Philip Dampier's Blog

Shootout at the Spring

Episode Twenty-three

A loud boom echoed out of the trees growing along the creek. Both men looked at each other, knowing it was the rancher’s shotgun.

“I hope he hasn’t killed anyone,” Chad said.

“Especially not the sheriff.”

“No, I want the sheriff alive. He’s going to stand trial with Lance if that no-good is still alive.”

The marshals had to switch to a single file in order to get through the outer growth of smaller trees. Then, the woods opened up to reveal the creek and several large trees. Under a large burr oak sat the rancher, tall in the saddle, his shotgun leveled at the sheriff. Lance sat on his horse, the end of a large piece of rope around his neck. The other end was draped across a large limb and tied to another branch. As cold as it was, sweat was running down Lance’s face. For the first time, he smiled at Chad as he rode into the clearing.

“I got here just in time, Marshal,” the rancher said. “They were that close to hitting your prisoner’s horse, and he would have been dead quick. I told these fellows I’d kill the sheriff if they tried anything, and he convinced them to sit quietly. What do you want me to do?

“Just what you’re doing. You watch the sheriff, and Deputy McCabe and I will relieve these other gentlemen of their guns.”

When Ben reached Bill Pearson, the last man still armed, he noticed blood dripping down the front of Pearson’s shirt. He pulled Pearson’s rifle from the scabbard and his pistol from the holster.

“Are you alright, Pearson?” Ben asked.

Pearson did not answer; he sat still in the saddle with his eyes focused on some faraway point. Then, without warning, he fell to the ground and screamed. Chad rushed over, and he and Ben rolled Pearson onto his back. Ben drew a skinning knife from his boot and sliced Pearson’s shirt, pulling it apart where the puddle of blood was. The arrow wound looked bad. It was purple and oozing blood. It was hard to tell how much blood the man had lost on the trip from the spring to the ranch and from the ranch to the creek.

Chad stood up and addressed the rancher, “Do you have a wagon? We need to get this man to Fort Pierre as soon as possible. There is a doctor there, and Pearson badly needs a doctor. I think this wound might be infected. He’ll never make it on horseback.”

The rancher looked at one of the members of the posse who was nursing a flesh wound himself; “You, ride back to the ranch like your life depended on it, which it does, and tell the first person you see that Shelton said to get a horse and wagon down here as fast as he can. You come back with him, or I’ll hunt you down and shoot you myself.”

Chad and Ben stripped Pearson’s horse and made a pallet for the wounded man using his blankets. They removed his shirt, and Ben soaked a non-blooded piece of it with his canteen and wrung it out. As tenderly as he could, he began to clean the wound caused by the Sioux arrow. Luckily, it had been a thin piece of flint that had penetrated the shoulder. Pearson groaned and tried to move. Chad had to hold him down.

When the wound was as clean as they could make it, Ben tied a long piece of cloth across the small slit and around Pearson’s chest. Chad retrieved his mackinaw from his roll behind his saddle and covered Pearson’s naked upper body. He then walked over to where the sheriff sat on his horse.

“Get down, Sheriff Mann. Do it slow and easy. The way I feel right now, I’d as soon shoot you as not.”

“That man killed my wife. We have been married for over twenty years. I intend to have justice.”

“I’m sorry, but one crime doesn’t wipe out another one. You swore an oath to uphold the law, and instead of doing that, you have violated the law. I hope, for your sake, the judge is lenient. People, even if they are law officers, can’t take the law into their own hands. You know that. Put your hands behind your back.”

Chad pulled his own knife out and cut a few feet of the hanging rope that was tied to the tree. Using the rope, he tied the sheriff’s hands together. When he was done, he cut the rope; and, using part of what was left, tied an end to each ankle. The rope was just long enough to allow walking, but not running or jumping.

“I can’t ride a horse trussed up like this,” Mann said.

“Nope, you can’t, but you can sit in the back of a wagon next to Pearson. Ben, tie those other fellows’ hands together so they can hold on to the saddle when we leave. I’d advise everyone to lie down and rest while we wait for the wagon. No one got much sleep last night, and we sure as the devil got up too early this morning.”

Chad walked over to where Pearson lay. Pearson’s eyes were closed even though the rising sun was partially hidden by the leaves of the oak and other trees nearby. He appeared to be asleep, but every few minutes, a low groan would pass his lips. Chad felt the wounded man’s forehead with the back of his hand. It was very hot to the touch. He took his canteen off of Buck and tried to get Pearson to drink. Chad lifted the feverish head up a foot and tilted the canteen so that the water touched Pearson’s lips. Little by little, a trickle of water made its way down Pearson’s throat.

Chad looked over the little band. Everyone had lain down except him, the rancher, and Ben. He knew that if he relaxed, he would fall asleep, and as much as he wanted to do that, he knew it would be disastrous. If not from Lance, then from the sheriff. He trusted no one except his new deputy and possibly the rancher. He glanced at Ben, who had gathered all the horses into one group and led them to the creek bank. The horses were exhausted as much or more than the men.

“Ben,” he called out. “Take a rest. I’ll wake you in an hour or so.”

“No, thanks, Marshal. I’m an army man; I’m used to long periods without sleep. How about you grab a nap, and I’ll wake you when the wagon comes?”

The rancher walked over to Chad. He spit a stream of juice into the grass and pointed with his index finger. Both you two boys catch a few. I slept last night. At least most of it.

Chad thought about it, but not for long. It didn’t make much sense for all of them to miss sleep. “Okay, but be sure you wake me as soon as you see the wagon coming down the hill.”

“I will. I’ve got everything under control,” the rancher said.

There was no answer from Chad, who had lain his head back to see if he could find a comfortable spot and instantly fell asleep. Birds came into the grove, moved from limb to limb, and occasionally dove to the ground to take an unsuspecting bug. The horses left the creek bank and began grazing in the thick grass just a few feet away. Ordinarily, the sound of the grass cutting and chewing and birds twittering would have been noticeable, but the grunts and growls coming from the eight sleeping men drowned out any other noise.

Every man but Pearson had his version of the wide-brim range hat covering his face, hiding the light of the sun and the invasion of flying insects. Ben stepped lightly through the group and, found Pearson’s cover and laid it gently on the wounded man’s face. The deputy took time to check the wound. The bleeding had stopped, but the injured man’s head was still very warm. Ben got his own blanket and spread it next to Pearson. He might or he might not sleep.