John C. Horst's Blog, page 16

Some people just need killin’, mate, and you sure are one of them.

Farnsworth and Foster, Arizona, c.1903 “Nope, don’t see one for miles.”

“One what?” The man was irritated, especially with Arvel.

“A tree. Can’t have a proper hanging without a tree, mate.”

“Oh,” he laughed. “Bleedin’ dime novels. And, don’t call me mate.” He laughed more nervously. “I’ve read of your so-called frontier justice. You’ll not mistreat me. You’re just trying to scare me. Well, I am not bloody-well scared.  You are officers, not vigilantes. You can’t touch me. You’re obliged to follow the due course of law. You’ve got to bring me in. You’ve no proof I killed anyone. There’s no call for this. You can’t hang me for any of the things I’ve done.”

“We aren’t hanging you for what you have done, mate.” Dick spoke as he pulled a pigging string from his saddle. “We’re snuffin’ you out so that you can’t do anything to anyone ever again. Some people just need killin’, mate, and you sure are one of them.”

Dick called to Arvel, pointing off to a distant spot. “That outcrop’ll work, Arvel.”

“Looks good to me.” He smiled at the killer. “Guess we can have a hanging after all. “Come along, Lad, we’re gonna show you how to have at least an improper hangin’ without a tree.” The Rangers mounted up, they made James walk ahead of them to the ledge of rocks a distance away. Arvel rode up beside the man and looked down at him. “This is what’s called the final walk…like it?” The Mule Tamer

“Ah, but they are my little ones, Francis, just like you, just like the Capitan. You are all my little ones.”

The Angel’s Love - St. George Hare 1908 “You be careful, mis pequeños. You be careful.” She’d see them off to work.

This always amused Francis, who’d been steadily learning the Spanish words, and he’d look on at Rosario. “Madre, those boys are as big as a barn.”

“Ah, but they are my little ones, Francis, just like you, just like the Capitan. You are all my little ones.”

This evening Mike was unusually quiet and Paddy, as always, knew that something was on his brother’s mind. He waited to hear what his partner and best friend had to say.

“Paddy, this place has become too civilized, too quiet. I fear we’re doing too good a job.”

Mike had the wanderlust about him and Paddy always knew when it was time for them to move on. His brother had been dragging the both of them all over the US for as long as they’d been in the country.

His response was interrupted by gunfire down one of the allies lined with shotgun houses. They moved toward it steadily, as the brothers never ran to investigate anything. They moved fearlessly, resolutely, and, not unlike Allingham, always at a walk. Allingham

“Looks like you’ve got some start-up meat for yer lunch counter.”

He wiped his mouth and gagged again at the thought of drinking water that had been steeped in the horrific unnatural tea of dead men.

“Jesus, Hobbsie, Mike and Paddy were right.”

“How’s that?” He smiled uneasily at Francis. Hobbs, himself, was only just keeping his retching under control. Francis very nearly inspired him; nearly triggered his gag reflex.

“They said the water was bad and that’s why they only drank beer.” He belched again. “I’ll be go to hell.”

Lung Hay called up, “That’s got a ring on it.” Hobbsie looked into the bucket and sure enough, a gold ring could be seen on a swollen, nearly denuded hand. Francis looked on in curiosity.

Hobbs nodded. “He gets anything of value we pull out; part of the deal.” He nodded at Mr. Lung Hay’s treasure trove; a pile of jewelry, coins, a ruined watch, and three, rusted as all hell, six shooters.

“I see.” Francis smiled.

Lung Hay called up again. “We want cats?”

“Yes, anything that’s not water, Lung Hay.”

“Okay, rats, too, then.” He filled the bucket and gave the line a tug.

Francis was feeling better now. He looked down and spoke to the top of the young man’s head. “Hey, Mr. Lung Hay.”

“What?”

“Looks like you’ve got some start-up meat for yer lunch counter.”

The Chinese man laughed. Hobbs turned suddenly and pushed past Francis.  “That’s it.” He ran away heaving as he went. Allingham

Pinning his six shooter to his side with his left hand, Allingham beat him in the face with his right fist.

Terri Kelly Moyers ~ Wild West He charged through the door and found that Sckogg wasn’t ready. He was sitting in his corner like a cornered rat. He was unable to get away and Allingham threw his body on him. Pinning his six shooter to his side with his left hand, Allingham beat him in the face with his right fist.

Allingham beat the man bloody. Blood was pouring freely from the gunman’s nose and mouth, mixing with the stew stains on his shirt.

They were equally matched in weight and height and toughness and Sckogg, more quickly than one would expect from a big man who’d just been soundly pummeled, turned and pulled away. He got his arm free and came at Allingham, delivering a powerful punch to Allingham’s bulbous nose.

The marshal reeled and fell back against the bar. The gunman was on him, choking him through the policeman’s stiff fancy collar. Allingham was losing consciousness as the bad man went for his six shooter. He was going to use that bullet and kill Allingham, now.

Finally, desperately, the big copper reached for a weapon, anything, and found the fancy cigar lighter with the pretty red globe that had been delivered just that week. It had been ordered from the Montgomery Ward catalog to add a little sophistication to the ramshackle saloon. He pushed it into Sckogg, igniting his celluloid collar into a great flame encircling the man’s head. It looked as if Satan himself had reached up from the bowels of hell and set a ring of fire around the miserable assassin’s neck. Allingham

“Go out and see what he wants. Then kill him and tell me what he said.”

She was up early and found the camp active. They were about ready to move out when an excited guard rushed into the tent. Gold Hat and the clown man were sitting at a desk when he interrupted them. “A man, Maestro.” He pointed excitedly toward the south.

“What man?”

“He looks to be an Americano. He is sitting on a rock with a white flag. He wants to parley.”

Gold Hat grunted. “Go out and see what he wants. Then kill him and tell me what he said.”

Two riders approached the man, who was wearing a fine ditto suit and sitting at a small table. The men rode up quickly and looked down at him from atop their horses.

Dan George stated his business. He motioned to a small chest beside him and told them he’d speak only to Gold Hat. The first bandit pulled his six shooter but before he could point it at Dan, the man’s head came apart, splattering brain onto his colleague’s lap. The other bandit looked on, dumbfounded.

“You tell Gold Hat I have enough money to make him richer than he’s ever been in his life, but I’ll only talk to him. If anyone tries to do me any injury,” he looked down at the corpse, “that’ll happen to them.”

The bandit wheeled his horse and galloped back to camp. In short order, Sombero del Oro and the clown man slowly rode up.

Gold Hat dismounted casually. He looked down at the corpse and stepped over it. He didn’t bother looking out at the mesa for the shooter. He looked at Dan George indifferently.

“What’s your business, Indian?”

“Rebecca Walsh.”

“Don’t know such a thing as this.”

“The pretty girl with black hair and blue eyes. She was wearing a blue dress when you took her.”

“So, what’s your business, Indian?”

“In this chest is thirty thousand dollars.” He gestured for the clown man to look. He did and pulled out several stacks of notes, held together with paper bands.

“Paper money means nothing to me, Indian. Words mean nothing to me. Gold coins and good human flesh mean something to me.”

“This is good US currency and it is only one quarter of what we will pay for the child.”

“And where is the rest of this great fortune?”

“In notes. I have the power to release the balance to you, to be redeemed at the nearest bank of your choosing.”

“What is this, redeemed?”

“Made good.” Dan George was surprised at the man’s ignorance. He thought that at least Gold Hat had to be an intelligent man to evade the law for so many years. He was just another stupid bandit.

“So, what am I to do with these notes, eh?”

“I don’t give a good goddamn what you do with them. Turn them into quarters and jam every one of ‘em up your ass for all I care.”

Gold Hat did not understand and turned to the clown man. “Que?”

The clown man shrugged. Dan George was growing impatient. “Let me tell you something, old simpleton. When you attacked that train, you unleashed the Leviathan, and if you don’t take heed of my warning, it will be very bad for you.”

The two old men cackled back and forth to each other and the clown man spoke up, “What’s this Leviathan?”

“One of the monsters of hell, its gatekeeper, and I warn you it will be coming for you. You should take my offer now, Gold Hat. Because if you do not, I can guarantee you that a rain of shit will fall on you like you have never known.” The Mule Tamer II, Chica's Ride

Just a man and his dog, writing a novel.

She is a good companion, and very helpful, yet her spelling and grammar remains atrocious. I keep forgetting that she is only five.

“I said, never seen anyone smile so much who wasn’t a damned woman or child or back washin’ fairy in a Turkish bath.”

The Turkish Bath ~ Ingres He looked in the corner as one of the players called Francis a name, muttered it quietly, but also just loudly enough to be understood. Francis smiled and walked over to his table. “What’s that?”
The man stared at his cards. “Nothin’.”
“Oh, it was somethin’. What’d ya say?”
The man had only recently gotten released from jail after digging half a dozen privies in the Arizona sun. He hated Francis and the rest of the lawmen. “I said, never seen anyone smile so much who wasn’t a damned woman or child or back washin’ fairy in a Turkish bath.”
Francis nodded and grinned wider. “So, you’re really callin’ me a Nancy, is that right?”
“Ain’t callin’ you nothin’. Just saying, a man who smiles all the time …, don’t know.”
Francis walked up behind him, causing the man to crane his neck to see what the lawman was up to.
“Well, ya are. I ain’t no kid or woman, that’s clear, only thing’s left is a Nancy. So, I think ya are callin’ me such.”
“Take it as you will.” The man spoke with progressively less enthusiasm. Privy digging was on his mind.
Francis grinned. “Trouble with you is, you don’t smile enough. Maybe if you would, you’d not be such a miserable and hateful son of a bitch.”
This did not elicit the proper response, as the man was a coward and did not want to fight with Francis or end up using the public works shovel again. He kept his mouth shut, but Francis could not let this insult go. He had a reputation to uphold, and there were many men who liked the idea of calling Francis a fairy. Francis probed a bit more, looked at the man’s hand, which the dude held out, too conspicuously. “God damn, son, you’ve got a full house, aces high!” Allingham

“You, Captain, well, you could piss off the Pope in Rome. I mean, you could piss off Jesus Christ himself, just with a look.”

Ed Schieffelin This encouraged Francis and the men, but the young deputy suddenly had a thought. “No disrespect intended, Captain, but old Redshirt, he’s not a big fan of the government, with the whole Kit Carson thing, and them wiping out his whole family and taking all his stock an’ such.”

Allingham stood, stone-faced. He hadn’t thought about that. “Go on.”

“Well, Captain,” Francis scratched his chin. He could not think of a diplomatic way of saying it. “You, Captain, well, you could piss off the Pope in Rome. I mean, you could piss off Jesus Christ himself, just with a look.”

They all laughed and then thought better of it and looked down at their plates as Francis continued. “Old Redshirt, he’s a proud man, and a powerful man and, well, Captain, he might just as well cut your ears off and feed ‘em to his hogs.”

Allingham was amused but he wouldn’t show it. “Are you going to get to the point, Francis? Or will we be here, listening to you blathering on until midnight?” Allingham

“Arvel Walsh, I would gladly kill you now for making me do this ridiculous thing, but I would never get my money.”

Henry Farny - Sioux Chief 1897 “He requires a blood sacrifice.”

“No!”

“I am afraid so. He says that the people living down below. The ones with the queer dark clothes and strange religious rituals must die.”

“That’s my family, Captain!” Tears welled up in her eyes and Arvel wondered if he was not overdoing it. “That can’t be, Captain. Tell him I am sorry. Tell him to kill me, but please leave my family alone.” She began sobbing.

Dan stopped and looked down at the girl. The sound came to him automatically: “Awe.”

Arvel glared at him. Dan coughed and sputtered. “Awe, eeh ah; Some blood must be spilled.”

Arvel stood up, then got down on one knee before the Indian chief. He begged for mercy. He offered his own life in place of the family.

“Arvel Walsh, I would gladly kill you now for making me do this ridiculous thing, but I would never get my money.”

Arvel looked, hope in his eyes. “He said he will do a blood ritual, but you will have to lose a little blood in order for it to be accepted.” He looked at the girl with pity, “But at least no one has to die.” The Mule Tamer

She was barefoot and rested one leg on the bed, revealing her shapely brown legs to mid-thigh.

The McMahan Photo Art Gallery & Archive     Yanaba was nearly eighteen and had been a widow for more than a year. She had two living children and she was the most beautiful woman Francis had known up until Mags. She liked Francis very much but was married when he came into their lives. Now that her husband was dead, Yanaba thought it would be good to test the waters.

She reclined on his bed, her long raven-colored hair, freshly brushed, cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She wore a sheer sleeping gown of silk covered by a brightly colored Chinese robe. It was flimsier yet and hung open, not by accident. She was barefoot and rested one leg on the bed, revealing her shapely brown legs to mid-thigh.

She could tell right off her expedition would not be fruitful.

“Who is she, Francis?”

“Who’s who?” Francis was being a bumpkin again. He did not know how transparent his feelings were about Mags. The princess could tell, but Yanaba’s actions and dress were also distracting him and he was finding it difficult to concentrate.

“The woman you love.”

“Oh, oh.” He blushed.

“Twist us a cigarette, Francis.” She tossed her tobacco pouch at him. He did, and they smoked together in his room. Francis moved to the foot of the bed, sitting at Yanaba’s pretty bare feet. Allingham