In This Issue
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Apache Gold, Part 3 of 3
by Kenneth Newton
"Two sets o' tracks, Cap'n, headin off to the southwest," Sgt. Gage said. "One set
deeper'n the other, probl'y a horseman an a pack animal that ain't packin much.
Beats me how I never hit him, all the lead I put into that hill."
"Even your Gatling gun won't shoot through solid rock," Drake replied. "I'm going to
follow that trail and see who I find, Sergeant. Whether you and the boys come along
is up to you. I've got no right to order you anywhere."
* * *
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And Hell Came With Him, Part 1 of 2
by Larry Payne
Lightning streaked the darkened sky above the solemn group around the grave. The Preacher, standing
at the head of the grave, read passages from his worn bible as four men, dressed in black suits,
grasped the ends of the two ropes stretched under both ends of the wooden coffin. Slowly, they moved
the coffin over the open grave and began to lower it.
A woman's white-gloved hand appeared from the coffin, sliding the lid to the side. She reached out to
the group above.
"WIL, NO. DON'T LET ME GO."
* * *
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The Undertakers
by Sandra Seamans
Smitty Jones spotted the vultures just outside of Silver City. Black shadows circling high in
the sky, with a crowd of feathered undertakers waiting their turn in the branches of a gnarled
oak tree. Others perched on the shoulders of a cowboy dangling at the end of a rope, his body
swaying with every savage peck.
"Petey Sway," he muttered. "You never did know how to keep your neck tucked in when trouble
was sniffing round your back trail. I'm gonna miss you, old friend."
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And Hell Came With Him, Part One
by Larry Payne
Lightning streaked the darkened sky above the solemn group around the grave. The Preacher,
standing at the head of the grave, read passages from his worn bible as four men, dressed
in black suits, grasped the ends of the two ropes stretched under both ends of the wooden
coffin. Slowly, they moved the coffin over the open grave and began to lower it.
A woman's white-gloved hand appeared from the coffin, sliding the lid to the side. She reached
out to the group above.
"WIL, NO. DON'T LET ME GO."
Wil Sunday sat upright in his bed. With a chill running over his sweat soaked body, he looked
around the moonlit bedroom. The recurring nightmare was a frequent part of his nights since he
buried his beloved wife, Cassie.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat staring at the floor. Finally rising, he
lifted his pants from the chair next to the bed and stepped into them. Running his fingers
through his hair, he walked from the bedroom to the front door.
The cool night breeze greeted him as he walked out and sat down on the edge of the porch, looking
up at the full moon amid the dark blanket of twinkling stars. His big, brown dog, Buck, who had
followed him out the door, laid down next to him, resting his head in Wil's lap. Wil looked around
the yard, and the events of that tragic day flooded back to him.
Wil was repairing a harness in the barn when the three gunmen rode up to the house. Buck's barking
brought him out of the barn. Seeing the three riders, he went to the front of the house.
"Howdy," said the rider closest to Wil. The first to speak, Wil figured this was the leader.
Wil walked up beside Buck, growling at the new arrivals, and patted him on the neck to calm him down.
He looked at each of the three riders in turn, all hardcases.
"Your dog's a mite unfriendly," added the gray haired rider.
"He doesn't like strangers. What can I do for you fellas?"
Just then, Cassie walked out of the house onto the porch. Her appearance got the attention of the four outlaws.
"I think you and your missus can do quite a lot for us."
Suddenly, Wil wished he hadn't left his rifle in the house. With a slight nod of his head, he motioned
Cassie back into the house.
"I've got work to do, so I'd be obliged if you'd water your horses and be on your way."
"Yeah, so do we," said the outlaw, drawing his Colt as his two companions dismounted.
Wil dove as the outlaw fired, feeling an intense pain in his side. Despite the burning pain, he
tried to get up. The outlaw fired a second time, hitting Wil in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground again.
The outlaw stepped down from his horse, looking at the still form of Wil Sunday. He thumbed the spent
shells from his Colt and replaced them from his gunbelt. He dropped the Colt back into its holster,
turned and followed his men into the house.
Wil opened his eyes as the gunman disappeared into the house. Cassie's screams were the last thing he
heard before succumbing to the darkness.
Buck licked Wil's face, interrupting his thoughts, bringing him back. He scratched Buck behind the ears.
" I guess it's just you and me now, boy."
Wil stood up, walked down the two steps of the porch and went toward the barn. Stopping at the barn door,
he lit the lantern with the matches he kept on the shelf beside it. Taking the lantern to the ladder at the
far side of the barn, he climbed to the loft.
Setting the lantern on the floor, he grabbed a pitchfork and began moving hay from a corner of the loft.
Uncovering a trunk, he dragged it clear of the hay and removed a wooden peg from the hasp.
Opening the trunk lid, Wil lifted a small tarp covering the contents of the trunk. A low crowned, flat brimmed
hat was the first thing he removed from the trunk. Laying it on the open trunk lid, he pulled out an empty
holster and gunbelt and laid it next to the hat.
Next, he unwrapped a well-oiled, sightless Colt from an oilskin and slid it into the holster. He removed a
Henry rifle lying across a stack of clothes and leaned it against the side of the trunk.
A Bowie knife came next. Removing it from the scabbard, he lightly ran his thumb along the edge of the blade
testing its sharpness. Satisfied, he slid the broad blade back into the leather scabbard, laying it on the trunk lid.
He lifted the clothes to uncover two boxes of shells each for the Colt and the Henry rifle. Repacking the trunk, he
closed the lid and slipped the wood peg back through the hasp.
Wil took the end of a coiled rope and strung it through a pulley above the edge of the loft. Dragging the trunk to
the edge of the loft, he tied the other end of the rope to a leather handle on one end of the trunk and gently
lowered it to the floor of the barn.
Buck was waiting for him when he stepped off the bottom rung of the ladder. He untied the rope and after a short
struggle, maneuvered the trunk onto his back.
Carrying it into the house, he lowered the trunk to the bedroom floor. Reopening the trunk, he laid the contents
on the bed. Picking up the gunbelt, he buckled it around his waist, thonging the holster to his left thigh. He
lifted the Colt and settled it gently back in the holster.
Wil caught his reflection in the full-length mirror that stood in the corner. Turning toward it, he looked at his
reflection for a moment, suddenly drawing his Colt. Wil looked at the Colt, then down at Buck who was watching curiously.
"We've got a lot of work to do."
* * *
Wil practiced tirelessly day after day. When the shell boxes were empty, he bought more. The days turned into weeks, until finally, the speed came back. The accuracy followed close behind, but he had to be sure.
One morning he brought Miguel Saldano, his farmhand, to the field where he practiced, handing Miguel a tin can.
"Miguel, walk out about twenty paces and hold that can out."
"Senor?" said Miguel, an alarmed look spreading across his face.
"Trust me, Miguel." Hesitantly, Miguel marched out twenty paces and turned around.
"Hold the can out," said Wil, holding his arm out at shoulder level. Miguel raised his arm.
"Drop the can whenever you're ready."
After a moment, Miguel released the can. At the first sign of movement, Wil became a blur of motion, drawing his Colt, shooting the can at waist level.
Wil asked Miguel to retrieve the can, this time holding it waist high. Again, Wil shot the can before it touched the ground.
"Madre de dios," said Miguel, crossing himself. "I did not know you could shoot like that, Senor."
Wil walked toward Miguel as he reloaded his Colt and dropped it back into its holster.
"You go after Senora Cassie's killers? You wish Miguel to go with you?"
Wil put his arm around Miguel's shoulders as they walked toward the house.
"Miguel, I want you and Maria to run the farm while I'm gone."
Miguel stopped and looked at Wil.
"Me, Senor?"
Wil smiled at Miguel.
"You've been with me from the start, Miguel. You can run this farm as good as I can. I'll make all the arrangements to make sure you get all the help you'll need."
"I will do my best, Senor Wil."
Wil left Miguel in the yard and went into the house. In the bedroom, Wil removed the clothes from the trunk, putting on the Levis and the blue cotton shirt. He put on a black leather vest over the shirt. After stomping into his boots, Wil put the leather scabbard and the Bowie knife on his gunbelt and rebuckled the Colt around his waist, rethonging the holster to his left thigh. Finally, he settled the black hat on his head.
Grabbing the Henry rifle from a corner by the dresser, he walked from the bedroom to the kitchen where Miguel and Maria waited.
"Move your things into the house," said Wil.
Maria threw her arms around Wil's neck and gave him a hug.
"Thank you, Senor Wil. I will pray that you find the men that did this thing. Come back safe to us."
Wil hugged Maria for a moment and then shook Miguel's hand.
"I'm taking Cassie's Palomino. Buck is going with me too."
"Si, Senor," said Miguel, "She is a good horse and Buck will watch out for you."
Wil went to the barn and saddled the golden Palomino that was Cassie's pride and joy. She had not been ridden since Cassie's death. Throwing his saddlebags behind the saddle, he put the Henry rifle in the saddle boot.
Walking the horse outside, he stepped into the saddle. He could feel the anticipation of the powerful horse. She hadn't run in a long time. He waved at Miguel and Maria standing on the porch as he rode out of the yard.
"Vaya Con Dios, Senor," whispered Miguel.
* * *
Wil Sunday rode into Beecher a little past noon. His unusual dress attracted attention as he dismounted in front of the bank. Withdrawing one thousand dollars from his account, he asked to see bank president, Hiram Willis.
"I want to authorize Miguel Saldano to make any withdrawals or deposits as needed on my account."
After a mild objection, Hiram Willis drew up the paperwork for Wil to sign. Next, he made stops at the General Store and Hardware Store before dismounting in front of the sheriff's office.
"I wondered when you were going to get around to this," said Sheriff Logan Shepherd, eyeing the thonged down Colt when Wil walked through the office door. He knew about Wil's bounty hunting past and had vowed to keep his secret.
"Before I leave, I'd like to look at your dodgers," said Wil.
Logan opened a desk drawer and removed a stack of wanted posters and laid them in front of Wil. One by one, he looked at each poster in turn, setting aside three. When he reached the bottom of the stack, he looked up at Logan Shepherd.
"I found all three."
Logan looked at the three posters. The faces of Wade Jessup, Briley Cole and Jess Walker looked back at him. Logan slid the handbills back to Wil.
Wil folded the posters, put them in his shirt pocket and stood up, holding out his hand to his friend.
"So long, Logan. Keep an eye on Miguel until I get back."
Logan shook Wil's hand.
"Be careful, Wil."
* * *
Wil reined up at the white picket fence surrounding the grave of his beloved Cassie. The gravesite sat on a hill under a tree, overlooking the farm. She liked to come up here and sit.
Dismounting, he walked through the gate, picking up the wooden folding chair that lay on the ground next to the fence. He unfolded the chair, sitting down next to the grave. Taking off his hat, he set it on the ground next to the chair.
"I guess you're wondering why I'm dressed in my old clothes again. You prob'ly noticed I was wearin' my gun too. I'm goin' after the scum that done this thing to you. I know I promised you I wouldn't wear a gun again, but I didn't know this would happen, either. Don't be mad, just try to understand. Miguel's gonna watch the farm and I'm takin' Goldie and Buck with me. Goldie's a good horse and Buck'll be a good companion. I don't know how long it will take, but I'll come back every so often to let you know how it's goin'. I love you, Cassie. I always have and I always will."
Wil picked up his hat and put it on. Rising from the chair, he picked it up, folded it and laid it next to the fence as he walked through the gate. Buck was sitting outside the gate and Wil scratched the big brown dog's head as he walked by him.
Mounting the Palomino, Wil sat for a moment looking at Cassie's grave. Turning the horse, he looked down at Buck.
"Ready to go, boy?"
Buck replied with a boisterous bark, running after Wil.
* * *
Long days on the trail gave a man a lot of time to think. Wil Sunday thought about the events that put him on the vengeance trail.
He was a bounty hunter when he walked into the General Store in the town of Gunsight. Cassie Landis was the prettiest store clerk he had ever seen. It took some doing, but he finally persuaded her to have dinner with him.
A whirlwind romance ensued and three months later they were married. But first, he had to promise to unstrap his guns. He put the guns and clothes in a trunk that he buried under the hay in the loft of the barn on their newly bought Kansas farm. That was where the trunk was when the three outlaws rode into his yard, gunned him down and had their way with Cassie before they killed her.
A deep-throated bark from Buck interrupted Wil's thoughts. Ahead of them, six riders circled a tree under which a seventh rider sat mounted with his hands tied behind his back. A rope over the bottom branch of the tree was noosed around his neck.
"Looks like someone's about to get his neck stretched," Wil said to Buck, pulling his Henry rifle from the saddle boot. "You know how I feel about lynchin's."
Wil heeled Goldie and reined up outside the circle of riders.
"Keep ridin', mister, this don't concern you," said the rider nearest to Wil.
Wil held his Henry rifle across his lap. He raised it and rested its stock on his thigh.
"I don't have much of a stomach for lynchin's," said Wil.
"Then, ride on, or you'll take his place," growled a rider from the middle of the circle. He walked his horse to the edge of the circle facing Wil.
Wil figured this was the leader. His graying temples told Wil he was older than the rest. His funneled hat brim tilted forward to shade his eyes.
"I'll ride on when you release the kid," said Wil. He noticed the intended victim couldn't have been more than eighteen years old. The rider turned and looked at the tree, then back at Wil.
"Looks to me like you ain't in a position to make demands. You're a little outnumbered, I'd say."
"Maybe so. But, you'll be the first one I drop when the shootin' starts."
The rider leaned forward. "I don't think you'll get a shot off."
Wil leveled his Henry at the rider, thumbing back the hammer.
"You willin' to take that chance, mister?"
"You know who I am?"
"Don't matter. Turn the kid loose."
The rider stared at Wil, but Wil's eyes never left the circle of riders. The first sign of trouble would come from them, not the one in front of him.
"Turn 'im loose," yelled the rider, not taking his eyes from Wil.
The rider nearest the kid removed the noose from around his neck and untied his bound hands. As soon as the kid was free, he heeled his horse out of the circle.
"Now, unbuckle your gunbelts," said Wil, as the kid rode out of sight.
"I hope it was worth it, 'cause you just made the biggest mistake of your life," the leader said as he unbuckled his gunbelt and let it fall. Wil watched the gunbelts of the rest of the circle fall to the ground.
"Maybe, maybe not. Now, the rifles." One by one, rifles clattered to the ground.
"Now, ride out."
The rider gave Wil a look of pure hatred. If looks could kill, Wil would have dropped from his saddle.
"You ain't seen the last of me, mister." He spun his horse and rode away at a gallop with the rest of his riders falling in behind him.
When the dust settled and the band of riders were barely visible in the distance, Wil let the hammer down on his Henry rifle and slid it back into its saddle boot. He looked down at Buck.
"Think we can make it to Gunsight without getting in anymore trouble?"
End Part One
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