The Shooting Sodbuster
by Hank Valon

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

The two riders came into town at a heavy-footed gallop. The workhorses, their harness chains jingling, were not meant for running. The riders reined their horses in hard and jumped down in front of a clapboard white house with green trim. A white sign with green lettering stood like a tombstone next to the flagstone walk. Tie ropes quickly fastened the tired, lathered animals to stone hitching posts well back from the house. The two quickly hurried to the porch steps. They certainly weren’t cowboys. Their shirts were the usual loose cotton work shirts worn by cowboys and farmers alike, but their bibbed overalls, straw hats and brogan shoes without spurs marked him and his brother as farmers. Sodbusters they were called by the more romantic lived cowboys.

The eldest and biggest of the pair paused and turned to an old man sitting in the shade of the porch.

“Where is he?”

The old man nodded toward the door of the boarding house. “They’re inside.” He was a grizzled man in slick yellow buckskins with a huge buffalo rifle cradled in his arms. He paused to spit a yellow stream into the dusty street. His stained whiskers indicated he didn’t always hit what he aimed at. “Yer pa is shot, but he’s a tough old b’ar. Yer ma and Andy ‘re with him.”

They young man hurried through the screen door with his younger brother at his heels. “Wipe your feet,” the elder cautioned as paused on the rag-rope rug.

With the dust wiped from their brogans, the two hurried across the parlor to where a big man squatted on a sturdy stool. The other furniture in the room was too expensive and too fragile for a man of his bulk. He got to his feet to greet the two.

“You heard?”

“Thad Barfield rode by and told us,” said the older boy. “Is he hurt bad?”

“Bad enough. He’s shot in the chest. He was shot a lot worse back in the war, but he was a lot younger then. Ma’s with him. He seems to be restin’. His breathing seems okay and he hasn’t had any blood come out his mouth like you’d expect with a bullet in the chest. Maybe the bullet didn’t go deep enough to hit his lung. As big as he is, it’d have to go through an awful lot to get to his innards.

“I sent Joe for the sheriff. The girls have gone out to tell Gwendolyn about Charlie bein’ killed. Matt, I’d like you and Davy to follow those killers and leave markers for the posse to follow. They was ridin’ good horses, so they’ll be coverin’ a lot of ground before the sheriff can get on their trail. All the young, healthy men are off workin’ on the railroad. The sheriff is down there lookin’ into some fracas between a couple of the construction men. If some little storm blows up and covers the tracks, those killers will get clean away. But if you and Davy can follow along behind them and leave markers for the posse, they’ll get their day in front of a judge.”

“Why can’t you go and leave Davy here?” asked Matt.

“Couple reasons,” replied Andy. “One is, Ma needs me here in case he gets worse. The other is I got a boil.”

“A boil?” asked Davy.

“Yeah, a boil,” said Andy with just a tinge of anger. “It’s not just any boil. It happens to be in a place that makes sittin’ a little touchy.”

“It’s on your butt?” Davy exclaimed with a grin.

Andy glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “Yes, it’s on my butt. Now, just drop the subject. I can’t go. An hour or two in the saddle would be as bad as gettin’ shot. Now, you two stop by the store and get a skillet and some food and whatever else you need to camp out for three or four days. You might see about a rifle and some ammunition. I don’t want you getting’ close enough to have to use it, but they might set an ambush for anybody followin’. Whatever you do, don’t get yourselves shot. Ma would never let me hear the last of it.”

“I got my rifle,” said Davy.

“Yeah, I figgered you would have it, but it’s got a bent barrel and can almost shoot around a corner. I know, I know,” Andy waved off Davy’s protests. “You know where to aim it to hit what you’re shootin’ at. I’d prefer it if you leave it in your saddle boot. Any shootin’ needs to be done, Matt oughta do it, and I know he couldn’t hit a barn from the inside with that rifle of yours. See what they got over at the store and put it on our account.”

“Why does he have to go along?” Matt nodded towards Davy.

“Cause with him along, you won’t get careless and get too close. You get him shot, you’ll have to explain to Ma.”

“I could do better alone,” said Matt.

“Maybe, but if your horse rolls over on yo, he’ll be there to bring your body home,” said Andy. “Now, get going. Those killers have about a three hour head start. You let ‘em keep their head start. You just lay back and follow their trail and leave makers for the posse to follow. Make the markers big. Just between us, I don’t think our sheriff can track a herd of cows through a freshly plowed field.”

Matt looked from his little brother to his big brother. At last he shook his head and headed for the door. Andy was only a tad smaller than Pa and just as stubborn. He had made his decision and that was that.

The old man on the porch fell into step with them as they untied their horses and walked across the street to the store. “They busted into the express office fust thing this mornin’. They made old Fred open the safe then they up ‘n shot him anyway. Young Charlie walked in right after he heard the shot and they shot him too. They busted up the telegraph before they left. Nate, the telegrapher, said it couldn’t be repaired with out some pieces he didn’t have. Your pa was getting a haircut when all the shootin started. He and the barber and a couple other fellows came a runnin’ out. Those hellions came a ridin’ down the street a shootin’ at anybody that moved. Your pa was the biggest target around, so I guess that’s why they shot him. That damned ordnance ‘bout no guns in town's what did it. If just three or four of the men standin’ around had guns those varmints would a got what fer. Just like they did that Younger gang up in Minnesota. With that damned ordnance we may as well advertise in the paper for all the thieves and robbers to come get us.” He paused to quirt a stream of brown juice into the dust.

“Well, I got my rifle,” said Davy.

“Yeah,” agreed Matt. “If we get ‘em around a corner.”

“It ain’t bent that bad,” retorted Davy. “And I know just how to aim it. And it holds sixteen shots. Don’t have to load very often.”

“Hmph,” snorted Matt. “Don’t expect we’ll be doing any shootin’. We’re just doin’ the followin’. The posse can do the shootin’.”

“You are going to take a gun?” said the old man.

“Depends, if they have one worth takin’,” said Matt.

“Hell, take ole Bess, here.” The man held out the big rifle.

“No offense, Mr. Pardee, but that gun weighs about twenty pounds and only holds one bullet.”

“One bullet that hits the target ever’ time is a lot better than one that bangs out a dozen shots and don’t hit anythin’. I guarantee Ole Bess don’t ever miss out to three-quarters of a mile. Round a mile she goes to missin’ a little. An the big bullet she throws don’t need no second shot.” He pulled one of the long cartridges from his belt. “That ‘ere bullet weighs four-hunnert and fifty grains. There’s enough powder sittin’ under it to blow the door off that safe those hellions robbed. The ole gal is heavy, but you don’t hev to git so close to use ‘er. I uster shoot buffalo all day from half a mile. The critters never knew what was happening.”

Matt paused and hefted the big rifle. He shook his head. “Mr. Pardee, you let me shoot it a couple times. I know it’s accurate way off, but it still weighs about twenty pounds. Lemme see what Lem has in the store. If he don’t have anything any better, I’ll take it. Don’t expect to shoot anything, but if I have to I’d rather do it from way off.”

Back to Order Page

fiction writers writing software