January, 2010

Issue #4

Marked For Death
by Matthew Pizzolato

I bellied up to the bar and stared wistfully into the mirror behind it. No matter which way I sliced it, death stared back at me.

Poker chips clattered and bottles and glasses chinked together as men consumed the local rotgut. I took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. Light from the gas lamps spread its dim glare over the roomful of men that were blissfully unaware that death would soon rear its ugly head among them.

"Whiskey," I said.

The bartender, Henry Wilson, poured and indicated the man who leaned against the wall beside the batwings with a nod of his head. I muttered my thanks. Henry's father had ridden this country with my father, but I doubted anyone else in the room knew that but Henry and me.

Another man sat at the far end of the bar with his right hand conspicuously out of sight. As soon as I turned around, I would be killed.

I hoped and prayed that I had removed the thong from my six-gun, but I feared a bullet in the back if I so much as looked down at it.

I'd filed legal claim to six sections of land that included the best water hole in the country, a fact that had won me few friends in this town, and my reputation as a gunfighter did nothing to enhance the situation.

Long Jack Thompson owned the Slash T ranch and wanted me off of the range. It seemed he was prepared to go to any lengths to achieve that aim.

I nursed my whiskey and watched in the mirror as a man behind me and to the left, stood up from a poker table. When he turned around, I saw that it was Long Jack himself. They had me covered from three angles.

"Slim Mahoney," Long Jack said and paused until everyone in the saloon turned their attention to him. The raucous banter stilled and the saloon became as silent as a tomb. "I heard you threatened to kill me." The muscles twitched in his grizzled, leathery face and his dark beady eyes stared at me with a vehement glare.

Chair legs scraped the wooden, sawdust-covered floor as men rushed to get out of the line of fire.

So that was how they intended to do it. I had not threatened him but at my denial there would be shooting. I turned slowly, careful to keep my hand away from my gun, and took a step toward him. "Huh? What did you say?"

The man next to the batwings raised his head and I recognized Tex Flores. I would have to get him first. The man was an absolute rattlesnake with a six-gun.

Long Jack seemed taken aback by my reply, judging from the way he blinked and glanced around the room. "I said, I heard you threatened to kill me." He dropped his hand to the butt of his gun.

I blinked and yawned, trying to play off being befuddled. "Huh?" Watching the man at the end of the bar from the corner of my eye, I also noticed Henry surreptitiously scrubbing the bar with a rag and creeping ever slowly toward the man at the end.

These men had come primed for a fight but they couldn't shoot down a man who seemed to be half-asleep. Not many here liked me but none of them would stand for murder.

My heart pounded in my chest. If it weren't for my wife waiting on me at home, I might have drawn my pistol and taken my chances. But I couldn't let myself get killed and leave her to this pack of wolves. I couldn't deny Long Jack's words or it would set off the whole shooting match.

The only exits not guarded were a barred door at the opposite end of the bar from the man who had me boxed and a closed window to my right about fifteen paces away. I would never make either one of them.

Long Jack's face flushed a bright crimson. "You're nothing but a damned lair." He yelled the words and pulled his gun.

It seemed that time slowed down and I was acutely aware of every single movement. Men scrambled to the walls and jumped behind overturned tables. A bottle toppled from an upset table and appeared to take minutes to hit the floor. A savage smile crossed Flores' face as his gun rose and came level.

My reputation as a gunfighter had been acquired simply because when called upon to use my gun I had been faster than another man. It was something I had not sought to be known as. I had killed my share of men but my killing had been done in self-defense.

I could have easily killed Long Jack Thompson and spared myself the trouble of having to do it later. But Flores fired a shot that nicked my ear lobe so I flung my first shot at him. Since a moving target is more difficult to hit, I rushed at Long Jack and clubbed him over the head with my pistol just as his gun cleared leather, every second fearing a shot in the back from the man at the end of the bar.

Long Jack crumpled to the ground and I focused my attention on Flores. He stood like a pistoleer at target practice and sighted down the barrel of his six-gun. I snapped a quick shot at him and sprinted toward the window.

Henry, the bartender, reached over the bar and struggled with the third man for control of his gun. I fired another round at Flores, shielded my face with my arm, and then dove through the window.

Glass shattered and wood splintered as my weight crashed through the murky glass. Shards scratched and cut my arm. With a sickening thud that knocked the breath from my lungs, I struck the ground, sprang to my feet, and then rushed around to the front of the saloon.

Flores pushed through the batwings just as I rounded the corner, his left arm hanging bloody and useless. I fired a shot that kicked splinters into his face and he dove back inside.

Then I lunged into the saddle, spurred my horse, and galloped down the street. Another shot blasted into the night from inside the saloon but my horse and I disappeared into the darkness.

As soon I got home, I would round up Samantha and we would head for the hills. There would be no sense in waiting for them in the cabin to be trapped again, for they would surely come. Samantha was a mountain girl from the Clinch Mountains of Tennessee and could more than handle roughing it for a few days.

When I jerked my horse to a stop in the yard, the door sprang open and a rectangle of light spread its glare across me.

"Joshua! What's happened?" Samantha asked as she appeared in the doorway.

It took me a second to realize who she was speaking to, because other than my mother, Samantha was the only person who called me Joshua and then only rarely. I noticed that she stared at my neck and put a hand to it. Blood caked the side of it and stained my shirt at the shoulder.

I jumped from the saddle and rushed inside. "Grab whatever you need. Long Jack and Flores aren't far behind."

Samantha was a no nonsense kind of girl and didn't hesitate or ask questions. She snatched up a few essential supplies as well as a tintype from the mantle of us on our wedding day.

I took my rifle from over the door and grabbed several boxes of cartridges. Then I saddled the extra horse for Samantha while she changed from the blue flower-print dress she had been wearing into a white blouse and a pair of riding pants.

We hit the saddle and abandoned our home to the night. As we topped a rise, I turned in the saddle and glanced back. Flames glowed on the horizon, and I cursed and muttered under my breath.

Samantha put her hand on my arm. "Don't worry about it. As long as we have each other, we can always rebuild."

I squeezed her hand and we pushed on. Our only hope was to keep ahead of them. If we stopped to hole up, they would have us surrounded.

We rode until dawn before we stopped to rest the horses. My horse was particularly worn out from the hard ride from town so I swapped horses with Samantha since she weighed less than I did.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm not sure. I just had to get you away from them."

She gazed at me softly and smiled. "I know how to use a gun, Slim."

"I know you do."

"Then why are we running?" she asked. "That's what Long Jack wants. To get us away from town so that he can kill us."

"I figured as much." Pausing for a moment, I rubbed my chin. "I didn't want to be tied to the house and surrounded again. They just about had me at the saloon in town. If it hadn't been for Henry, I'd be dead."

The hot brass disc of the sun edged over the horizon and cast its early morning glare over all of God's creation. A few puffs of clouds marred the clear blue sky's perfection. We rode on in silence.

"I think we should go back to town," Samantha said.

I pulled my horse to a stop and stared at her. Samantha's long black hair fluttered in the morning breeze, and the smattering of freckles across the top of her cheeks only served to make her even lovelier. She smiled a half smile at me and cocked her head sideways.

"Are you crazy?" I asked.

"Think about it. If we go to town and he tries to kill us at least there will be witnesses." She turned her horse around and started back toward town. "Or we could do him a favor and let him catch us out here with nobody the wiser."

I chewed the inside of my lip as I watched her ride away. She did have a point. "All right, my dear. But if I get killed, I'm going to come back and haunt you."

Her eyes danced as she grinned at me. What was it about a woman that could get a man to do all sorts of crazy things? We embarked on a course that would circle around town and enter it from the opposite direction.

The sun beat down mercilessly upon us from its midday perch as we rode down the dusty street. My eyes roved constantly, searching for any sign of Long Jack. Would they be out searching for us or had they returned to town?

"I don't see them," Samantha said.

I shook my head. A slight queasy feeling arose in my stomach. I didn't like this at all, being here with Samantha at my side. If anything happened to her, I would never be able to forgive myself.

"You hungry?" she asked.

"No." I hadn't had a meal since noon of the day before but the last thing I wanted to do right now was eat.

"Don't be so nervous," she said. "It's safer where there are people."

We pulled up in front of the mercantile and climbed down. Samantha reached into my saddlebags and stuck my extra pistol into her waistband.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Better safe than sorry," she said and glanced across the street.

With it being the hottest part of the day, there was not much activity in town. An abandoned buckboard stood a few buildings down, and the horses dozed lazily in the sun while occasionally swatting at flies with their tails. A bum lounged on a bench in front of the saloon.

"Let's go to the newspaper office. I've got a story for them." Samantha stepped out into the street and I followed her, still looking at the bum.

She stopped suddenly and grabbed my arm. "Slim."

I turned my head and felt as if a mule had kicked me in the gut. Four riders cantered their ponies toward us. The one on the far right I recognized as Long Jack and Flores rode next to him, his left arm in a sling.

"You there," Long Jack demanded in his rough, raspy voice.

I turned to face him and planted my feet. "Get off the street," I said in a low voice for only Samantha to hear. Then, I made my voice as loud as possible without yelling. "Burning us out isn't good enough for you? You have to harass my wife in broad daylight. What is this town coming to?"

Long Jack's face flamed a bright red. Flores jumped down from his horse and strode toward us.

Samantha still stood next to me. What was she doing? "Samantha!" I said through clenched teeth.

"I have as much at stake in this as you," she said.

I glanced at her. "I'm not going to tell you again."

Flores paced closer while the other two riders and Long Jack dismounted.

Samantha raised an eyebrow at me. "Didn't you tell me once that you wanted a woman to stand beside you?" A half smile curled her lip.

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind. Now please, I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you."

"I couldn't live without you either and I don't like four on one odds, besides my pa taught me how to shoot."

"I don't care if your pa was a—"

"I'm not leaving," she said.

What had I ever done to deserve such a stubborn, mule headed, cuss of a woman? I shook my head and could see her smiling from the corner of my eye, but the smile disappeared when Flores stopped about thirty yards away. The others caught up with him and spread out, filling the street.

"I'm fixing to kill your wife, Mister," Flores said with an evil grin on his face.

He hesitated for a second; I suppose to savor the affect of his words. My father had raised me to believe that there was a time for talking and a time for fighting. I palmed my gun and put a bullet between his eyes.

Flores fell over backward, his gun belching flame through the bottom of his holster, and I turned my gun to Long Jack just as Samantha fired her first shot. Her bullet caught Long Jack full in the chest and blood erupted, staining his shirt. I fired a shot at him for good measure and shifted my gun to the next man.

The bum from in front of the saloon raised a rifle and fired. Not at us, but at Long Jack and his men.

Something struck me a hammer blow in the leg and I staggered and nearly fell, but I steeled myself and remained on my feet. I fired another shot before I realized that the opposition had been eliminated. A gust of wind wafted the smoke away and I turned to Samantha. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said.

My body relaxed and the whole world seemed to spin. Then, my leg gave out and I collapsed to the ground.

"Slim!" Samantha said, falling to her knees at my side.

Footsteps sounded and faces loomed over me. I recognized one of them as Henry.

"Don't you worry none," Henry said. "We'll help rebuild your place."

I shook my head to clear it. "Help me up."

Ready hands pulled me to my feet. Samantha appeared at my side instantly and flung her arm around my waist to support me. We limped up the street toward the doctor's office, just the two of us.

"Any one ever told you how mule headed you are?" I asked.

She grinned at me, so pretty that I could just kiss her.

"Why, Slim? Whatever do you mean?"

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