The Dax Files

Oh Shit! I agreed to write a chapter for Christina’s Blog Western. Then she threw me the curve, a romance and incorporate a Sin, one of the seven deadlys. Ok, I settled into the idea. Of course, I had way too much time to consider the prospect of chapter one. Idea’s kept flowing. Of course, I had seen them all in every Western movie I had ever seen. I fleshed out a few ideas and thought I knew where to take this thing. However, a funny thing happened as I started to write…it came out totally different than I imagined. It’s not better or worse. It just is. I only hope I’ve given the writers that follow chapter one enough rope to hang themselves. Just Damn!

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The Gunslinger

He felt the bullet graze his left ear as he sees the smoke rise from that damned killer’s gun. It didn’t matter. Instinctively, his nimble fingers opened the cylinder of his gun, pulled out the hot spent cartridge and replaced it in one smooth effortless motion. He holstered his gun while the body fell to the ground in a heap. Killing was his business. Passing through the swinging doors of the saloon, he picks up the shot glass of rotgut whiskey and tosses it back. He wanted another shot. He could have stood at the bar all day and into the night, but he resisted the urge, this time. He threw two bits onto the worn wood, and turned to leave.

Back out into the dusty street, he momentarily watched as the vulture like dirt urchins picked the freshly killed body clean. They ravaged the clothes for money, took the gun and gun belt, and slipped the boots off the stiffening feet. The stripped carcass would be buried on the hill just as he was born unto the world, naked. He always hated that part. There was no respect for the dead, even if they were wanted men. He now wished he took that second drink. Turning away from the fruits of his labor, he side steps the scattered horse apples and heads for the Marshal’s office.

Tom Waters was a poor dirt farmer whose wife died during the “fever” two springs ago. With nothing to lose, he turned to the bottle for comfort. The hill was littered with victims of the fever. The little dusty town on the stage route between Santa Fe and Topeka would have dried up and blown away if it wasn’t for the Ranchers who kept the line open after the fever swept through. Actually it was the ranchers’ wives and daughters and their love of all things from the east that kept the town alive. Big Bill Callahan had the largest herd and the most influence in town. After the fever took the last Marshal, it was Bill Callahan that picked Tom up and dried him out. It was Bill Callahan who wrote to the Capital endorsing Tom as the next Marshal. And it was Big Bill Callahan who sent for the Gunslinger.

Tom was sitting at his desk having a cup of coffee. It was think, black, but most of all it was hot. An eerie tune weaved through his mind.” When you dance with the Devil, You’re bound to get burned.” He could hear the spurs coming down the street, Ka Cling, Cling, Cling. The little hairs were already standing on the back of his neck. He thought of that dead rustler lying naked and dead in his street. He thought of his lovely young wife, though two years dead, buried up on that hill. Worst of all, he thought of that damned Gunslinger walking his streets. In his mind, he could see that tall muscular man, and his long black overcoat waving with each step he took, that dusty black hat, and the pair of Colt Peacemakers that slung low on his hips, but most of all he thought of those eyes. He winced at the thought of those cold steely eyes that were void of life. The sound of spurs stopped. The office door swung open. Tom realized he was shivering.

“Papa! Papa! Paaa Paaa,” Emily hollered from the big den. Only a slight echo, returned. Just then, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall. The sudden sight of herself caught her off guard. For a brief moment she didn’t recognize herself. Her shoulder length hair was falling out from the ponytail she usually wore and her flowered print dress was faded and slightly wrinkled. Her face was pale where a rosy glow once radiated. She couldn’t help but notice how much she’s aged in the last couple of years. Emily loved the old ranch house she grew up in. However, her parents sent her back east to the Garrett Finishing School for Girls. They were determined to give her a first class education. When the horror of the fever touched the Lazy B Ranch, Emily came home to tend to things while her mother spent time nursing the sick. Emily too tended to the sick and fever ravaged folks. It wasn’t until her mother took ill that the terror hit home. Now she was afraid that she would never leave the Lazy B. She loved the ranch, she loved her father, but that glimpse in the mirror touched off that wandering spark. She realized that she still had the yearning to have a life of her own.

Standing in the yard by the well, Emily filled the vessels with water. She then had to gather the kindling, and prepare supper for her father and herself. She looked at the wash she had strung up to dry. The sheets were blowing in the breeze and it reminded her of the brightly colored ball gowns swaying with the music at the Governor’s inauguration. KaPow! The sound of the rifle report sweeping over the rolling hills broke her from her lovely daydream. “Damned coyotes,” she thought to herself as she headed back toward the house to start supper.

Hot searing lead pierced Roger’s shoulder. He fell backwards from his horse landing with a thud in the mixture of mud, sand, grass and cowshit that broke his fall. Luckily the rifle blast didn’t stampede the cattle or he would have been crushed beneath a thousand hooves. Now the cattle protected him from the phantom shooter. It didn’t matter. He was loosing blood and losing it fast. He untied the dirty, sweaty bandana from around his neck. He then stuffed a corner of it into his wound to stop some of the bleeding. He fought to stay conscious. He fought to stay alive. As he was slowly drifting into the blackness of unconsciousness he quietly thought, “Big Bill Ain’t gonna like this…”

Roger came to work at the Lazy B as a ranch hand when he was still just a boy. His parents were killed and the family farm burned to the ground by renegade Shawnee Indians. He had ditched his chores and was fishing at a nearby stream when the attack took place. Big Bill found him four days later just wandering around lost and took the boy in. Roger grew up at the Lazy B. Susan; Bill’s wife took a shine to little Roger. Bill did too. However, Miss Emily didn’t take to Roger right away. After all, to a young girl a little boy was nothing more than a pest. Roger was always under foot because secretly he loved her. It about crushed him when she went away to school. While Emily was away, Roger worked hard at the ranch. He learned roping and riding and even a little shooting. He tried to bury his thoughts of Emily in his work. He came to love Big Bill and Susan as if they were his own parents. And Big Bill put his trust into Roger. Roger would never let Big Bill down, not when Miss Susan passed away, and especially not now as rustlers were slowly siphoning off the herd.

The sun was beginning to set when Roger came around again. He felt as if he had been hit with a ten-pound sledgehammer right in the shoulder. Actually, he’d been hit with a 30-30. He cleared the fog from his head and started looking around for Buckshot his horse. Buckshot wasn’t far; he was just grazing on the sweet grass. He called him over and slowly climbed back in the saddle. He couldn’t move his left arm and that made the painful task frustrating indeed. By his count, about fifty to seventy-five head had been cut from the herd. He knew Big Bill would be disappointed in him. He hated to disappoint Big Bill. Bill had trusted him to look after the herd, not to get shot and have cattle stolen from him. He slumped over in the saddle and whispered to Buckshot, “Home, Buckshot, Home.” Buckshot trotted toward the ranch.

Bill Callahan sat in a big rocking chair on the front porch of the Lazy B ranch house staring out on the rolling, grassy hills of his ranch. He was sipping a fine Kentucky Bourbon and smoking an after dinner cigar. Bill was a large man. He stood over six feet and weighed almost twenty stone. Working the ranch has always given him a hearty appetite. He was up with the sun everyday and didn’t stop until suppertime. Even though he had a bunkhouse full of strapping young men, he still liked to ride the fences and cut cattle. He was getting too old to go on the cattle drives anymore. That job he entrusted to Roger. “Where is Roger?” he thought to himself. It wasn’t like him to miss the evening meal. He would never forgive himself if something had happened to that boy. He loved Roger like a son he never had. Puffing on the cigar and sipping the bourbon, Bill started to get worried. Bill worried a lot these days. About three months earlier, cattle started to come up missing. He noticed fences were cut too.

The Lazy B ranch was the largest ranch in the territory. It was no surprise to those that knew Big Bill Callahan. He was known for his large size as well as a large vision. He grew his ranch on sweat and hard work. When the big land boom brought in greenhorn settlers from the east, Big Bill Callahan was there to capitalize on their misfortune too. Some might say he even hastened it along. When the smaller ranches failed, Big Bill gobbled up their land like it was a plate of fried chicken. Of course, it didn’t hurt none that he had powerful friends at the capital either. If it was a vote on the rail lines, territorial divides, or Indian affairs, you can bet Big Bill Callahan had a hand in it. Years back, some wanted Big Bill to run for Governor. Bill didn’t want anything to do with politics. He wanted large, wide-open spaces, the wind at his back, and home cooking. But Big Bill Callahan also had a taste for control, control over the land he called home, and his taste was insatiable.

The moon started to rise high in the night sky. Still, Bill sat in that rocking chair drinking bourbon, still no Roger.

“Papa?” said Emily

“Yes darlin’” Bill softly spoke.

“Still no Roger?

“Not yet honey. He’ll be along shortly.”

“You don’t think the rustlers…”

Bill cut her off, “Don’t even think that. Roger’s a smart boy. He’ll be along shortly. Now go to bed darlin’”

“Yes papa… I love you.”

“I love you too Emily. Good Night”

Emily turned to go up to her bed. She was worried. She had never seen her father looked so worried…not since momma died.

Bill stood on wobbly legs to get another drink when he thought he saw a rider on horseback silhouetted against the night sky. The rider came closer. “Buckshot!” he shouted, and ran toward the rider.

Roger had drifted in and out of consciousness on the ride back to the ranch house. He somehow stayed in the saddle and Buckshot took him home. He met Big Bill just outside the corral.

“Oh Roger!” exclaimed Bill

“Sorry Bill, I tried to stop them. I tried.”

“Shhh! Don’t talk boy. We’ll get you patched up.”

“Sorry Dad, I tried to stop…” Roger blacked out.

Big Bill picked Roger up and out of the saddle and carried him to the house.

The Ranch was full awake by now. Emily was busy getting water and linins to clean Roger up. The ranch hands had gathered on the porch. Bill looked at the fear and despair on the faces of his men. “Hank! Ride into town and get Doc Ashby, then get the Marshal!” Hank quickly ran to the stable and rode off to town.

Nursing folks through the fever and a few first aid classes in school taught Emily how to care for the sick. She cleansed the wound with water and placed bandages over the gaping hole in Roger’s shoulder. Roger laid still and unconscious while Big Bill stood silently in the corner watching over his boy. Bill tried to swallow the swelling pangs of guilt. He knew that this was his fault. If it weren’t for his voracious appetite for power, control and lust for more land, Roger wouldn’t be laying near death. After all, it was Big Bill Callahan who hired Stalking Wolf and his gang to terrorize the smaller ranchers in the territory.

Tipping the bottle of whisky toward the bright moon, Stalking Wolf took a big drink. As he lowered the bottle he raised the pistol and fired. The bullet tore a huge chunk out of Lobo’s leg.

“Aahhh,” Lobo screamed.

“I tole you to steal cattle, not shoot nobody,” Stalking Wolf hissed.

“You crazy half-breed! I had no choice. You wanted the cattle, we brought you the damned cattle.”

“Jus lookit you now. Yore leg is all busted up. You ain’t no good to us now.”

The pistol spit angry fire from the muzzle and the bullet split Lobo’s skull.

“Git ‘em outta my sight,” Stalking Wolf hollered and tipped the bottle up high.

Stalking Wolf and his gang of killers, thieves, and outlaws hid out in a box canyon northwest of the territory deep in Indian lands. They rustled cattle and robbed banks, and trains, and laid waste to anyone who stood in their way. Stalking Wolf hated the white man who shunned him and the Shawnee Indians who discarded him. His band of killers came to the territory to rape and kill the new settlers. Under the cover of darkness, it was Big Bill Callahan who promised them free reign to enact their unholy vengeance on the white man who stood in both of their ways, but now there was only Big Bill and the Lazy B Ranch. Stalking Wolf grew to hate Big Bill Callahan. He watched, as the wealthy white man grew fatter and richer from the work of his gang. Now he wanted his fair share and he aimed to get it.

“I think he’ll be alright in a few days,” Doc Ashby said. “He just needs to rest now. You did a fine job Miss Emily.” The old doctor packed up his medical bag and turned to leave. “You need to get some rest too,” he added with a smile. Emily nodded and thanked the doctor.

“So, you think it was Stalking Wolf who shot Roger?” Tom Waters asked Bill.

“I don’t see who else had reason.”

“You want me to form a posse?”

“No, I don’t want anyone else getting shot. Stalking Wolf knows the Indian lands like the back of his hand. We’ll be sitting ducks out there.”

“I reckon your right Bill, but Stalking Wolf is just gonna get bolder and braver the longer we wait.”

“Well, I’ve been doing some thinking. I heard of a fella who might just be able to help us out. Mind if I tag along back to town with you and the Doc? I need to send a telegram.”

“What have you got up your sleeve Bill?”

“Don’t worry ’bout that now Tom. Don’t worry about that now.”

“Ready Tom?” the Doc said as he stepped out onto the porch.

“Yea, Bill’s gonna ride back with us,” Tom replied.

“That’s fine with me. Hey Bill, you got the first round when we get to the saloon?”

“Sure Doc. Just tell me again that Roger’s gonna be Ok.”

“He’s gonna be just fine. He lost a lot of blood, but with a few days rest he’ll be bustin’ broncos, ropin’ calves, and chasin’ Miss Emily around the yard.”

With that, the three men climbed up on their horses and headed into town.

The ride into town was uneasily silent. Each man soon became lost in his own thoughts. Doc Ashby worried about his patient. Roger had lost a lot of blood. He thought Emily cleaned the wound quite well, but he’s seen infection creep in to a lot cleaner wounds. Then again, a shoulder wound might leave Roger with a gimp arm. He knew a ranch hand without use of an arm would render the boy useless.

Tom on the other hand, couldn’t help but wonder what Big Bill had up his sleeve. Who was this man Bill heard about and how could one man stand up to Stalking Wolf and his gang? The very thought of bringing in a hired gun made Tom want a drink, a drink he vowed never to touch again.

Then there was Big Bill Callahan. He was lost in guilt. “When you dance with the Devil, You’re bound to get burned,” kept running through his mind. If only he hadn’t met that Bastard Stalking Wolf. If only he had let that ambush put a bullet through Stalking Wolf’s calloused heart. If only, if only…Now, Big Bill had a telegram to send. He was going to wire his childhood friend the Governor. He knew how to find the Man in Black. He knew how to find the Gunslinger. “When you dance with the devil….”

The shadow stepped into the Marshal’s office first. It loomed large and foreboding from the afternoon sun. Instantly a tall man followed it, dressed in all black. He reached into his long overcoat and pulled out a faded Wanted poster. With a flick of his wrist, the notice landed on the Marshal’s desk.

“I’m here to collect this bounty,” the dark man said.

Tom reached for the Wanted poster. It read in big, bold but faded letters, “Wanted, Dead or Alive” Under that was written, “Jake Green for murder, rape, robbery, and horse stealing.” A sketch drawing of the dead man out in the street, followed by, “$1000.00 reward”.

“Well, everything’s in order,” Tom said. “I’ll have to go to the bank for your money.” “Blood money,” he thought to himself.

“No rush Marshal, I have a little business to attend to anyway.”

“What kind of business, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Nothing illegal, Marshal, just business.”

Tom looked down. He couldn’t bear the cold stare from those dark eyes.

“Anyway, I’ll have your money in a little while. You have my word.” Tom replied.

The Gunslinger turned to leave the little clapboard jail. He turned back and said, ” A man’s got nothing, if he ain’t got his word.” He then added, “Oh Marshal, Which way to the Lazy B Ranch?” Tom looked up and thought, “So, this is the man Big Bill was talking about. This is the man who was to rid the territory of Stalking Wolf. Heaven help us all.” He then answered, “West, Head west out of town. The rode will lead you right to it.” The Gunslinger touched the brim of his hat and stepped out into the street. Tom could have sworn he heard him whistle, “When you dance with the Devil, You’re bound to get burned. When you dance….”