The Crimson Trail

Okay, I'm not sure if this is any good, but I tried, here is a short story...

The Crimson Trail
By William J. White

It was quiet. Marshal Blackie Burnette was smoking his pipe and shuffling through a drawer full of wanted dodgers. Deputy Hank Wiser was killing time with a game of solitaire. The jail cells were empty and the town of Trout Lake had been relatively peaceful for weeks now. All of that peace and quiet ended with a single gunshot that pierced the midday silence and woke the whole town up.

“What the hell!” Exclaimed Wiser as he jumped to his feet and un-holstered his six shooter.

Burnette was even faster and bolted out of the front door gun drawn with lightning speed. Outside of the Marshal’s office the whole town had poured onto Trout Lake ’s Main Street . Wiser followed the Marshal onto the dirt road outside of the office. A scream could be heard from the Sterling Saloon and another shot rang out. Burnette and Wiser ran toward the saloon to investigate.

A bleeding man stumbled out of the batwings, gripping his neck, and coughing up blood. A third shot was delivered from the batwings and the bloody victim was hit squarely between the eyes.

Burnette took to the boardwalk that ran in front of the Sterling and sneaked his way to the saloon’s entrance. Peering over the batwings he caught a glimpse of a man dressed in a duster caked with trail dirt and brandishing a smoking Colt in his left hand. The shooter didn’t notice the Marshal and he gulped down a shot of whiskey. Burnette backed away from the door and motioned for the crowd on the street to back away from the scene. Wiser found his way to the Marshal’s side and the two stood outside of the building waiting for the shooter to emerge.

“Drop the gun and come out!” Burnette shouted.

“Screw you law dog! You’ll just have to come and get me!”

Standing in the street, Burnette’s eyes shot from the rooftop, to the alleyway, and back into the Sterling . The unidentified shooter didn’t appear to have any visible back up and it was pretty obvious that the only way that the Marshal was going to be able to take the killer was if he stormed the saloon himself. Wiser leaned in to Burnette’s ear and whispered.

“You want me to sneak into the back?”

Blackie nodded. “See if you can’t get in there from the back door, I’m gonna try and take him from the front.”

Hank made his move through the alley heading for the backdoor. Burnette stepped toward the boardwalk, careful to keep his head low, and out of the sight of the front window and the batwings. While the Marshal made his way toward the batwings, the front window shattered as a bullet slammed through the glass, and served as a warning for the lawman.

“Back off Marshal or I’ll put a slug between your eyes!”

Another shot rang out, but this time it came from the back of the Sterling , and a bottle of liquor shattered above the bar. The killer fired back, but Hank had taken cover in the backroom, and the stranger couldn’t even see him.

“Show yourself, you coward.”

Blackie took advantage of the confusion and stormed the entry way faster than a bronco. He grabbed the shooter’s left hand, preventing him from shooting that pistol again; the butt of his Colt rapped the stranger upside the head, knocking him out cold. Wiser came out from the shadows and the pair carried the killer back to the jail.

The victim’s name was Artie Jeffers, a traveling gambler who had only arrived in town less than a week ago. The killer’s name was Frank Logan, a vicious cutthroat that was already wanted for more than a half a dozen other murders. His dodger boasted a reward of fifteen hundred dollars and Blackie planned on splitting it fifty-fifty with Hank.

The fight started over a losing hand that was dealt to Frank. The minute that Logan drew, the Sterling emptied out, and the first shot that rang out from Logan ’s pistol hit Jeffers in the throat. Jeffers was single, he had no surviving family that was known of, but he had enough cash on him for a decent burial. Logan would be staying in his cell until the U.S. Marshals could pick him up.

The whole thing made the papers in Denver , a rare feat for Trout Lake , but it wasn’t the kind of publicity that the town was particularly looking for. Publicity aside, the town returned to its usual slow pace in no time, and things were quiet again.

Burnette and Wiser returned to their routine too. The pair sat on the bank of the lake angling the afternoon away, enjoying the pleasant weather, and discussing the future of their less than appreciative house guest.

“The U.S. Marshals will be coming for Logan sometime this week,” Burnette observed.

“Can’t say that I’ll be missing him much.”

“I hear you, but you will appreciate your cut of the bounty that their bringing with them.”

“That’s true.”

A stranger on horse back found his way to the two men. He dismounted and approached them.

“Are you Marshal Burnette?”

The stranger didn’t look much older than seventeen years, he was dressed in fairly modest attire, and his horse looked older than him.

“I am, how may I help you kid?”

“My name is Jared Logan; I’d like to see my brother.”

Hank stood up while Blackie packed his pipe and lit it.

“Are you sure you really want see him son?” Wiser asked.

“He’s my brother; of course I wanna see him.”

“He’s also a cold blooded killer son,” Blackie observed.

Jared took a deep breath.

“I’m well aware of that sir, but I just want to see him one more time, before they send him off to…”

Hank put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, an attempt to comfort the young man, and an acknowledgment of the boy’s pain. He turned inquisitively to Blackie. The Marshal took another drag off of his pipe and shrugged.

“Let Jared see his brother, just make sure you stay with him, for his own safety.”

“Will do Blackie.”

Deputy Wiser led the boy to the front of the jailhouse. He unlocked the front door that opened into the office and once he stepped inside he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Want some Arbuckle?”

“No thanks.”

Wiser took a sip and unlocked the gun cabinet. He removed one of the Winchesters and locked-up the cabinet again.

“No offense, but I don’t wanna bring you in there unless I’m armed.”

“You don’t think he’d actually hurt his little brother?”

"I understand that he’s your kin, but I most certainly wouldn’t let such a thing past him. He’s killed plenty of men and I’m not gonna allow an innocent civilian in there without an armed guard.”

“Very well sir, I do appreciate your concern.”

Hank unlocked the door leading to the jail cells. The open door revealed a row of four cells, all empty, save for one, the one that was located at the end of hall, as far away from the office as possible. Jared looked into the cell from the doorway, but from the distance all he could see were a pair of pant legs, and the boots that popped out of them.

“You’re early law dog, that slop you call lunch aint due for another two hours. If you want to offer me some of your nasty Arbuckle you can pour it into the pisser, tastes like that’s where it came from in the first place.”

Hank rolled his eyes in disgust and turned to the boy. He took on a more somber look when he faced the kid, it hit him pretty hard when he stopped to think about the fact that this well mannered young man had the misfortune of being that nasty rat’s brother.

“Wait here for a minute kid.”

“Okay.”

Hank walked over to the cell with his Winchester flashing. He didn’t give Frank Logan any false pretenses, he really wanted to give him a good look at the rifle, just so he knew what to expect from the Deputy.

“Well, well, if it aint the law dog’s little puppy. What do you want scrap hound?”

“I’ve got a visitor for you Frank. He really wants to see you, for the life of me I don’t know why.”

“Who is it? Some kin of that low-life cheater I shot the other day? Whoever it is, I don’t wanna see them, tell them to go about their business, and leave me the hell alone.”

Hank shoved the barrel of the rifle between the bars. With a look of disgust in his eyes he cocked the trigger.

“Might I remind you that your dodger read ‘dead or alive.’ If I were you, I’d cut back on the attitude a bit.”

Jared ignored the banter and walked up to the cell anyway. He looked in at his big brother and was slightly shaken by the sight. He slowly mustered up enough backbone to open his mouth and say something.

“It’s me Frank, I wanted see you before…”

“Jared?”

Hank backed off a bit. He didn’t want to get in the kid’s way. Everyone deserves to say goodbye, even if their brother was nothing more than a killer.

“I read about your capture in the paper. I wanted see you, I missed you, Mom misses you, Dad too.”

“Jared…”

It was obvious to Hank that Frank Logan was beginning to feel something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. An emotion that had eluded him for years, which only made it more painful now, Frank Logan, was finally experiencing guilt. A realization of his guilt; if not for his crimes, at least for the shame that he had brought to his family’s name, and the shame that was carried by the boy that stood before him now.

Hank leaned up against the jail bars and let his rifle fall to his side and left it to simply relax next to him. He figured his earlier stance delivered a harsh enough message, he’d let the boy speak his peace, escort him out, and wait for the arrival of the U.S. Marshals to bring this whole chapter to an end. Frank Logan wasn’t going to escape his fate, he’d hang within a week, and justice would be served.

Frank climbed to his feet and reached out from the bars. Reluctantly, Jared moved closer to the killer, and accepted his embrace.

“I missed you too Jared.”

Jared started to cry, he couldn’t help it, he’d been holding it in for too long, and the tears were winning this time. He wanted to stand strong, look his brother in the eyes, and say goodbye, but he realized that it was much harder than he thought.

The young Logan backed away from his brother after a few minutes in his arms. He had calmed down and seemed content to accept the situation. Hank stood down, just in case the boy needed a few more minutes, he didn’t even raise the rifle. Then, without warning, the boy drew a pistol, and demanded the keys from Hank.

“What the hell?”

“You heard me, give me the keys, I’m getting my brother out of here!”

Jared quickly kicked the Winchester out from Wiser’s side and Frank reached out from the bars and slid it to himself. Wiser fumbled for his keys, but Frank had the barrel at his head, and his arm around his throat.

“I wish you were that no-good Marshal, because I really want him to feel this.”

After Frank said those words, the butt of the Winchester delivered a painful blow to back of Hank’s head, and all faded to black.

Blackie was content to stay on the bank of that lake, smoking his pipe, just angling and waiting for a bite. But, when he heard Jared’s old horse taking off on a clip, and when he saw that the horse now had two people on its back, he knew it was time to snap out of it, and grab his guns. He threw down the rod, spit out his pipe, jumped to his feet, and ran into the jailhouse.

Hank was still out cold, the jail cell was wide open, and the keys were right there on the floor. The Winchester was missing and Blackie had more questions then he had time for answers. He helped Hank to his feet and the Deputy began to stir.

“The Kid,” Wiser said, “he had a gun on him.”

“Alright, take it easy. I want you to go over to Doc Keller’s place and get yourself looked at.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“What do you think I’m gonna do? I’m gonna find the Logan boys and bring them in.”

The Marshal strapped on his six guns and grabbed one of the remaining Winchesters from the gun cabinet. He ran off to the stable, to saddle up his horse, and hunt the Logans down.

Considering the direction that the Logans were heading in when they escaped, Blackie surmised that they were more than likely headed for the wooded foot hills of the mountains. There are trails throughout that region that could keep them out of sight, but lead them most of the way to Denver , or Colorado Springs , depending on which direction they would choose to take. Knowing that the Logan family haled from Colorado Springs , that they were traveling on horseback, and that they would want to keep close to water, Burnette settled on the most likely trail that the pair would have taken.

The Marshal went with his gut and it paid off. There was a clear path of fresh hoof prints to follow. Someone had been down that trail and it was pretty clear that they had traveled it very recently. The stream that ran alongside this path was filled with trout. The water was fresh, clean, and good enough for both man and horse. One could live in these woods for a longtime and many men had done so in the past.

An hour on the trail and Blackie starts to get the feeling that he’s closing in on the Logan boys. Not wanting to reveal his presence and lose the advantage of springing a surprise on the pair, the Marshal dismounted his horse, and continued his pursuit on foot.

The foot bound hunt didn’t last very long. Within ten minutes Burnette spotted the fugitives at the edge of the stream. The old horse was too tired to continue traveling and the Logans were setting up camp.

Rifle drawn, Blackie quietly crawled through the brush overlooking the encampment. He had a clear view of everything that they were doing down there, if he wanted to end this thing with the least amount of effort, he could just deliver a bullet to Frank’s head right now, and that would put an end to the whole damn thing. But, that’s not the way the Marshall operated, he was a man of the law, and he was a man who believed in justice. Legally he had every right to do just that, but Blackie knew that such a needlessly violent action was simply not justified. Instead of doing that, Burnette devised a way to cause a diversion, and use it to his advantage. His position was such that the fugitives would have a hard time placing him and if he timed his move right; he might be able to take both of them alive.

The horse was drinking from the stream, Frank was standing guard with the stolen Winchester in his hands, and Jared was attempting to get a campfire going. The Marshal aimed for the horse’s back side and fired. The bullet grazed the horse’s rump and the terrified animal took off faster than he’d probably moved in years. Jared froze and Frank jumped to attention trying to figure out where the shot came from. Blackie remained silent for a few moments, watching as Frank became more nervous, and Jared shook in fear.

“Who the hell is out there?”

“Drop your weapons, both of you.”

Jared climbed to his feet, threw his gun down to the dirt, and raised his arms. Frank was aiming for anything he could spot. When the wind blew, he fired at some rustling grass, proving that he didn’t have the slightest clue where Burnette actually was.

“Give it up Frank, its over. Drop the rifle and give yourself up.”

Jared tried to run toward the Marshal’s voice, but his brother grabbed him by the arm, and pointed the rifle at his head. Frank’s move was one that Blackie didn’t expect; he couldn’t believe that the killer was so cold blooded that he’d actually turn a gun on his own little brother.

“Is that you law dog?”

“The name’s Burnette and you already know who it is.”

Jared struggled, but Frank wrapped his arm around the boy’s throat in a tight hold.

“You make one move Marshal and I’ll blow the boy’s brains out.”

Was he bluffing? Would he really kill his own brother? Blackie wasn’t sure, one thing he did know was that Frank Logan was a psychopath, and the only thing he knew about psychopaths was that you never know what they’re capable of. Burnette stood up, and he threw down the rifle. His location was revealed, he was without a drawn gun, and he was leaving himself wide open for a bullet.

Frank laughed, “I’ll be damned. Law dog, you really are crazy.”

Not as crazy as you, Blackie silently thought to himself.

Frank lowered the grip on his brother and pointed the rifle at the Marshal. Jared fell to his feet coughing. The boy regained his composure and turned to look at his brother. Frank was laughing as he cocked the trigger and Blackie knew the man had a clear shot on him. Suddenly, the confident laugh was gone, replaced with painful coughing after Jared delivered a good hard punch to Frank’s groin.

Jared jumped to his feet and started running toward Blackie. Frank lifted the rifle again and took aim at his brother. Blackie skinned his Colt and simultaneously fired it with Frank’s Winchester. Jared fell to the ground and Frank’s head jolted back as the Marshal’s bullet hit him right between the eyes.

Marshal Burnette ran to the aid of the fallen boy. Jared was grazed in the shoulder and fainted from the shock. He was going to be fine, physically at least, but he would carry that scar along with few less visible ones for the rest of his life.

“I never thought he’d try to kill me, his own brother.”

“No offense boy, but your brother was a psychopath, and when he felt trapped, you ceased to be his brother, and you became nothing more than just another obstacle to his survival. Sometimes men become more like animals than human beings, when you live a life like his, the line becomes harder to define.”

Blackie threw the dead body of Frank Logan across the back of his horse and walked the horse back to Trout Lake while Jared walked beside him. He’d escort the kid over Doc Keller’s place and have him taken care of. Then return to the jailhouse and revise the paperwork on Frank Logan.

When United States Deputy Marshal Gerald Norton arrived in Trout Lake, CO, he expected to find a living Frank Logan, and to take the man into custody. Instead, he found himself claiming Logan ’s dead body. Since the reward said ‘dead or alive,’ Norton didn’t mind handing over the $1500 check to Marshal Randolph ‘Blackie’ Burnette, but he did want an explanation.

“Oh, that was Deputy Hank Wiser’s ineptitude,” the Marshal explained. “A couple of days ago he got a little careless while bringing the prisoner a meal. Frank Logan overpowered him and managed to wrestle away the Deputy’s Winchester . The prisoner busted into my office and stuck the rifle right in my face. If I wasn’t so quick on the draw, I’m certain I’d be dead now, and Frank Logan surely would have escaped to kill again.”

“Marshal Burnette, I think you’re probably right.”

“As far I was concerned, I really didn’t have any other choice but to skin my Colt, and put the scoundrel down. It was him or me.”

“Well then, you did the right thing, but you might want to think about getting yourself a more competent Deputy.”

“Well, I’m a forgiving man, so I have him on a bit of a probation right now.”

“Suit yourself. I just want to let you know that the U.S. Marshals thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Norton left Trout Lake with the body of a killer in his possession. Blackie was more than happy to see the end of this chapter. But, Hank Wiser wasn’t too happy with the Marshal’s version of the story.

“Ineptitude? Probation?”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly tell him the truth Hank, now could I?”

“No, but you didn’t have to make me look like a tenderfoot in the process, or make yourself out as the fastest draw in all of Colorado.”

Blackie shrugged and smiled while Hank rolled his eyes.

“I guess I can deal with it Blackie, I mean we’re splitting the reward fifty-fifty.”

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of seventy-thirty.”

“What… Why!?!”

“Cus’ I wasn’t the one who didn’t think to search the boy for a gun.”

The End