“Who cares? Let’s get him!”
The riders galloped through the draw, bent on capturing or killing Falcon MacCallister.
A couple of the men in front thought Falcon made an easy target, so they pulled their pistols and began shooting up toward him as they rode. Falcon could see the flash of the gunshots, then the little puffs of dust as the bullets hit around him. The spent bullets whined as they ricocheted through the little draw, but none of them even came close enough to cause him to duck.
Falcon leaned over, almost casually, to light two fuses. A little starburst of sparks started at each fuse, then ran sputtering and snapping along the length of fuse for several feet alongside the draw. The first explosion went off about fifty yards in front of the lead rider, a heavy, stomach-shaking thump that filled the draw with smoke and dust, then brought a ton of rocks crashing down to close the draw so that the riders couldn’t get through.
The second explosion, somewhat less powerful, was located behind the riders. It, too, brought rocks crashing down into the draw behind them, closing the passage off. All twenty men were now bottled up inside the pass, and it was going to take them at least a day, maybe two days, to dig their way out. They were no longer part of whatever might happen in Higbee.
Leaving the trapped cowboys behind him, Falcon leaped onto his horse and urged it into a gallop. When he came galloping into Higbee from the west end of town a few minutes later, he saw everyone in position behind the barricade, and he knew that he had arrived before Clinton and his men.
“Here’s MacCallister!” someone said.
“Where’ve you been?” another asked.
“How did it go?” Garrison asked.
Only Garrison knew where Falcon had been, and why.
“I’ve got about twenty of them trapped in Elbow Pass,” Falcon said. “Another twenty will be coming from this direction. Is everything ready?”
“We’re ready,” Garrison said.
“Where’s the breach?”
“Right there,” Garrison said, pointing to a stack of barrels.
“You sure it’s wide enough?”
“Major, you may have come up with the plan,” Garrison said. “But I think I have the military experience to implement it.”
Falcon chuckled. “I would never question you, General,” he replied.
“They’re comin’!” someone shouted down from the roof of Moore’s general store.
“All right, men, get ready,” Garrison said. Then, spotting Denham, he scolded him. “Mr. Denham, what are you doing up here? I said I wanted only young men who could run up here.”
“I can get out in time,” Denham said.
“Get back there now before I shoot you myself,” Garrison said, pointing to the Golden Nugget.
“All right, all right, but don’t think for a minute I’m not going to write an article about overbearing generals,” he grumbled.
Falcon chuckled as he saw Denham moving back toward the Golden Nugget. Then, turning, he saw Garrison.
“General, you’re no spring chicken,” he said. “You need to get back there, too.”
“Since when does a major give a general orders?” Garrison replied.
“Go,” Falcon ordered.
“Hah!” Denham said as Garrison caught up with him. The two men went about fifty yards down the road, then stepped in behind the Golden Nugget.
Falcon watched them until they disappeared. Then he stepped up to the barricade with his pistol in hand.
“Are you boys ready?” he asked.
“Bring ’em on,” Tom said. Tom, Larry, and Frank, the three young men who had ridden as guards for the Thompson shipment of Garrison’s depot material, were among the five who were waiting behind the barricade with Falcon.
“Hold it up, men, hold it up!” Ike Clinton said when he saw the barricade stretched across the street in front of them.
Suddenly, a ripple of gunfire came from the barricade. Ike and the others started shooting back.
“Pa, should we dismount?” Cletus asked.
“Yes, dismount and take cover on the side of the road,” Ike replied.
Then a part of the barricade collapsed, and when it did, the shooting from the barricade stopped.
“Son of a bitch! Their barricade came down!” Ike said. “Mount up men! Mount up and charge! By God, we’ve got ’em now!”
“Now!” Falcon ordered. “Fall back!”
The five men with Falcon, all young, chosen for their youth and the ability to run fast, dashed down Front Street as fast as they could run. All five were faster than Falcon, who was considerably older than they were, and even before he got there, more wagons were being pulled into the street from alongside the buildings to form a second barricade. Falcon got there just in time to get behind the second barricade.
Behind them, Ike and his men, remounted now, thundered through the breach in the first barricade. No sooner had they passed through than another wagon was brought out behind them, resealing the breach. Dozens of the townsmen, who had been waiting behind the buildings, rushed out to man the second barricade.
Billy saw it first, and realized before anyone else that they had ridden into a trap. All twenty men were caught within a fifty-yard pen, with armed men behind barricades at each end.
“Pa, we’re trapped!” Billy said.
“Shoot!” Ike replied. “Shoot the bastards!”
The men who had ridden in with the Clintons, suddenly realizing the hopelessness of their position, threw their guns down and started running to either side of the street with their hands up.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” they shouted.
“You cowardly bastards!” Cletus called toward them. He shot one of the fleeing men; then Cletus went down, shot by one of the defenders. Now, only Ike, Ray, and Billy were left, and the three men were shooting and getting shot at. Ray went down, then Ike, and Billy was alone.
“Billy, give it up!” Falcon said. “It’s over!”
Billy pulled the trigger on an empty chamber. Then he picked up guns from both Cleetus and Ray and, with a gun in either hand, started firing again.
“Billy, no! It’s over!” Kathleen shouted, suddenly darting through the barricade.
“Where did she come from?” Denham asked.
“Kathleen, get back here!”
Billy, who was firing both pistols wildly, suddenly saw a hole appear in Kathleen’s forehead.
“No!” he cried in anguish. “Kathleen, no!”
“Give it up, Billy!” Falcon said. “It’s over!
Falcon came out from behind the barricade then, and started toward Billy, who was now standing there, holding both guns down by his side, staring at Kathleen’s body.
“Drop your guns, Billy,” Falcon said as he approached him.
Billy looked up at Falcon. The expression on Billy’s face was that of a wild man.
“No!” Billy shouted. Raising both guns, he began shooting at Falcon. One of his bullets nicked Falcon’s arm and another took off Falcon’s hat. Falcon had no choice but to return fire, and when he did so, Billy fell forward. Billy lay there for a second; then, wriggling forward on his stomach, he worked his way through the dirt of the street to Kathleen’s body. Reaching out, he took her hand in his, squeezed it, then died.
One hour later, with the street cleaned up and with the bodies of the Clintons and Kathleen down at the undertaker’s, the morning stage left for La Junta. Falcon saw it go by, saw Rachael looking through the window as it left. She didn’t wave, and neither did Falcon.
Two months later
EPITAPH FOR HIGBEE.
This is the final issue of the HIGBEE JOURNAL. Should some future historian happen upon this journal, it might be of interest to know that only twenty-five copies of this issue will be printed. Only twenty-five copies, but this will be enough for every man, woman, and child remaining in Higbee.
Three months ago Higbee was a vibrant community, with the prospects of a railroad to be built by General Wade Garrison. That railroad, the Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas, would have connected our city to the rest of the country, indeed to the rest of the world. We had wonderful business enterprises. Moore’s General Store was as fine a store as one could find this side of Denver. Moore’s is no more. Our apothecary, leather goods store, hardware store, mortuary, all wonderful establishments of commerce, are gone, too. The Golden Nugget, where once we could gather in a convivial atmosphere and be entertained by the beautiful music of one of our nation’s greatest musicians, is also gone, as is the Morning Star Hotel. Even the church closed its doors when the parson, Reverend E. D. Owen, found that he no longer had a flock to tend.