In the Shadow of the Tower
by STEVE RITCHIE

Steve Ritchie

They were related by blood, their mothers being cousins. Charlie was full-blood Shawnee Indian, Jack half-blooded and two months the elder. Jack’s father, a widower who had two children by his first wife, had married Jack’s widowed Shawnee mother; Jack was born a year later. Charlie’s mother had died when he was ten months old, and so he’d been brought to live with Jack’s family, but he and Jack couldn’t have been closer had they come from the same womb.

Jack's parents had made certain that all of their children, including Charlie, had received a proper education. Together, the two had attended the local one-room school house, then they had graduated from Wabash College, both studying the law, but able to make their living in whatever field they might have chosen. After graduating they had both returned to their family’s small Indiana farm, some fourteen miles down the Ohio River from New Albany, preferring to work in a field covered by crops. After the death of his parents in July of 1874 Jack at the age of twenty-three had left his family’s farm to his brother, who had also returned home after college, and had headed west. Charlie had just naturally packed up and gone with him. That had been thirteen years earlier.

After leaving the farm they’d ridden on both sides of the law; both served as Deputy in one small western town or the other, Texas Rangers for a very short period, and had ridden the "Outlaw Trail" from time-to-time, when the need arose. Finally they’d decided to make use of their educations and combined knowledge of both sides of the law and were now making a good living as bounty hunters.

Charlie had gone this night to the less desirable part of Albuquerque in an attempt to locate the whereabouts of two men whom they were seeking, both having a price on their head for horse theft. While Jack had severed ties with most of the undesirables that were known to him, Charlie had stayed in touch with anyone who might be able to give him information, and from a meeting with one of those men he had returned on this night with information important to Jack.

Once seated at the table Charlie said, "I’ve heard about something you’re going to want to know about."

"About Lemons and Arnold?" Jack asked, pausing from eating his supper.

"No," Charlie replied in a tone that made Jack look up from his plate, "this is about Patrick and his kids."

Jack looked long at Charlie, now through squinted eyes. He was attempting to read the message in the tone Charlie had used, when Charlie added, "There’s a fellow owns a ranch north of Patrick, maybe a couple hours north of Devil’s Tower, that’s trying to take over the whole neighborhood. Word’s out along the trail that over a month ago he put out the word that he was looking for someone to run his neighbors off of their spreads; Patrick’s one of those he’s wantin’ gone." He hesitated for a few seconds. "Bob May told me tonight that he’s found his man. That man is Roland Carter. Bob was gonna ride along with him, but when he found out he’d be travelin’ to Wyoming , he decided to stay behind. He said he didn’t like the cold weather up there."

"Carter? Huh. Well, you think Patrick’s gonna need some help?" Jack asked.

"I do, but that’s not all there is to it. Carter’s figurin’ to have an ace in the hole…..word is he’s gonna grab the kids and hold 'em until Patrick signs his deed over to Carter’s boss, a gent named Abner Barlow. Bob says that the kids were to leave Chicago today, comin’ home from school. Carter plans to snatch 'em after they get off the train in Lead. There being a couple of layovers and the need to switch trains in North Platte, that’ll be six days from today."

Jack took only a few seconds to think. "Eat your supper while I go get our train tickets and make arrangements to transport the horses. Once you’ve eaten, go upstairs and get our things together. I’ll be back as soon as I can. We’ve got to get moving, because those kids already have the better part of a day’s head start, and it should take us at least five days to get to Lead from here."

Jack left the hotel and proceeded to the train station, purchasing their tickets and making the arrangements to transport the horses. Their train would leave in just over an hour. Charlie, after polishing off a quick supper, hurried to their rooms. He packed their belongings and was carrying their war bags into the lobby when Jack walked through the large front double-doors of the hotel.

Four nights later on the train from Cheyenne to Lead, Jack’s mind raced. They’d been to Patrick’s ranch in the spring three years before, spending the better part of two months there and helping out with the round-up and branding. During that time they’d gotten to know the lay of the land fairly well. While staring out the window into the darkness, in his mind he went over the terrain between Lead and his brother’s ranch, which lay along Cabin Creek. The headquarters was near its mouth, which emptied into the Belle Fourche River an hour or so south of Devil’s Tower in northeastern Wyoming.

Then from somewhere outside his thoughts, he heard a voice calling his name. Leaving those thoughts, he looked across the aisle to see Charlie looking at him, calling to him in a low tone. "Jack. Jack, you awake?"

"Yeah, I’m awake. I’s just trying to remember the lay of the land from Lead to Patrick’s place. Those kids will have to take the stage from Lead to Sundance. There’ll probably be someone there to meet them. Carter’s no fool. He’d never have lasted as long as he has, if he were. There can’t be any witnesses, so he won’t attempt anything near Lead or Spearfish. They’ll have to be out in wild country somewhere, along the stage route between stations. You can figure it’ll have to look like a robbery, because he’ll not allow the driver and guard or any other passengers to live. When we get to Lead, you go to the stage station and get the schedule. I’ll get the horses and our outfits and meet you there. If the stage has already left Lead, we’ll cut across the hills, coming out along the stage route somewhere southwest of Spearfish."

Charlie nodded. Then he had a thought that ran a chill through his entire body. "Speakin’ of witnesses, once that deed is signed you know he can’t let any of 'em live…Patrick, Wanda or the kids. Patrick could take his case to the courts, claiming that he signed under duress. With the kids as witnesses there’s not a court in the country that would let Barlow’s claim to the land stand."

It was Jack’s turn to nod. Charlie was right, of course. "I’ve thought of that too. We have to get to those kids before Carter."

Shortly after 10:00 the next morning the train rolled to a stop next to the platform at the station in Lead, South Dakota . Lead had become a boom town with the discovery of gold in the ‘70s and had become the home of several mining operations, including the Homestake Mine, which figured to be one of the largest gold strikes ever in the country. That being the case, the railroad had laid rails from North Platte, Nebraska, to Lead for the hauling of the ore.

Already having changed into their trail clothes Charlie went to the stage station while Jack saw to their mounts. Charlie’s horse, who he called Brush Popper (Popper for short) was a tall six-year-old bay gelding. Jack’s mount, Joker, another tall horse, was a big blue roan of seven years. Both horses had seen much travel over the years, but for the past week they had been resting in the corral of a stable in Albuquerque and were now ready to get on the trail. After walking both down the ramp from the rail car, Jack mounted Joker, leading Popper to the stage station to get Charlie.

Once Charlie had mounted he told Jack that the stage carrying Patrick’s two kids had pulled out of town at daybreak for Deadwood and Spearfish, to noon there before moving on. So instead of attempting to overtake the stage they headed northwest across the timber covered rugged ground of the Dakota Black Hills, their direction taking them to a point a few miles southwest of Spearfish.

By traveling as quickly as the terrain would allow they came to the stage trail about twenty-five miles west of Spearfish as the stage itself left the hotel there, where the passengers had eaten their noon meal. Charlie started casting about, looking for any sign.

"There’s no sign of the coach," he said. "So we’re ahead of it, but there are fresh tracks here of seven horses traveling east in a group. The puzzling thing is, only five horses carry riders. The other two don’t appear to be carrying any weight at all."

Jack thought quickly. "I can’t believe they’d hit that coach so close to town. If I were gonna stop a coach, it’d be west of here someplace. That bunch has to be somebody else." He hesitated. "But we can’t take that chance. Those two horses with no riders could be for those kids. We’ll follow that bunch and see where they take us."

With that, he nudged the roan into a lope, Charlie and Popper siding him. Ten minutes after Charlie started tracking the horses their trail turned south and disappeared over the low rolling hills in that direction. Instead of following their trail Jack decided to stay on the stage route and meet the coach at Beulah Station.

Beulah Station was a shade past the halfway point between Spearfish and Sundance, a half hour’s easy walk east from where they now sat their horses. But instead of walking again they lifted both horses into a ground covering lope and within a few minutes, they stepped down in front of the station house.

When they walked through the door they found the station master and his wife working on the evening meal. The hostler had been working near the barn as they’d passed.

"Howdy, Gents," the station master greeted them. "Lookin’ fer a meal n’ a roof over yore head fer the night?"

"Afternoon, Sir," Jack replied. Taking the room in with a single glance, he found it to be a well kept, comfortable place. A large table with ten chairs sat in one corner, near the kitchen, with there being a large settee and three armchairs in the opposite end of the room near the fireplace. "Maybe," Jack went on, "probably only the meal. We’ll need to get some trail behind us before dark."

"Well, supper’s near ready. We’ll eat as soon as the stage gets here." As an after thought he added, "I’m Farley Conrad. That there’s my wife Eva." Conrad looked at his watch and turned to his wife saying, "It’s a few minutes past 4:00, Eva. That stage’ll be here d’rectly." He turned to the two men still standing near the door. "You gents can feed yore animals in the barn. You can pay fer the grain when ya pay fer yore supper. After ya see to yore stock, come back n’ have a seat over yonder by the fire n’ make yoreselves comf’ter’ble."

That being said, both men walked back outside and gathered their reins, walking their mounts to the barn and stripping the gear from both. Once they’d scooped grain and added a bate of hay to the manger, the hostler offered to water both animals once they’d eaten. Jack and Charlie walked back toward the station house. Nearing halfway to the house, they heard the stage clamoring its way down the road.

Standing before the house, they waited for the stage to roll up. Jack opened its door, offering to assist the passengers down. First through the door was a lady of forty dressed in comfortable traveling clothes, carrying a parasol. The second was a man carrying a drummer’s satchel.

Then sporting a big smile a beautiful young lady of seventeen with a thick shock of strawberry blonde hair poked her head out the door and started to greet her uncle, but before she could say a word, while reaching out to take her hand, he said, "Howdy, Ma’am, I’m Bill Smith, the fella with me is Two Claws Jones. May I assist you in getting down?"

Lareina Snow was an intelligent young woman, intelligent beyond her years. Instantly she realized that if her uncle didn’t want the folks standing nearby to know his real name, there must be a good reason. She had heard the stories of her Uncle Jack told by her father her entire young life. So knowing his background she expected that it was no coincidence that he was at this out-of-the-way place at this particular time.

Taking his hand, she stepped down from the coach. "Thank you, Mr. Smith." She turned to her brother. "David, this is Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones. Gentlemen, this is my brother David."

David Snow was the image of his father, tall for thirteen and having the refined look of a young man having been three years in a Chicago military school. But David was only thirteen and not as knowing as his sister. He started to blat out the question that Lareina knew would give away the identity of Smith and Jones, so his sister said, "Come on, David! Stop standing there with your mouth open."

A puzzled expression spread across David's face, but as they walked together toward the station-house door, she whispered something inaudible to the others. David nodded, looked back at the two men behind him and winked. Jack and Charlie both smiled.

Once the group had eaten their supper, Jack asked Conrad if there was any riding stock there at the station that might be for sale. He was told that there was, so he and Conrad walked out to the corral while Charlie stayed near the kids. A deal having been struck, Jack saddled all four of their horses and walked back inside.

Since Beulah Station was the halfway point between Lead and Moorcroft, the stage and its passengers were to spend the night there, proceeding on the next morning to Sundance. Jack knew that his group would be well on their way to the Cabin Creek Ranch and his brother by dawn. Whoever was to meet the kids in Sundance would recognize the description of the two men with whom the kids rode, causing them also to realize that something was in the wind and that he and Charlie were watching over the youngsters.

Once back inside, after getting their attention, Jack motioned his niece and nephew away from the rest, telling them his plan and instructing them to change into their riding clothes. The rest of their baggage was to stay on the stage. With their orders and the knowledge of their uncle’s vast experience, they did as they were told without question, proceeding to their individual rooms to change their clothes. In minutes they were back, dressed for riding in the rough country that they were about to cross.

While making the deal for the horses, Jack had talked honestly with Conrad. Being a company man he knew his responsibility for his passenger, so Jack had told him his real name and of the danger to the kids. Knowing Jack’s plan, Conrad helped the four of them slip unnoticed from the house and bid them a good trip as they rode away at a ground covering pace north toward Hay Creek.

After reaching Hay Creek Jack turned the party west, traveling at a comfortable walk in the stream itself. He had to cover their trail for now anyway to buy them all the time he could. As they walked he told the two young people of the information that Charlie had gathered, advising them that if they were caught it would mean the end of all their father had built, and knowing the manner of men they were dealing with probably all of their lives.

These kids had grown up in wild country. They knew the dangers that could befall anyone riding in such country, for there was always the possibility that a horse might step wrong, stumble and fall leaving its rider injured, dying or dead.

There was also a chance of meeting a hostile Indian, which had become scarce in the past few years. After the defeat of Dull Knife’s Cheyenne in ‘78, there remained only isolated groups of Sioux, scattered here and there, north of where they rode, so that threat was a minimal one, but a threat nonetheless and he could ill afford to get tied up in a scrape with some marauding group of those folks.

There was always danger of some fashion in this country, so no matter who a person was he had to keep his wits about him. But right at this time he knew from where the danger came; from a man he’d known for more than eleven years, a man he had called friend.

On a number of occasions he had been asked to join forces with Roland Carter, for one purpose or the other. One occasion, which he now recalled, there had been a range war in New Mexico for which Carter had hired a group of men to assist a rancher in "protecting" his range against "Squatters", who had been given homestead rights to government land on which the rancher had been grazing his vast herd of cattle.

Jack, although he’d ridden from time to time on the wrong side of the law, liked nothing he heard when Carter had made his proposal, although he’d offered Jack and Charlie a third of his fee to join him. He had refused the offer and the two men had parted company on friendly terms, Carter knowing Jack well and understanding the make-up of the man.

There had been other times when the two men had been on the opposing sides of a conflict, but they had never had occasion to come up against each other. This time it would be different, for now Roland Carter was coming after his family. Jack knew deep inside that this time they would meet face to face with guns and one or both would not walk away.

In this country distance was measured according to the amount of time it took to travel across it; the difficulty crossing the terrain one traveled having a great deal to do with that time. It was less than a day’s ride the way the crow flies from Beulah Station to the ranch on Cabin Creek, but the route that they now took would take them through some mighty rough country, slowing their travel immensely. The route they traveled would take them nearly three days ride northwest through the Bear Lodge Mountains, coming out an hour or so southeast of the Barlow Ranch and some two to three hours hard riding north of his brother’s place. Jack expected this trip to take them all of four days.

Four days and three nights. Nights spent sleeping on the ground, no fire to keep them warm, for he dare not take a chance on a fire revealing their whereabouts, and only jerked beef and hardtack to eat. David, he thought, might be able to handle the rough conditions, his having hunted with his dad in similar country to that through which they would travel, but Lareina was questionable. She was a young lady used to soft living and the comforts which that entailed. It was going to be a rough trip for her.

Once they reached the Forks of Hay Creek, the group turned northwest taking the north fork, traveling along its banks to make better time. The sun was well below the peaks of the mountains when Jack, finding a likely place to spend the night stopped his party telling them to step down and rest.

"This is it, for tonight, kids," Jack announced. "We’ll sleep here and get an early start in the morning. Sorry, Lareina, but we don’t dare build a fire, so wrap up in your blanks and keep as warm as you can. If you get cold, sing out……I’ll give you one of mine. Davy, have you and your dad ever done any huntin’ in these mountains? Do you know anything that might help us find a shorter route to the ranch?"

David shook his head. "Sorry. We’ve made a few trips to the Bear Lodges, but never this far north. Most of our hunting was in the breaks along the Belle Fourche and up around the Tower and the Missouri Buttes. I’m sorry."

Jack chuckled and patted the boy's shoulder. "Don’t worry about it. Charlie’ll find a good route through to the other side. We’ve been up through here once. It was a long time ago, but I’m sure it’ll come back to us soon enough. In the meantime, you and your sister need to get some sleep. Charlie and I’ll keep a watch while you two get some rest. Daylight’ll be here before you know it."

Charlie was stripping the saddles from the horses when Jack walked over to him.

"I’ll take the first watch," he said. "Get yourself some shut-eye. I’ll wake ya around midnight."

Charlie nodded. "Bullnose will be with Carter."

Jack had turned to find a comfortable place to sit-out his watch when Charlie had made that statement. Upon hearing those words, his head snapped back around to look at his cousin.

"Gerome?" he asked in a strange tone.

"Uh huh, Last word I had, he had joined up with Roland and was part of his regular crew."

"So," Jack replied, removing his hat and scratching his head, "Gerome Bullnose is runnin’ with Roland now. That’ll mean he’ll be out scoutin’ the country for us makin’ the work we’ve done to hide our tracks useless. Even worse, he might know a shorter route through these mountains, which will mean they’ll beat us through and will be waiting for us, instead of trying to trail us. Dang, that’s bad luck! This nightmare gets worse all the time."

He found himself a place to sit. Then taking his makings from his shirt pocket he rolled himself a smoke and mulled over the news that Charlie had just laid on him. Gerome Bullnose was a Navajo Indian who had in his younger days been a scout for the army and was said to be able to trail a fish in a stream. If Gerome was riding with Carter, there would be no disguising their trail.

After waking Charlie, shortly after 1:00 a.m., Jack rolled up in his blankets and slept. An hour before daylight he was awake and pulling his boots back on. He and Charlie saddled the horses and then woke the kids. The group was moving along the stream as the sky was beginning to turn gray.

The afternoon of the third day found Jack’s party through the tall peaks of the Bear Lodge Range, moving through the rolling foot hills nearing more open ground. Several times over the past couple of days Charlie had ridden back along their trail to see if they were being followed. There had been no pursuit. Each time he had found a good vantage point, being able to see for some distance, remaining there for a couple of hours. Only once had he seen anything at all, that being an elk, which browsed along slowly, grazing on the grass in a small mountain meadow through which they had ridden.

Now for the past couple of hours the going had gotten progressively easier, but Jack and Charlie became more uneasy with every passing minute. Both men were alert, watching the ridges, the tree line, every inch of every foot of ground as far as they could see.

They had turned south after coming into the foot hills, crossing Slacktail Creek, staying to the timber as much as possible. They had ridden through a dense strip of pines along the side of a hill and were a few feet from walking out into a meadow when Jack reined Joker to a halt and held up a hand, at the same time turning in his saddle and putting his finger to his lips to signal the others to remain quiet.

"Don’t talk," he whispered. "Keep your horses quiet and whatever you do, don’t move a muscle. If we can stay quiet and not move, they may not see us." With that he very slowly pointed to the five riders moving toward the north, in a straight line to the pass through which they had come only a few minutes before.

He looked at Charlie and whispered, "Once they’re past take the kids home. You’re maybe an hour and a half or so hard ridin’ from there. I’ll hang back and play tag with that bunch in a delaying action. I’ll slow 'em down, as much as I can, as I ease my way toward the ranch... Did ya see Gerome?"

"Yeah," Charlie whispered, "he was out in front. Carter was there too."

Jack nodded. "Yeah, I saw ‘im." He looked into his cousin’s eyes. "Whatever you do, get those kids home. This is gonna get messy. Roland won’t give up without a fight. I’d bet my last dollar he knows who it was who took the kids from the stage. That bein’ the case and his being here now, he’s decided that this is the time for the two of us to lock horns. Get the kids home. Then you and Pat hightail it back up here with some help. Once this is over, I’ll pay Mr. Barlow a visit and straighten ‘im out on how he should treat his neighbors……that is, I’ll pay ‘im a visit if I’m able."

Charlie gave Jack a questioning look. The two men had been in tight spots before, always staying to fight side by side, one watching the other’s back. But now Jack was sending him in the opposite direction from where the fight would come. This time Jack would be alone and the foe which he faced was a man who could fight. A friend maybe but he was a fighting man, paid to use his guns, and now his guns would be aimed at Jack.

Reluctantly Charlie nodded. Once the five riders had passed by and were out of sight, he whispered, "Okay, kids, let’s ride. Slow for a while….we don’t wantta make any more noise that we have to." He turned Popper, pointing him deeper into the timber, then turned, looked back at Jack and slung his full bandolier to him. "I’ll be back, three or four hours."

Jack nodded as he caught the belt and Charlie led the youngsters off, moving like ghosts through the timber. As he sat his horse there on that timber covered hillside he checked his guns. First he checked the Smith & Wesson Model 3 Schofields; the first in its holster and the second he’d taken from his saddlebag and had tucked in his belt. Then he slid the Winchester ’86 from its scabbard, making certain it was full. Now with Charlie’s bandolier he had 80 rounds, if needed, of the .45-70 cartridges for the Winchester and his gunbelt was full of the .45 S&Ws for the Schofields.

Once he had made certain all three weapons were fully loaded, he rode slowly in the direction the five riders had gone. Ten minutes later he stopped at the edge of the timber on the top of a hill overlooking the mouth of the narrow canyon they had ridden through just a short time before. They’d been lucky to not be caught in that canyon, but now, there on the ground not 200 yards away was Gerome Bullnose, casting about, then squatting to look closer at the tracks of the four horses which had passed there.

Having had the Winchester laying across the pommel of his saddle, Jack now raised the rifle to his shoulder, taking careful aim at the man on the ground and cocking the hammer.

"Dang," he whispered to himself, "I hate to shoot a man in cold blood." He squeezed the trigger. As he watched the Navajo buckle and fall he levered the big bore Winchester three more times, downing one horse and maybe one more man.

After firing his last shot Jack spun Joker to the south and nudged him with a spur, the big roan leaping into a dead run. Through the timber they crashed, eventually coming to an open meadow. Jack took in the surrounding ground in a glance as he replaced the spent rounds in the rifle. He was across the meadow and entering the trees on its far side just as Carter and the two remaining riders rode out onto the open ground of that same meadow.

Bullets hummed their vicious song past Jack as he stopped behind a tall log-pole pine and took aim on the rider to Carter’s left. Once he’d let his shot go he quickly levered the rifle and took aim on the remaining man with his old friend and fired. The rider jerked in his saddle; his horse veered to Jack’s left. Firing once more in the direction of the wounded man, the horse the man rode buckled, rolling in a heap to the ground.

Sliding the Winchester back into its scabbard, Jack reined Joker in the direction of the oncoming lone rider. Roland Carter had stopped firing, holstered his weapon and reined his horse to a halt. As Jack rode up to face him there in the middle of the small meadow, the horse Carter rode was turned a bit to Roland’s left, leaving his Colt exposed to Jack, allowing him to see that the thong had not been slid back over the hammer. He knew instantly that the time had come when he would have to kill his friend, or be killed.

"Dang you, you ole bushwhacker," Carter said with a wry grin on his lips. "You shore played hob with that Winchester of yores…….n’ ya done in ole Gerome n’ him not lookin’ fer it."

Jack’s right hand lay on his thigh, relaxed but ready to move at the slightest indication that Carter would draw. He watched the man sitting on the Sorrel opposite him.

"You shouldn’t have come after my brother, Rollie….and Gerome should have known I’d be watchin’ my back trail. Who else was with ya?"

"Barnes was the second feller ya did in. Young n’ Smoltzie was them last two." He looked into Jack’s eyes. "When them kids weren’t on the stage, I made the driver describe the fellers they’d rode off with. I knowed it was you the minute he started talkin’.

"Jack, I didn’t know who I were supposed to run off until I’s already up here n' on the job. If I had knowed, I’d not took it." That being said, he reached in his vest pocket, pulling out his makings and rolled himself a cigarette. Jack did the same.

As they sat there, thirty feet of open ground separating the two gunmen, they smoked and talked of old times, reminiscing about places they had been and people both had known. The scene would have been more likely to have taken place in a hotel lobby or dining room somewhere rather that out on the open prairie, but it wasn’t.

Finishing his smoke, with his left hand Jack crushed out his cigarette on his chaps, the remnants and dead ash falling to the ground. The sun had dropped low in the west, defining the silhouette of Devil’s Tower, just a short distance away. He peered across the short distance at Carter, who took one last deep draw on his smoke and flipped the cigarette into the open space between them. With the cigarette butt still in the air he moved his right hand with uncanny speed to the Colt on his right hip.

Jack had expected his old friend to make such a move and was ready for it. Instantly his own gun was bucking in his hand. Carter had been fast, but as his hand had dropped to the grips of his Colt, Jack had drawn and fired. Two shots echoed across the small meadow; two shots that sounded as one.

As Jack’s Smith belched flame he felt a tug at his shirt on his right side and the burning of the hot lead that slid along a rib, high up just below his armpit. At the same time he’d seen Carter rock in his saddle from the impact of his .45 slug. Then, as the sulphurous odor of the burnt powder filled his nostrils and the smoke started to clear before him, Jack watched the man slip from his saddle, lying there on the ground as his horse walked a few steps away.

Jack stepped down from the roan and walked toward the downed man. He was a couple of steps away when he heard hoofbeats coming from the trees to the south and turned, with the Schofield in hand, to see Charlie galloping into the meadow, his Winchester in his right hand.

Jack holstered his gun once again and walked on to Carter, who was lying on his back, the front of his shirt wet and stained with blood. As Jack knelt next to him Carter looked up and smiled.

"I knowed I couldn’t beat ya straight up," Carter said. "I’s hopin’ ya’d be watchin’ that butt sail through the air n’ give me a split second’s head start….but not you, ya ole fox." He was coughing as Jack reached down, placing his hand behind his head, raising him some to help him breathe.

As Charlie dismounted a few steps behind him, Jack said, "You shouldn’t have gone after my brother. Ya had to know I’d get involved, sooner or later."

Roland coughed, then smiled again. "I’s hopin’ it’d be later. Don’t beat yoreself up over this. It had to come to this someday." With that, he breathed his last breath.

As Charlie led Carter’s Sorrel back to where he lay, Jack picked the dead man up and slid him over his saddle. Once they had tied his body down, Jack turned to Charlie.

"Where the heck are the kids?" he asked.

Charlie smiled. "Davy put up such a fuss about us leaving you behind, I gave him my gunbelt and Smith and told 'em to make a run to the ranch. The last I saw of 'em, they was running like their tails were on fire in the direction of home. We’ll probably meet up with Patrick comin’ this way as we head toward the ranch."

Charlie nodded in the direction of the dead man. "What are ya gonna do with Roland?"

"Bury ‘im in a quiet place along the trail." Jack stepped back into the leather. "We’ll find Pat’s bunch, then head back for the ranch. I’m hungry."

An hour later they piled rocks over Roland Carter’s body which had been lain on a low knoll under a tall pine tree. As they rode across a low hill, a half-hour after burying Carter, they met Patrick, Davy and six riders. After taking a few minutes to tell Pat the story, Jack said to his brother, "Tomorrow I’m going over to see Barlow. I suspect that when I leave there, if he’s still breathin’, he’ll be a sight friendlier to his neighbors."

Steve Ritchie is a story teller; just ask anyone who has sat around a campfire with him. He was born in 1950 in New Albany, Indiana, and growing up in Kentucky, raised the son of a Baptist Minister. He played baseball and football for the schools which he attended and roamed the woods and streams of Central and Eastern Kentucky, hunting and fishing, all the while gaining knowledge of wild country.

Being of Native American ancestry (Cherokee Indian), his stories, some of which include characters of the Plains Tribes, take a somewhat different slant in their regard. Steve was taught as a youngster that people should be considered for their honesty, integrity and their moral fiber, not for the color of their skin, religious affiliation or social standing; it’s what’s inside a person that counts. His stories and characters reflect that teaching. Steve is currently hard at work on his first BHW.