Bucking the Odds Page 13

  He watched while they spoke to her, he recognised two of the Colson boys, David and Homer and they were with another man who he didn't know...and then she pointed toward the barn and he knew he was trapped.

  He had the gun, but didn't want to kill anyone else, so he decided to try and tell them what happened in the hope that he could get them to understand. He took the gun off and turned to his horse who was still saddled, and hung it over the saddle horn. As they rode up to the barn, the man with them had his gun drawn, so Ryan stepped out of the barn to meet them.

  The boys jumped off their horses and made a run for him...this time he was not going to take a beating without fighting back. David reached him first and took a haymaker swing that Ryan easily ducked, and coming up he landed a left into David's stomach. As he doubled over his right landed fully on his jaw driving him to the ground on his back.

  Homer landed a punch on the back of his neck and he swung around before he could regain his footing and dropped him with a vicious right. David was on his feet again and helped Homer up, now they were cautious, they had never seen this side of Ryan. They circled around him punching and kicking when they had a chance.

  He held his own until David hit him across the back with a shovel that had been leaning against the barn. As he hit the ground they both started kicking, until suddenly the stranger fired his pistol in the air, and both the boys stopped and stepped back.

  He had sat on his horse with his gun drawn and watched as long as it was a fair fight...as fair as two against one could be. Now he dismounted, cuffed Ryan's hands behind him and lifted him to his feet. The two boys started to come forward again but the man drew his gun to let them know that the fight was over.

  "You boys get on your horses and head for home and tend to burying your folks, I'll take it from here."

  They started to object but the man clicked the hammer back on his pistol to show them that he meant what he said. They turned to their horses, grumbling all the way, and after they mounted David turned to the man.

  "You might as well let us have him to hang 'cause when we get our family all together we'll be comin' for him...and there's a passel of Colson's in Sheridan County."

  The man didn't move or speak, as the boys rode off. Then he went into the barn and got Ryan's horse, and after taking the gun off the saddle horn, he helped him mount, and they headed out. When they were far enough away from the Gruber farm the man pulled up. He slowly rolled a smoke and Ryan could tell he was deep in thought. He lit the smoke and turned to Ryan.

  "My name is Middleton, they call me Doc, and this is your lucky day kid."

  Ryan just looked at him, he didn't feel so lucky sitting on a horse with his hands cuffed behind him, being taken to jail for one crime he didn't commit and another one he was justified in committing, so he just sat there without speaking.

  "While those two were running around the farm like chickens with their heads cut off, I spoke to the other boy Willy. He is somewhat of a half-wit, but he told me that his father killed your mother, I couldn't get much more out of him but I'm willing to listen to your story."

  Now Ryan perked up and blurted out his story.

  "When I came in my mother was dead and he came at me with a frying pan and then..."

  Doc held up is hand.

  "Slow down boy, I could see what happened even without the half-wit telling me, I just wanted to hear it from you. The same thing happened to me when I was fourteen. I was stealing a horse, but I didn't deserve to be killed for it. The man came at me with an axe and I stabbed him in the gut with a pitchfork. It was self-defence, but I still went to prison for murder."

  Ryan listened to him tell his story while he smoked his cigarette. He was sentenced to life in prison in Huntsville, Texas but he escaped and changed his name. He proudly told Ryan that he continued his horse stealing career and here he was now riding for the law.

  He reached around and un-cuffed Ryan's hands.

  "What they said is true lad, this county is swarming with Colsons and the only hope you have is to light a shuck out of here."

  He hung the pistol back on the saddle horn, slapped the horse on the rear and as it raced away he yelled.

  "Luck to you boy, but keep riding and don't ever come back!"

  Ryan's horse bolted away carrying him into the coming darkness. That's what life was going to be like for him now...darkness.

  Chapter 2

  He rode until he came to some woods where he spent his first night on the run. He was only eighteen but was a mature eighteen, both in body and in mind. Like all young men in the west he had grown up fast and was doing the work of a man from the time he was thirteen.

  He had dreamed about getting away from the Colsons, but the thought of leaving his mother alone with them kept him on. He knew she was unhappy and was saving up money for the both of them to leave, and he just couldn't bring himself to leave without her. Now he was doing just that, but not in the way she planned.

  He knew he must use all his wits and every bit of his knowledge to escape the vengeance of the Colsons...and that it must begin now.

  The following morning he mounted up early and began his escape plan...it really wasn't much of a plan, all he had to do was to outrun the Colson boys...because he knew they would be coming. They were a clannish people and there were lots of them in Sheridan County.

  Wesley Colson had four brothers who all had sons and they were all just as mean as he was. Ryan had seen that firsthand at one of the family gatherings where they all treated their women the same and they all liked to fight, sometimes among themselves but mostly with people outside the family.

  He knew it would not take long for all of them to be combing the country for him so he started covering his trail. He rode in streams, when they were available, to hide his tracks, and switched his direction several times a day staying under cover as much as possible.

  Nebraska was mighty flat with stands of trees few and far between and he held to them when he could until he found a hiding spot that offered good cover that was close to water. He knew that staying put would not leave any tracks for the Colsons to follow, but the meager supplies that he taken in his saddlebag would soon be gone and he would have to get more.

  He could steal from the farms that dotted the countryside, or he could chance going to a town and buying supplies with his mother's money. He was not a thief, and he would not let the threat of capture, and perhaps even being killed make him become one. It would be risky going to a town, because he was sure by now his name and description had spread all through Sheridan County by the Colson clan, who dominated the whole county.

  He had heard about the Bordeaux Trading Post, further to the west, that had serviced the fur traders that roamed the mountains trapping for years. The fur trade had dwindled, but he knew the trading post was still there, so he saddled up and headed west. He had to travel carefully because this country was not only dangerous because of the Colsons, there was still hostilities with the Sioux, who were slowly being driven north as their land was being settled by the influx of immigrants looking for a new life.

  He rode with caution, staying off the roads that weaved through the country, and instead rode in the few sparse woods he could find until he finally came to a bluff overlooking a building beside a small stream. He sat and watched as a man in a wagon pulled away, and headed down the road...he waited a little longer while the wagon disappeared over the hill, wanting as few people there as possible when he rode in.

  Now he rode slowly down the hill and tied up to the hitching post, and after another careful look around, he went into the post. It didn't look much like a trading post any more as the fur trade had all but vanished, but he had heard that in its heyday it was one of the largest fur trading centers in the area.

  There was still some evidence of furs on one side of the store, but the rest was divided between a makeshift bar and the actual store. He stepped to the side of the door, and waited until his eyes completely adjusted to the i
nterior, then moved toward the counter. There were two men sharing a bottle at a small table in the corner, but they appeared to pay him no mind.

  The trader was waiting for him when he reached the counter.

  "Howdy young fella, ain't seen you around here before."

  Ryan was cautious, not wanting to create any suspicion.

  "My folks settled on a place to the southeast and I'm on my way to pick up some horses for them from a fella over west of here."

  The trader didn't comment any further as Ryan started telling him what he needed. He didn't have a pack horse so he was limited in the amount he could carry, and ordering too much could create suspicion. The last thing he ordered was two boxes of shells for the pistol he had.

  Nothing else he had ordered appeared to raise any suspicion, but the order for the ammunition raised the trader’s eyebrows.

  "What's a young lad like you gonna do with all that ammunition?"

  Ryan wasn't ready for a question like that, so he waited a moment before answering.

  "I've been practicing with this here gun my pappy gave me...if that's okay with you!"

  The trader threw up his hands up in reaction to Ryan's sharp retort.

  "That's fine, no need to get testy and chew my head off."

  Ryan paid the money and took the sack off the counter with his left hand. He was beginning to learn that he should never impede his gun hand, and as he turned to go he noticed that both of the men sitting at the table were watching him. He was thinking now that it was a bad idea to have come here, as he walked as casually as he could to the door.

  He wasted no time in packing the items in his saddlebag, mounted quickly and rode out to the northwest. He looked back as he was leaving to see that the two men were standing outside the door watching him, so he didn't do anything rash, just kept his casual gate until he reached the rise on the other side of the creek, where he stopped and looked back again.

  One of the men was hightailing it to the east, and the other was headed his way. He knew now that there was going to be trouble and he didn't have the time to try and cover his trail so he switched direction and headed north towards the Badlands.

  He had never been there, but like most people in the area, he knew about the badlands in the Dakota Territory. It was an area that was uninhabited and so barren that even the Indians didn't go there. He wasn't sure exactly how far it was but he figured he should be able to make it by nightfall. He did not want to get caught out on the prairie without any cover after dark.

  He was not sure how the man following him was armed, but all he had was the pistol and it was only effective at close range, whereas a man with a rifle could stand off a long way and cause him grief. He pushed his horse harder than he normally would, and after a few miles he pulled up on a rise for a breather.

  There he watched his back trail until he saw movement way back there...now he knew for sure that he had trouble but he felt it strange that he didn't really feel fear, it was more like apprehension. He knew he would have to face this man, and started watching for a place that would allow him to be close enough for a pistol shot if necessary...and in his heart he felt it was going to be necessary.

  The land was beginning to be cut by deep arroyos, the remains of flooding centuries ago, and it was in one of these that he found the spot he wanted. It was narrow, with steep walls and a sharp turn, so he walked his horse down to the next turn and ground hitched him to a rock, then walked back and huddled close to the bank just around the turn.

  It wasn't long until he heard a slight noise around the corner, so he drew his pistol and waited. He heard the noise again, and it sounded like the squeak that leather makes from movement on a saddle. Now he listened closer and heard a sound that he took to be a horse walking on the sand...then the sound stopped.

  The man had stopped and was listening, he must have suspected the potential of a trap, but he edged around just enough to see the tracks continuing down the arroyo, so he rode slowly around the corner.

  He was being careful, with his gun already drawn, and when Ryan stepped out he started to swing it toward him. Without hesitation Ryan fired, knocking the man off the other side of his horse. He watched between the horse’s legs as he hit the ground and was ready for another shot, but the man never moved.

  Standing there for a minute, finally realizing what had just happened, he gentled the spooked horse and went to the man to search his pockets to see who he was. There was no wallet or identification and only a little money, but in one pocket he found a folded paper, which he unfolded to read.

  There he saw something he had never considered before, it was a picture of him that his mother had wanted him to have done, and above his name was, 'Wanted Dead or Alive'. Below the picture, in big print, it read 'One Thousand Dollars' payable by the Colsons.

  Now he suspected that the other man was on his way to take the information to the Colsons, while this one planned on collecting the reward. This was worse that he thought, now he would not be safe anywhere in Nebraska and he was not sure how wide the Colson net spread, but he remembered the warning from Doc Middleton.

  He unsaddled the horse, stripped the man of his gun, and dragged him over to the edge of the bank, where he caved enough dirt down on him to cover him and the saddle. He walked back to the horse and took the reins and started down the arroyo, he had now acquired a pack horse, but the man did not have any supplies or a rifle as he had suspected.

  Now that he had seen the wanted poster he knew he would have to change his ways, he would not be able to ride into any town or settlement without the fear of being recognized. He was just skirting the lower edge of the badlands, and he rode up into them far enough to tell him that he could not stay here because there was no sign of game, and he would have to eat and have supplies again soon.

  There were not many options left, he needed a place where he could stay put without moving around or seeing people. He spent the night on the north side of the rugged country and in the morning he sat looking west toward the Black Hills looming in the distance.

  He had heard that gold had been discovered in the Black Hills and that people were migrating there to strike it rich. It was a long way from Sheridan County and he figured that the word would not have reached there yet, so he mounted and headed west.

  Reaching the edge of the hills just before nightfall he made a camp far enough into the hills so that he did not have to spend the night on the flat prairie, where he had little protection. He felt fairly safe from the Colsons, because even if they found his trail they would not have had enough time to catch up with him yet, but his other big concern was the Sioux, so he slept little that night.

  He rode deep into the Black Hills skirting the small mine camps until he spotted a man up ahead. He sat cautiously watching the man until he was sure he was just a miner, and then he approached him carefully. He was not the only one who was wary, as he neared the man he picked up a rifle and casually held it in the crook of his arm.

  "Howdy, dis here area she be claimed!"

  Ryan kept his hands on his saddle horn where they could be seen.

  "I'm not interested in mining, I'm just passing through."

  The man relaxed a little, but still held his rifle.

  “I was yust plannin' on to have some grub...come and join me."

  Ryan carefully dismounted making sure he kept his hands in sight and unhooked his gun belt and hung it on the saddle horn.

  "Thanks, I was getting tired of my own cooking."

  The man relaxed, sat his rifle down and held out his hand.

  "I'm Garhard Janssen...and dis is my claim."

  Ryan took his outstretched hand.

  "Ryan O...Sullivan glad to meet you."

  Janssen noticed his hesitation on the name and it spiked his curiosity, but he let it pass.

  "So if you not lookin' for gold, what brung a young fella like you into dis Hills?"

  Ryan followed Janssen over to the small fire and sat on a log beside i
t. He couldn't use the horse story he used at the trading post here in the mountains because it wouldn't make any sense.

  "I'm just passing through, looking for a place to stay put for a while."

  Janssen couldn't help thinking that he was awfully young to be running from the law, so it must be something else, but he liked the looks of the boy. He handed him a plate of stew and sat down opposite him.

  "If you don't mind hard work you can yust stay on with me...I could use the help and I yust give you ten percent of whatever we find."

  Ryan took the plate and had a bite of the stew. It was the first thing he tasted this good in days. He didn't answer right away and Janssen didn't press him. He finished off the last of his stew and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  "I have to tell you that there are some men after me for something I didn't do...or rather something I did but was justified in doing."

  Janssen took his plate and threw them together in a wash pan beside the fire.

  "Well, tank you for tellin' me, but I still yust need the help."

  Ryan thought about it as they sat by the fire talking about what was happening in the hills. Janssen had not come with the first flood of prospectors, he came a year later and had to come deeper into the mountains just to find a place that was not being claimed.

  The Sioux were being pushed back from the Black Hills, and although there were still skirmishes between them and the miners they were not usually this far into the mountains, so he felt relatively safe. Ryan looked all around the area slowly and saw that Janssen had chosen a spot that was isolated, could not easily be reached undetected and where there was plenty of water and grass for his own horses and the mules that Janssen had used to pack in his gear.

  Ryan was thinking that this was a place where he could stay without having to go out for supplies, or having the chance of someone stumbling on him...so he took the job.

  Garhard Janssen was a decent man, a burly old German, who believed he had found a place where there was gold...and all they had to do was locate it. Before Ryan arrived he had found some color in the small creek bed, and although it was not enough to make a living, it kept him in supplies, and he felt that with a little work he could find the source.