t care \u2013,\u201d

\u201cI didn\u2019t, Frank,\u201d said Henry. \u201cBut I can\u2019t let fifty-thousand dollars go to waste.\u201d

<\/p>\n\n\n\n


Donald D. Shore settled in Huntsville, Al after years of traveling the country to see what else is out there. From the deserts of New Mexico to the wild forests of the North West, he found there to be a story hidden within every shadow. He spends his time carving out those stories and searching for more.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Henry Dunn sank the posthole diggers into the ground. Hard, dry soil crunched beneath steel. He worked the handles, lifted, and released the soil next to the freshly dug hole. A worn hat shielded his face from the sun as he carried the posthole diggers back to the buckboard. Drops of sweat streamed down his … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":703,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-639","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/annie-spratt-TqE8BFmJZIU-unsplash.jpg?fit=640%2C426&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/639","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=639"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/639\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":702,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/639\/revisions\/702"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/703"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=639"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=639"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=639"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}