Vengeance Rode a Pale Horse

[DRayVan]

Chapter 1: Bank Robbery Gone Bad

Wednesday, July 24, 1889, began like any other in the endless stretch of uneventful, sunbaked summer days until three strangers rode into Flagstaff, Arizona Territory. By afternoon, the peace and quiet that the townsfolk took for granted would be shattered in a hail of bullets, bloodshed, and death.

Jesse Cameron, twenty-five, led the trio of riders. He sat tall in the saddle. His chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and steel-blue eyes were the spitting image of his pa during his prime. Earl Cameron, Jesse’s pa and leader of the gang, followed close behind. His fondness for beer had left him with a belly that rode heavy in the saddle. His graying hair, shaggy beard, and leather-tight skin added years to his appearance, beyond his actual age of forty-eight. The last gang member, Ben Winslow, twenty-eight, lagged about five lengths behind, bringing up the rear and leisurely scoping out the town.

The gang continued down Sante Fe Avenue past the Prescott Cattleman’s Bank and stopped in front of The Palace Saloon. They dismounted and looked across the street at the bank.

The bank, painted a rich forest green, stood at the intersection of Leroux Street and Sante Fe Avenue. Its window’s shimmering golden lettering gleamed in the sunlight. The angled entrance, trimmed with gilded scrollwork, was flanked by pillars and commanded a view of the crossroads. Large brass lanterns, polished to a brilliant shine, hung from ornate holders above the double doors.

“Ever seen anything like that there bank, Pa?”

Earl rubbed his stubbled chin. “‘Tis a downright handsome one at that.”

“I don’t know ‘bout this, Earl.” Ben shook his head. “Looks mighty sound to me. Ain’t gonna be easy.”

“Buck up, boys! We’ve seen worse.”

“Don’t know where or when,” Jesse muttered.

“Shut it, Jesse. We’ll take it like all the others.”

“When we gonna take it, Pa?”

“After a beer or two.”

Ben licked his lips. “Now, you’re talking, Earl.”

The men entered the saloon, ordered beer, and found a secluded table to discuss the robbery plans. Earl took a swig and wiped the suds off his lips.

“Here’s how I reckon it’ll go down. We’ll go outside and wait until I see a fancy-pants gent headin’ to the bank. I’ll lead my horse across to the bank, hitch it to the post, and follow him in. Then, you and Ben lead your’s and hitch them beside mine. One at a time, enter, and wait for my play.”

Jesse shook his head.

“What’s the matter, Son?”

“All ya need is a white cane and dark glasses, Pa. And maybe, one of them chairs with wheels fer old folks.”

“Make yer point, Son!”

“Yer plan’s too slow. Ben and me could read a book, waitin’ fer yer ya, and ya know how I hate readin’. And yer plan gives too much time fer somethin’ to go wrong.”

Earl’s cheeks and face flushed pink as blood rushed up his neck, and his jaw clenched. He took a deep breath and let it out, letting off steam.

“Then...” Earl locked eyes with Jesse. “How would you do it?”

Jesse paused and thought hard. He had fantasized about being the leader of a gang—this gang—deciding what to do next and doing what he wanted without his pa always putting his ideas down. On his twentieth birthday, he brazenly challenged his pa for control of the gang, but Earl’s strong will and heavy hand quickly put him in his place. But an ocean of water had flowed under the bridge in the past five years, and heavy drinking had taken its toll and slowed Earl’s lightning-fast draw and quick wit. While he bided his time, Jesse plotted ways to wrest control of the gang from his pa, the weakened, aging gunfighter.

Jesse reckoned the time was about right to challenge him again, but not today. “Pay me no mind, Pa. We’ll do it yer way.”

“Won’t there be a guard or maybe two?” Ben asked.

“Most likely there’ll be some,” Jesse said, “but I’ll handle them.”

“No shooting off your guns, Jesse, unless—”

“Don’t ya start raggin’ on me, Pa. I’ll do what needs to be done, so don’t ya worry none.”

Earl stared at Jesse again for a tense moment, but unfazed, Jesse took a swig of beer. Earl didn’t like Jesse’s nonchalant attitude toward gunplay.

Jesse was ten when Mary Cameron, mother and wife, died. After Earl buried Mary, he focused on supporting his only son. He coddled Jesse with material comforts to compensate for the loss of his mother and taught him the outlaw trade. He expected Jesse eventually to lead the gang. But as Jesse reached adulthood, Earl grew increasingly disappointed. His selfishness and lack of empathy became obvious, and his actions often harmed those around him. Beyond concerns for others, Earl also feared Jesse’s potential actions toward him, especially after the attempted gang takeover a few years ago.

Earl shook off his feelings and concentrated on the robbery. “Once I get the money, we’ll leave... quiet like. No gun play. And high-tail it out of town befer anyone figgers out the bank’s been robbed.”

“How much you reckon they have in that there bank, Earl?”

“No tellin’, Ben, but as handsome as it looks there should be a pretty penny in it... So, are we all set, boys?”

Ben nodded, but Jesse drank his beer without responding.

“Jesse? We clear, Son? No unprovoked gunplay.”

Reluctantly, Jesse nodded.

“Then, let’s drink up and have another round.”

***

An hour later, the men exited the saloon and stood by their horses.

It wasn’t long before a merchant walked toward the bank.

“That’s my cue.”

Earl took off, leading his horse toward the bank. He and the merchant arrived at the same time. Earl hitched his horse to the post and followed the man into the bank.

Jesse and Ben led their horses to the bank, hitched them beside Earl’s, and waited by the animals. They scanned the surroundings for any signs of trouble.

Once inside, Earl looked around, checking out every detail.

Bright sunlight streamed through the bank’s large windows, bathing the interior with a warm, inviting glow. The window’s lettering cast shadows on the polished marble floor. Dark oak-framed decorative grillwork, mounted atop a half-wall of red-stained oak wainscoting, separated customers from two tellers.

A woman interacted at one teller window, and the merchant stepped up to the other. The soft sound of indistinct conversation between the tellers and customers filled the room. Behind a half-wall near a walk-in vault, the bank manager sat at a desk, shifting his gaze between the customers and the papers on his desk. In the far corner, an armed guard sat on a tall stool with arms crossed, casually observing everyone in the bank.

When the woman finished her banking and left, Jesse and Ben entered the bank. The guard stood, eyed them suspiciously, then relaxed. Earl stepped up to the teller’s window and nodded at Jesse and Ben.

“May I help you?” the teller asked with a broad smile.

Earl nodded. “Yeah, ya can. Gimme all yer money and be quick about it, or my boys will come a get it.”

Jesse unholstered his gun and aimed at the guard. “Ease yer weapon to the floor, mister... And don’t try nuthin’ funny.”

The guard slowly reached for his weapon.

“Lift it out with yer finger and thumb, partner, like it’s somethin’ dainty.”

“Sure, mister.” The guard removed his gun, put it on the floor, and raised his hands. “I ain’t gonna try nothing funny.”

“Don’t body move a hair.” Ben waved his gun from person to person.

The merchant froze, not moving a muscle.

Earl unholstered his gun and stuck it through the grill, pointing it squarely in the teller’s face. “Now... How about that money?”

The bank manager slowly raised his hands, where the Earl could see them. “Give it to him, Henry. Money’s not worth getting killed over.”

“Yessiree, mister.” The teller nodded like a woodpecker as he gathered the money and put it in a bag. When he had finished, Ben stepped to the teller’s window and took the bag of cash.

“I’d be obliged if everybody’d remained calm so me and my boys can leave peaceful-like.” Earl holstered his gun, tipped his hat, and turned toward the door.

Without warning, Jesse turned and shot the teller dead. At the sound of the gun blast, the guard dove to the floor and grabbed his gun.

Earl spun around. “Watch out fer the guard, Ben!”

Ben whirled and aimed at the guard, but the guard already had his weapon pointed at Ben and fired. The bullet hit Ben’s left upper chest and knocked him backward to the floor. He lay sprawled out on the floor.

Jesse shot wildly, just missing the guard as he rolled to safety behind the counter, but winged the manager in his arm. Earl shot the guard in the leg and kept shooting while Jesse helped Ben to his feet and out the door.

Earl reloaded and ran after them. When he stepped outside, he shot and killed a passerby, who stood dumbfoundedly, not knowing which way to turn. Then he mounted and rode off down the street, shooting wildly to keep everyone at bay.

After Jesse had helped Ben into the saddle, he mounted his horse and shot at a man crouched behind a barrel, wounding him. He took the reins of Ben’s horse, and the two raced after Earl.

The bank manager ran from the bank, holding his bloody arm and yelling that the bank had been robbed and that the teller had been killed. The sheriff burst out of the jailhouse, rushed into the street, and frantically called for men to join a posse.

Except for Ben, who was desperately clinging to his saddle horn, the men made a clean escape eastward out-of-town. Flagstaff, however, was left to doctor their wounded, bury their dead, and live with the trauma of the day three strangers rode into town.

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

Chapter 2: One Breath from the Grave

The gang rode all night, keeping to the well-traveled trail and one step ahead of the Flagstaff posse. They went eastward into Indian territory and into dawn’s first light. The sun’s blistering rays promised another day of suffocating heat for the endless stretch of Arizona desert. Their tired, hungry, and thirsty horses kicked up a cloud of fine dust as they cantered along in single file, driven by an instinctive desire to submit to the lead rider’s continual urging.

Jesse’s shirt was wet and sweat-stained from the morning sun beating down on him. His face and neck were encrusted with layers of dirt and grime. He had gone several days without a bath, and he smelled to high heaven. Yet none of this weighed in the balance. He was driven by a singular thought: keep ahead of the posse that was nipping at his heels. No way would he allow himself to be captured. He vowed to ride his horse into the ground before surrendering, and he’d leave his companions behind if it came to that. The stakes had never been higher, and to Jesse, it was all about him—no one else mattered, not even the man who had raised him.

Earl followed close behind. He had been sweating all night, and with the morning’s added heat, his eyes stung from the salty perspiration trickling down his brow. While he rode, he continually squirmed in his saddle—poor hygiene had finally caught up with him, and he itched something fierce.

Ben Winslow brought up the rear, lagging over twenty lengths behind, and slumping forward on the saddle. He white-knuckled the saddle horn, desperately trying to keep himself from tumbling off his mount. The dark, bloody stain from the gunshot to his chest spread nonstop across his shirt.

When the party reached the Little Colorado River at Leupp Crossing, they followed its flow downstream. Their horses picked their way through the pebbles along its shore, trying not to stumble. With no measurable rain in recent weeks, the Little Colorado was down to a low trickle and shallow enough in places to leap across without getting your boots wet.

“Hold up, Earl,” Ben pleaded. “I-I need a rest.”

He swayed one way and then the other, barely able to hold on to the horn with his right hand. His left arm hung limp at his side and flopped about with each jerky movement of his horse.

Earl glanced over his shoulder. “Can’t stop, Ben. Gotta keep ahead of the posse.” Concern for Ben registered in Earl’s eyes, but the fear of capture overrode any compassion he may have had.

Ben called out again. “I’m bleeding bad, Earl, and it hurts like hell. And... And if I don’t stop soon, Ima gonna fall off this saddle.”

Earl nudged his horse and came alongside Ben to examine his blood-stained shirt. The sun’s heat and the desiccating wind had caked Ben’s blood near his left armpit and upper chest. A layer of desert dust added to the thickening mass on his clothing.

Ben’s dire predicament finally got the best of Earl.

Fifteen long years ago, Earl had found Ben, barely twelve years old, beaten and bloodied, lying alongside the body of his father. His father still gripped a bloody whip, and Ben’s hand still held the gun that had killed his father. Earl helped Ben onto his horse and brought him home, where he and Jesse nursed him back to health and offered him a place to live. In time, he learned the outlaw trade and joined Earl’s gang. A Father-Son relationship grew between Earl and Ben, with Earl often referring to Ben as his second son.

“All right, Ben, we’ll stop fer a spell.” He turned to Jesse. “Pull up, Jesse. Ben’s gotta rest.”

Jesse circled his horse around them, stopped, and spat on the ground.

Ben had tried to forge a brotherly bond with Jesse, but Jesse kept Ben at arm’s length, always considering him an outsider. It didn’t help that Ben’s broad shoulders, rugged jawline, steely eyes, and wavy dark hair, boosted by his quiet confidence, easily attracted more attention from women than Jesse’s. On the other hand, Jesse’s prideful arrogance often put off those around him, particularly women. A growing jealousy took root in Jesse’s heart, deepening a resentment that widened the rift between the two men.

Jesse saw Ben’s dire injury as the best chance to rid himself of Ben, once and for all. “If he can’t keep up, Pa, leave him.” Then he rode a couple of lengths ahead.

“Stop, Jesse.” When Jesse turned to look, Earl shot him a disgusted look. “You can be downright insensitive at times, Son. Pull up here. We’ll rest a bit.”

Earl dismounted and scratched the annoying itch in his crotch. He helped Ben get down from his saddle and slung Ben’s arm around his neck. They hobbled to the shade of a nearby shrub. Meanwhile, their horses wandered to the water for a drink and a nibble of some nearby foliage.

Jesse circled them a second time. “I’m just sayin’, Pa.”

“Keep it to yerself, Son.” Earl’s steely gaze followed Jesse as he circled. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

Earl knelt beside Ben and unbuttoned his shirt. The wound in his upper chest frothed blood-red bubbles with each breath. A clot had formed and clung to his chest hairs, but the puncture hadn’t sealed over. Instead, sweat mingled with the oozing blood and coated his lower chest and belly.

“How do it feel, Ben?”

“Like there’s a fire in my arm and shoulder.” Ben coughed up a mixture of sputum and blood. “I’m done for, Earl. One breath from the grave, I reckon.”

Earl lifted Ben and felt his back for an exit. His shirt was sweaty, but he couldn’t feel any blood. “Bullet’s still in there.” Earl shook his head. “And... It’s gotta come out.”

Jesse dismounted and stood over them, hands on his hips. “Just how we gonna accomplish that, Pa?”

Earl gestured eastward. “Hopi village up ahead. Help’s there.”

Jesse glanced in the direction Earl pointed. “You sure ‘bout that, Pa?”

“Only chance he’s got.”

“Long as he don’t slow us down none.” Jesse turned to his horse and patted its neck.

Earl got to his feet and faced Jesse. His upper lip was curled, and his nostrils were flared. “Yer all heart, Son, considering yer the reason Ben got shot in the first place.”

Jesse turned around, frowning. “How ya figger, Pa?”

“We was simply gonna rob that Flagstaff bank, but ya had to point yer weapon at the clerk and shoot him dead fer no good reason. Then the bank guard opened fire and shot Ben.” Earl pointed his finger in Jesse’s face and glared. “Ya had to be a show-off, the big man of the hour. ‘Tweren’t no cause to kill nobody, Jesse. Ben’s troubles are on yer shoulders.”

“That’s yer view, Pa.” Jesse turned back to his horse and scoffed. “I don’t see it the same way at all.”

“What? How’d ya see it?”

Jesse pushed his hat back and half shrugged. “The teller moved.”

Earl raised his eyebrows in astonishment. “He-He moved?”

“Out of the corner of my eye... I saw ‘im move.”

“Ya shot a man simply ‘cause he moved?” Earl’s mouth was agape. He took a couple of steps toward Jesse and stopped. After giving Ben a quick glance, he fixed his eyes on Jesse.

“‘Twas like he was goin’ fer his gun, Pa... Or somethin’.”

Earl planted his hands on his hips, lowered his head, and slowly shook it. He looked Jesse eye-to-eye again. “He... was... scared, Jesse. Can’t ya see he was just plain scared?”

Jesse looked left, then right, and tried to back up, but he was pressed against his horse. “Don’t matter one way or the other, Pa. We told ‘em not to move or else.”

Earl breathed hard, his nostrils flared. “We’ll take this up another time, Son.” Earl turned away. “We got Ben ta consider.”

Jesse took a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief. “All right, Pa. Another time.” Jesse adjusted his hat. “Ya think that posse gave up?”

“More than likely, but we ain’t takin’ no chances. They’re west. The Hopi village’s east, so we’re goin’ east.” Earl knelt to check Ben’s condition. “How much money we get, Jesse?”

Jesse hung his head. “Uh...”

Earl’s ears turned beet red. “How... much... we... get!”

“None, Pa.”

Earl whirled around. “None!” he yelled, fuming mad. “Don’t tell me ya shot a man, I shot some poor soul, and Ben almost got killed and... And we got nothin’ to show fer it.”

“That’s about the size of it, Pa. Well...” Jesse looked away. “It was like this, Pa... When Ben got shot, he dropped the money bag, and I didn’t stop to pick it up.”

Earl hopped to his feet and kicked a clump of dried grass. He put his hands on his hips and gazed toward the horizon. After Earl spat on the ground, he grabbed Ben’s arm. “Help me with Ben, Jesse, or there’ll be another corpse on yer head.”

Jesse took hold of Ben’s other arm and looked Earl eye to eye. “Don’t keep clawin’ on my back, Pa.”

Earl’s lips tightened. “Ya don’t understand the gravity of what ya did, do ya?”

“No...” Jesse grinned sheepishly. “So let go of it, Pa. Just let it go.”

Once mounted, the three men crossed the river and rode toward the Hopi Indian Village of Dilkon.

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

Chapter 3: Death Takes No Prisoners

While the sun steadily climbed in the cloudless sky, its blistering heat extracted a toll on the men and especially the horses. The exhausted animals slowed to an uneven pace, and now both Earl and Ben lagged several lengths behind Jesse.

Ben struggled to stay alert. He swayed wildly from sheer exhaustion and blood loss, luckily aroused in time to grab the saddle horn and yank himself upright. A stabbing pain shot across his chest and down his limp arm. A trickle of fluid oozed from the bullet hole.

Earl was feeling the effects of the unbearable heat and their long, grueling journey. Hollow-eyed and weary, he fought against heavy eyelids and the urge to sleep. Twice, he dozed off, his head wobbling erratically, but Jesse caught him by the arm and shook him awake in the nick of time, averting a tumble from his saddle.

Frustration and impatience bubbled within Jesse at their snail-like progress. He glanced backward, shaking his head—Earl and Ben’s horses had slowed to a crawl and were twenty lengths or more behind. He rode in a wide arc to Ben’s horse, scoffed at his worsening condition, and then pulled alongside Earl.

“Wake up, Pa. Ben’s about to collapse, and yer not far behind. How much longer to the Hopi village?” Jesse asked, his voice dripped with anger and resentment.

Earl shook off his sleepiness, stood in the stirrups, and scanned the horizon. “Don’t know fer sure.”

“Ben’s a goner, Pa. He ain’t gonna make it no how... Let’s leave ‘im and pick up the pace.”

Earl plopped into the saddle, eyes fixed ahead. Jesse waited a few moments.

“Yer gonna get us all killed at this rate, Pa. We’d better find that there village soon, fer Ben’s sake... Fer all our sakes... Ya hearin’ me, Pa?”

He yanked the reins and circled back to Ben.

Earl gripped the crucifix he wore around his neck and kissed it. He turned his head sideways and looked up.

“If You be a-listenin’ up there...”

Earl urged his horse, and they plodded on, leaving Jesse to smolder and stew in his anger. Ben’s horse followed Earl while Jesse’s scrunched-up face turned a beet-red color.

***

The sun was 12 o’clock high and brutally beat down on the men and horses. After another hour’s ride, they rounded the bend in the trail, and a distant trading post came into view. Earl and Jesse nudged their horses, and they trotted off, leading Ben’s horse.

When they pulled up at the trading post, Earl dismounted.

“See to Ben while I get help.”

He made a beeline for the door, and once inside, he searched the room for someone—anyone. Except for a short, muscular, balding man of thirty standing behind the counter, sorting trinkets, the trading post was unoccupied.

When the clerk heard Earl enter, he looked up.

“Can I help you?”

“Got a wounded man out there,” Earl said, pointing outside. “Needs tendin’ to... There a doctor ‘round these parts? He’s in a bad way. Real bad way.”

“Sorry, mister. We don’t have a doctor, and it’s a two-day, hard ride to the nearest one.”

Earl’s face sagged, but undeterred, he took several steps closer.

“Ain’t there nobody with any kind of doctorin’ skills? Horse doctor, maybe?”

The clerk thought for a moment, rubbing his chin.

“There’s a shaman. He’s the closest we got.”

Earl’s face lit up. “

He’ll do. Where’d I find ‘im?”

“Wait just a minute there, partner. You won’t... Not unless I take you to him.”

“Then lead the way... And hurry.”

The clerk hesitated, then threw his apron on the counter and followed Earl. When they emerged from the post, he pointed to Ben.

“That him?”

“Yep,” Earl said.

“Looks mighty bad,” The clerk said, moving in for a closer look. “Yep... Bad even for the shaman.”

“Times a-wastin’. Let’s go, man. Ben’s life’s drainin’ by the minute.”

“Have to saddle up first.”

“Give him a hand, Jesse. Ben could die while we dally.”

“But, Pa.”

Earl put his hand on his revolver. “Do it, Jesse.”

Jesse dismounted and followed the clerk to the corral. After his horse had been saddled, they mounted up and rode off. The clerk led the way, followed by Earl, then Jesse with Ben’s horse in tow.

As they climbed a nearby hill, the men rode past adobe huts where children played, women tended gardens and sheep, and men lounged in the shade. When they reached the summit, the clerk motioned for the men to wait while he greeted the shaman.

Earl and Jesse dismounted. While Earl paced and Jesse held the reins, the clerk went inside the shaman’s hut. After several minutes, he and the shaman emerged.

The shaman stopped nearby Earl.

“Help... friend... in... hut.”

Earl tipped his hat to the shaman.

“Tell the shaman thanks.”

“He understands some,” the clerk said. “Tell him yourself.”

“Take Ben into the hut, Jesse.” Earl turned to the shaman and nodded. “Thank ya kindly.”

Jesse helped Ben off his saddle and wrapped Ben’s arm around his neck. Together, they shuffled toward the shaman’s hut. The shaman waited beside the door as Jesse bent low and helped Ben through the small doorway.

The shaman glanced at Earl and said, “Friend... hurt... bad... son... no... like.”

Earl’s face scrunched up, looking at the shaman, surprised.

“Yes... He’s hurt bad. Can ya help him?”

“Try... ask Masauwu... release... from... Skeleton House.”

The shaman retreated into his hut, bending low and stepping through its small door.

“Skeleton... House? What’s he mean by that?”

The clerk put his hand on Earl’s shoulder.

“Don’t think about it. Just be grateful if he can save your friend’s life.”

“What ya make of him sayin’ Jesse not likin’ Ben?”

“He’s an old man. Don’t dwell on it.”

They followed the shaman into his hut.

Ben’s legs were collapsing, so he hung onto Jesse. When the shaman entered the dimly lit room, Jesse turned to him.

“Where ya want me to put Ben?”

The shaman pointed to a mat stretched out on the floor. “There.”

Jesse lowered Ben to the mat, stretched Ben out, and positioned his arms across his chest as if he were being readied for burial.

The clerk tugged on Earl’s elbow.

“We’d better step outside while the shaman works on him.”

“No. I wanna see Ben’s in good hands.”

“Trust me. We must leave.”

Earl tapped Jesse’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

They stepped outside and waited in the shade.

Earl took off his hat and raked his fingers through his sweaty hair.

“What’s he gonna do for Ben?”

“Probably dig the bullet out, apply a poultice, and then see if your friend can survive. It’ll be a while... By the way, never caught your names.”

Earl wiped the sweat from his hatband, eyed the clerk while he pondered if he’d reveal their identities. Then put his hat back on.

“I’m Earl Cameron, and this here’s my boy, Jesse. That there be Ben Winslow in the hut.”

The clerk gave Earl and Jesse a once-over.

“I’m John Andrews. Glad to make your acquaintance.”

John strolled over to his horse for the water canteen. He took a swig and wondered why three men would show up at the trading post in a Hopi village in the middle of nowhere.

“What brings you, boys, out this way? White men are as scarce as rain in these parts.”

“Just traveling east,” Earl said with a grin.

“Strange, you say so. Ain’t nothing east of here but more desert.”

“We’re sightseein’,” Jesse said with a chuckle.

“Not many get wounded,” John said, his eyes locked on Earl’s, “just from sightseeing, that is.”

Jesse rested his hand on his gun.

“Just what ya driving at, mister?”

“Nothing, my friend,” John said to Jesse. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind easing your hand off that gun of yours.”

Jesse relaxed, and John turned back to Earl.

“I just reckoned your doings are more exciting than mine. I’m about to go stir-crazy on this trading post. Nothing but desert and Injuns. If I don’t get outta here soon, I’m likely to shoot myself.”

The shaman stepped out of his hut, and the men pivoted toward him. Earl took several steps toward the shaman, hope written across his face.

“Friend... dead.”

“What kinda help is this?” Earl said.

“Take it easy, Earl. Your friend was simply too far gone.”

Earl’s nostrils flared, and his breathing deepened. Then he put his hand on his gun.

“I’m in a killin’ mood, John. So ya better step back and give me room to breathe... and grieve.”

“Ben ‘tain’t worth gettin’ all riled up about, Pa,” Jesse said.

The corner of Jesse’s mouth turned up in a hint of a smile. He was finally rid of Ben.

“Ben was like a son to me, Jesse; that’s why I need some space.”

“Wait... There may be a way.”

Earl’s face lit up.

“What way, John? What ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“I’ll talk to the shaman.”

John and the shaman conversed in the Hopi tongue while they walked to the edge of the hut and back. The shaman stood by the door, and John joined Earl and Jesse.

“He agreed to do it.”

“Do what?” Earl asked.

“The Hopi Death Ritual.”

“What the hell is that?” Jesse asked.

“The Hopi believe when a person dies, their spirit enters the Skeleton House, an underworld place, to await their final judgment. While they’re there, their spirit can be recalled to their body, and the body will live again.”

“Have him do it,” Earl said. “Why wait?”

“An hour must pass before recalling the spirit, or the body could suffer harm. Don’t understand it; just know how it works.”

“Are ya sayin’ in an hour, the shaman can revive Ben, bring him back from the dead?”

Jesse looked disappointed that he might not be rid of Ben after all.

“That’s about the size of it. Then he’ll be as good as new,” John said.

Earl asked, “What about his wound?”

“It will be healed. Maybe that’s why the hour wait.”

“Then nobody around here ever dies?”

“The shaman only revives certain ones, and he must do it within a couple of hours, or it’s too late.”

“Why’s he revivin’ Ben?” Jesse asked.

John hung his head.

“I told him you’d kill him if he didn’t.”

“Ya told him right, John,” Earl said with a grin. “Ya sure as hell did.”

John put his hand on Earl’s shoulder.

“When y’all ride outta here, would there be room for one more in your gang?”

“What’s yer qualifications?” Jesse asked.

“Desperation. And I can handle a gun.”

“Sound like the makin’s of a foursome, Pa.”

“Yeah, it sure do... How long ya say we have to wait?”

“An hour.”

“Jesse and me are mighty thirsty.”

“You know whiskey and Injuns don’t mix,” John said. “It’s illegal to sell it to them.”

“I ain’t Hopi,” Jesse said.

“Who said anythin’ about buyin’?” Earl said.

All three laughed as they mounted up and rode to the trading post. Ben’s horse was left behind so that it would be available for him once he had been revived.

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

Chapter 4: Whiskey, Food, and... a Bath?

Earl and Jesse grabbed a seat while John broke out his cache of whiskey. As he poured three shot glasses, he glanced around the trading post that he considered his “prison” for the past five years. With every box, can, and bag of food on the shelves, he could have counted off the long months he’d spend here. The barrels and crates were a reminder of his confinement, shackled to this village and these damned four walls. But now, he was feeling on top of the world with the prospect of finally leaving the isolation he’d endured all behind him and riding out with his newfound friends.

He uncorked a bottle, poured three shots, and offered a toast.

“Here’s to new friendships and long life.”

Earl and Jesse raised their glasses and clinked them with John’s. In unison, they downed the rotgut whiskey.

“Damn, John, this is some terrible stuff. Could strip paint,” Jesse said, “but I’ll have another, just the same.”

John chuckled, poured another shot for Jesse, and offered the bottle to Earl.

“No... I’m good fer now.”

Earl leaned back in his chair and pondered John’s situation.

“How’d ya end up in this Godforsaken hole? Ya don’t find many able-bodied white men in a place like this?”

“Plumb lucky, I guess.”

“Lucky!” Jesse scoffed. “Ya call this luck?”

“I got into some trouble in Flagstaff, and it was either this or jail.”

“What kinda trouble?” Jesse asked.

“I was playing cards... and drinking too much. I accused the dealer of cheating. He was as drunk as I was. When we stood to face off, I was weaving so much I couldn’t stand straight or even unholster my gun. The dealer couldn’t stand much better without leaning heavily to one side, almost falling over... Well, he managed to draw his gun and fire off a round. He missed me wide but hit an innocent bystander and killed him. The sheriff arrested both of us. Because I started the gunfight and caused the death of the man, the judge gave me a choice: one year in jail or five years working this trading post — I chose this. When the fourth year rolled around, and I hadn’t seen a white woman in all that time, I began to think jail would’ve been better. I’d be out and a free man by now.”

Earl held out his glass.

“Quite a story, John. Made me thirsty just listenin’ ta yer misfortune, so I’ll take that refill.”

John poured Earl another shot.

“But, sumthin’s got me puzzled, John.”

“And what’s that, Earl?”

“There ain’t no jailhouse bars... and ya got a horse... why didn’t ya just up and ride out of here?”

“The judge gave me one year in jail or five years here. The stipulation was that if I abandoned the trading post before my time was up, I’d have to spend five years in jail, so I stayed put.”

“I would’ve taken my chances,” Jesse said, “and let the law try and catch me.”

“My time was up last month.”

“And yer still here?” Jesse scoffed.

“Was waiting for the right opportunity, and then y’all rode in.”

“Soon as Ben’s fit to ride, ya’ll be free of this here hellhole,” Earl said.

Jesse motioned to John for a refill as well.

“How much longer fer Ben, ya figger?”

“Patience, my friend.” John filled Jesse’s glass. “The shaman knows what’s best. He’s done this many times.”

Earl squirmed in his chair and scratched at his crotch.

“What’s the matter, Earl?” John asked.

“I itch sumthin’ fierce. Haven’t washed up in heaven knows when.”

“You’re in luck. Got a tub out back and plenty of soap.”

“Where ya get water enough ta squander on bathin’ ‘round these parts?” Jesse asked.

“Dilkon means ‘in the desert cottonwood,’ and cottonwood needs water to grow. A natural spring provides the community with enough water for occasional baths except during late summer. Besides, I collect and store several barrels of water for the drier half of summer. So you’re welcome to use my tub... It’ll be a might bit on the cold side though.”

“Point the way, John. Hot, cold, it don’t matter none as long as I can ease this itch of mine.”

As Jesse watched Earl and John leave through the trading post’s back door, he leaned back in his chair and sipped some whiskey.

The old man’s losin’ it, he thought. A bath? What next? Flowery smellin’ perfume and air ribbons?

He lifted his arm to get a whiff of his armpits.

Little on the gamey side, but I don’t need no bath! Maybe next month.

While Jesse waited for Earl and John’s return, he speculated on when the right time might be to challenge his pa again for control of the gang. If Ben didn’t pull through, he’d do it soon, but if Ben came back from the dead, he’d bide his time a little while longer, at least until the jubilation of Ben’s return passed.

Jesse finished his whiskey and unholstered his gun. He took his knife and started carving a notch in the grip. A while later, he heard the voices of John and Earl as they returned through the trading post’s back door.

Earl was asking John, “How’s the shaman do it? Ya know, bring a person back from the dead?”

“He has a small prayer stick called a Paho.”

“Pay hoe? Funny name fer a prayer stick... whatzit look like?”

“It’s a pair of short wooden sticks bound with leather straps. A couple of feathers hang from it. The shaman chants while passing the Paho a few inches above, head to feet.”

The two of them settled into their seats. Jesse stopped carving the notch in his gun’s grip to hear them discuss the Paho. Earl picked up his glass and hesitated while a crazy idea flashed in his head.

“Do it work on anybody?”

“I reckon so. But the shaman makes a new one after using it several times.”

“Come again.”

John refilled his glass and took a sip of whiskey.

“Guess the Paho loses some of its magic each time it’s used.”

“How many times?”

“Don’t know for sure,” John said. “Never was in a position to keep count.”

“Ya happen ta know the chant, do ya?”

“Yeah. I heard it many times. Besides, it’s short, just repeating the same words.”

While Jesse listened intently, he unconsciously started carving the notch again. John gulped the last of his whiskey, and Earl downed the last of his as well.

“Could ya revive someone?”

“Don’t know for sure. But I suppose I could. Why you asking all these questions, Earl? Never pegged you for a scholar of Injun religion.”

“Pay me no mind, John. Just curious, that’s all.”

Earl’s mouth curled up, and then he grinned. He thought about the Paho, its magical powers, and how it could benefit his gang.

“Can ya gimme a refill, John?” Earl asked.

Jesse put down his knife and held his empty glass.

“I’ll have one, too.”

John topped off their shot glasses. Jesse took a gulp, and when Earl took a big swig, he saw Jesse’s gun. Jesse noticed Earl’s glance toward him, and he sheepishly slid his gun back into the holster.

“What ya been doin’ with yer gun, Son?”

“Nothin’, Pa.”

“He was carving a notch on the handle,” John said. “Did you have a gunfight?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“All right, by me. Let me top you all off while it lasts.”

John filled their glasses and set the empty bottle aside.

“Tell me all about yourselves. Where y’all from, where y’all going... Everything.”

“Not much ta tell, John,” Earl said, “but here’s the short version. Started my gang about fifteen years ago... right after my Mary, Jesse’s mother, died. Shortly after that, I found Ben half-beaten, and Jesse and me nursed him back ta life. Gang members came and went. We robbed small banks in out-of-the-way towns from California ta Texas. Jesse and Ben got all growed up, and then it were just the three of us.”

“How’d you end up here with Ben near death?”

“We tackled the Flagstaff bank, and Ben got shot. The posse were right behind us, so we high-tailed it here.”

“Yeah, them city folk had no stomach ta follow us inta this desert,” Jesse said.

“Where you planning to go next?”

“Still in the formative stage, John. Depends on what happens ta Ben.”

“You weren’t joshing me about riding along when y’all leave, were you?”

“Hell no, John! Yer comin’ with us, no matter how it works out between Ben and the shaman.”

“I’ll drink to that,” John said, his face beaming.

“Thought we drank it all,” Jesse said.

“This trading post may have one of everything, but I’ve got plenty of some things — like whiskey!”

John disappeared and returned, carrying a bottle of whiskey in each hand.

“Was saving this for a special occasion, and I can’t think of any time more special than this.”

“I can... If Ben walks through that door,” Earl said, his face all aglow. “‘Twill be special.”

Jesse’s face wasn’t all aglow. His jaw tightened, and his brow furrowed into a full-blown frown at the prospect of Ben’s return. But Jesse knew better than to display this much hatred toward Ben in front of his pa, so he relaxed his facial expression and nodded submissively.

“Yeah... That’d be special, all right,” Jesse mumbled.

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

Chapter 5: Back From the Grave and Still Kicking

Earl, Jesse, and John were in the trading post, talking and drinking. After a while, Earl grew concerned and checked his pocket watch.

“Been over an hour, John. What ya reckon’s takin’ so long? Shouldn’t ole Ben be back from the dead by now?”

“Takes longer with some... and doesn’t work on everyone,” John said. “But like I told you, the shaman knows what he’s doing.”

“I hate waitin’, no matter the reason.”

“Ya gotta face facts, Pa, Ben may be a goner. Start plannin’ our next move now that John’s gonna take his place.”

Earl swung around and shot Jesse a look that could kill.

“John ain’t takin’ nobody’s place! I know ya don’t much care fer him, Jesse, but Ben were like another son ta me. So keep yer bitterness ta yerself and shut yer trap!”

Jesse cowered under his pa’s verbal lashing. He stood and walked away, his jaw tight and fists clenched. Half an hour later, Ben pushed open the door and walked into the trading post.

“Y’all miss me?”

Earl jumped up when he heard Ben’s voice, his face all lit up with joy. He ran and gave Ben a bear hug, lifting him off his feet.

“Well, as I live and breathe... How ya feelin’, Ben?”

“Good as new... At least, I think I am.”

Jesse slowly turned and walked toward Ben, eyeing him cautiously. He sized Ben up and down.

“Ya sure ‘bout that, Ben? Ya do look different to me. Older, maybe.”

“What you mean?”

“Yeah, ya do,” Earl said. “Got a mirror, John?”

“Sure. The post’s stocked with one of everything.”

John handed a mirror to Ben. He ran his fingers across his face, feeling the wrinkles in his cheeks and jaw. His sun-bleached blonde hair had streaks of gray.

“I’ve aged!”

“That’s the Paho,” John said.

“The what?” Ben asked.

“It’s the prayer stick the shaman used to revive you from the dead.”

“I died?”

“Yeah... Deader than a doornail. Don’t ya remember?” Earl asked.

“I remember getting shot at the bank, agonizing pain in my shoulder, and then darkness, like I was asleep.”

“What then?”

“I woke up in a dark, cave-like room with dozens of others — some were women — standing in a line. We were drifting toward a courtroom judge. One by one, the judge sentenced the person to enter the tunnel on the right or the tunnel on the left. The closer I got, the better I could hear screaming in torment and crying in lament coming from the tunnels. I was next in line to meet the judge and then I woke up. I saw an old man staring down at me, saying something I didn’t understand. He helped me stand, led me to my horse, and pointed the way to the trading post. And here I am.”

“Didn’t sound like ya was in heaven, Ben,” Earl said.

“I doubt it was, Earl, with all the crying and screaming. But standing in line, I got to thinking about my life, what I’d done, and what happens afterward.”

“Listen ta the two of ya,” Jesse scoffed. “Fairy tales. ‘Twas a dream ya had that’s all. I don’t believe any of it.”

“How you reconcile the fact that Ben died?” John asked.

“So says the shaman. That old man got it all wrong. Ben weren’t dead... Just on the verge.”

“Then, you don’t believe in an afterlife?” John asked.

“I don’t believe any of it.”

“I’ve seen the shaman work his magic too many times not to believe.”

“And you can’t discount what I saw after I died... Me and all those souls marching into God knows what fate.”

“Hey...” Earl interrupted. “This ain’t a church service. It’s a celebration of Ben’s return... from the dead or otherwise. So why do Ben look older, John?”

“Whenever a person gets revived, it ages him a few years. At least you’re alive and not six feet under lookin’ up.”

Ben turned his head from side to side, looking for changes in his appearance.

“How much older do you reckon I look?”

Jesse piped up. “Fifteen years.”

“Yer as kind as a case of crotch itch, Son. Maybe five, Ben. No more than five years—”

John interrupted. “The point is reviving costs, but it’s better than the alternative. Right, boys.”

Earl tugged at Ben’s arm.

“Celebrate yer new life. Ain’t it a miracle? Get a glass for Ben and pour us another round, John.”

Jesse was not in a happy or celebratory mood. He’d expected to be rid of Ben, but there he stood in the flesh — a little older but still kicking. So he turned his empty glass over and put it upside down on the table.

“Gladly. Drink up, boys.” John said.

“Got any food around here?”

“Plenty, Earl.”

“Good. I’m starved.”

“‘Bout to collapse, myself,” Jesse said.

“Feels like I haven’t eaten in years,” Ben quipped.

The others laughed.

“Didn’t mean that to be funny. I’m starved, that’s all.”

Earl slapped Ben on the back.

“‘Twere funny all the same.”

John went about fixing something to eat.

“Hey, John. This here place got shirts?” Earl asked.

“A few.”

“I think ole Ben needs a new one, don’t ya agree?”

“He might not like the styles.”

“What ya mean?”

“Injuns like bold colors and patterns.”

“Anything’s better than a bullet hole and bloodstains,” Ben said.

“Don’t be too quick to say that before you see the shirts.”

Ben picked out a bold-colored striped shirt and tried it on for size.

“This’ll do.”

“Not bad,” Earl said. “John doesn’t know the latest in fashions.”

John returned with food, and the men ate, drank, and laughed until sundown.

###

Earl and Jesse lit up and smoked on the porch of the trading post. They watched the sun dip below the horizon. A gentle, refreshing breeze blew from the northwest. The horses whinnied when they caught the scent of a desert animal lurking nearby.

“Since Ben’s all right, what’s yer plan, Pa?”

“Ride south to Phoenix.”

“And?”

“There’s banks in Phoenix, lots of banks.”

“How far that be, Pa?”

“Better part of two hundred miles.”

“Two hund— Across desert? How we gonna make that trip?”

“Ain’t all desert. There’s some settlements along the way.”

“What we do fer money, Pa?”

“Settlement called Winslow. This here post has provisions fer the trip and should have some money.”

“When we leavin’?”

“Sunrise. Tell Ben and John to be ready. I’ve some business ta take care of.”

“What kind of business, Pa?”

“Never mind. Do as I tell ya.”

“All right, Pa.”

Jesse went inside. Earl saddled his horse and rode up the bluff toward the shaman’s hut.

The moon was shining brightly as Earl made his way to the shaman’s hut. The sound of every clip-clop of his horse’s hooves carried in the still air to the hilltop. He stopped several yards from the shelter and dismounted. His horse whinnied. Earl patted its neck to calm it.

The ground beneath Earl’s boots crunched with each step he took toward the hut. The shaman stepped through the doorway and confronted Earl when he was within earshot.

“What... want?”

The moon’s bright beams outlined the silhouette of the old man. Earl rested his hand on his gun and took a few more steps, closing the distance between them.

“I come for that prayer stick of yers, the pay hoe.”

The shaman waved his arms.

“No... can... have... Sacred... to... Hopi.”

Earl moved closer.

“Listen here, old man, hand over the pay hoe. I ain’t leavin’ without it.”

He pulled his weapon and leveled it at the shaman. But the shaman backed into his hut. Earl followed him. Once inside, the shaman grabbed a knife and held it to Earl’s face.

“No... can... have.”

“Think that knife’s gonna stop me, old man?”

The shaman swiped at Earl’s face, but he ducked away. The shaman stabbed at him again, and the blade scraped across his right forearm, causing Earl to drop his weapon.

“Yeeeeow. Why, ya little weasel, that hurt like hell.”

Earl reached for the shaman’s arm and twisted the knife from his hand. He picked up the knife, plunged it through the shaman’s shirt into his belly, and pulled it upward. The shaman’s innards spilled into his clothing. His legs buckled, and he crumpled to the floor. He died without a cry for help or from the pain. That unnerved Earl, but he continued to search for the Paho.

“All right, old man, where’s it? Where ya keep it?”

Blood trickled down Earl’s arm while he tossed blankets and baskets, looking for the Paho. No luck. He searched the walls for hidden niches. He couldn’t find any. Earl wrenched the trinkets hanging from the ceiling poles, but none was the prayer stick.

In a dark corner of the hut, he noticed an altar, a simple platform made of flat stones and carved figurines. In the middle lay two carved sticks, bound with leather straps and two feathers attached at one end.

“Hot damn.”

Earl bandaged his arm, picked up the Paho, rushed outside, and put it in his saddlebags. He mounted his horse and rode back to the post.

###

The following morning, Ben watered and fed the horses. Later, the men packed up supplies for their trip.

“Jesse told ya the plan, did he?” Earl asked.

“But he didn’t say why we’re swinging so far across the desert,” Ben said.

“Ta avoid the law and ta venture inta fresh territory.”

“Every place’ll be new to me,” John said. “I’m itching to get a-going.”

“Son, ya ain’t said nothin’.”

Jesse looked at the bandage on Earl’s arm.

“What happened ta yer arm, Pa?”

Earl instinctively wrapped his hand and fingers around the bandage.

“Nothin’. Just a scratch. Let’s move out.”

The four men mounted up, dug their heels into the flanks of their mounts, and the horses took off, leaving a trail of dust behind them.

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

Chapter 6: An Easy Robbery — What Could Go Wrong?

The gang of four rode to the convergence of trails on the banks of the Little Colorado River, known as Winslow Settlement. Its dusty streets were busy. Townsfolk walked up and down the sidewalks, entered and exited the mercantile — loaded with packages — and stopped to pass the time of day. Scruffy-looking men went into the barbershop and adjoining bathhouse, and a few emerged clean-cut and all spiffed up. Cowpokes of all descriptions came and went at the saloons, and the blacksmith busily shod a horse.

They rode past the sheriff’s office and jail and gave it a quick glance. The Winslow Bank and Trust, its paint looking as fresh as if applied yesterday, was a few storefronts down from the jailhouse. The men slowed and looked through the bank’s big windows as they rode by.

Earl came alongside Jesse.

“Didn’t know about Winslow’s new bank. The old one were just a hole-in-the-wall.”

Jesse swiveled in his saddle to keep the bank in his sight.

“Ya thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, Pa?”

“Maybe so, Son, but I need a beer or two first.”

The men rode to the end of town, circled, and stopped at the livery. They dismounted, removed the saddles, and arranged for feed and water. As they stood in front of the livery, Earl glanced up the street toward the bank and nodded.

“Yes, sir. Were I right ‘bout this here town, or were I right?”

“Hope they got good-tasting beer.” Ben licked his lips.

“Don’t matter as long as it’s wet,” Jesse said with a chuckle.

“What be yer pleasure, John?” Earl asked.

“Anything and anywhere where it ain’t that old trading post is fine by me.”

“Then, welcome ta civilization, John. Maybe ya’ll find a woman who catches yer eye.”

“Thank you all the same, Earl. But with my luck, I’d most likely catch something else.”

The men broke out in riotous laughter as they walked to the nearest saloon.

###

Earl entered and scanned the saloon. The stench stopped him mid-step, as if he’d walked into a wall. Rancid beer, cheap whiskey, acrid smoke, and sweat tainted the air. Around a dozen men — mainly cowboys, with a few farmers and businessmen — were scattered about. Some lounged at tables, drinking and laughing; others slouched against the bar, engrossed in noisy chatter and nursing flat beers.

To the left, an older man plunked out tunes on an out-of-tune upright piano, and to the right, a squeaky roulette wheel spun on a table. At one of the tables, a cowboy argued about his poor hand of cards and accused the dealer of sleight of hand. Behind him, a painted lady friend joined in the ruckus, loudly cursing the “fancy-pants” dealer.

Jesse pushed past Earl and bellied up to the bar with Ben and John in tow.

“Barkeep. How’s ‘bout a beer over here?”

Earl shook off his initial impression of the saloon and joined Jesse, Ben, and John at the bar.

The barkeep drew a tall one for Jesse and set it on the bar. He nodded to the others.

“What’ll it be, strangers?”

Earl pushed his hat back, revealing a suntan line.

“Beer for me... What’ll ya boys have?”

“Whiskey,” Ben said.

John leaned his elbows on the bar.

“Make mine beer.”

“Two beers and whiskey coming right up.”

Ben, Jesse, and John crowded in next to Earl with their backs to the bar. After the quiet of the desert, the room’s din was so intense that the men struggled to converse and be heard. The barkeep returned with the drinks. After Earl paid for their drinks, he spied a secluded table in the far corner of the room, and they took their glasses and sat down.

John put his hands over his ears.

“Haven’t heard this much noise in quite a while, and the smell...” John said, “It’s enough to make you sick.”

“I kinda like it for a change,” Jesse said, looking around. “Different sights and sounds... and people. All kinds. And best of all, no desert sand.”

“You’re a strange one,” Ben said.

Earl took a gulp of beer and slammed the mug on the table.

“Will all ya shut up? We ain’t sitting here just to chew the fat. Plans gotta be hatched.”

Jesse jumped.

“Uh... Yer talkin’ ‘bout the bank, right Pa?”

Earl looked to ensure no one was within earshot and nodded once.

“Yeah, I’m talkin’ ‘bout the bank... And keep yer voice down!”

“When?” John asked as he leaned in closer.

“Soon as it opens tomorrow.”

“Who does what?” Ben asked.

“Me and Jesse will get the drop on them. Ben and John will get the cash. We’ll make it quick... And no gunplay.”

Earl turned to Jesse.

“You hear me, Son? No killin’.”

Jesse casually leaned back in his chair.

“But we gotta get away, Pa. If that means shootin’, it means shootin’.”

“Just control yerself, Son. A clean robbery and no needless killin’, that’s all I’m askin’ fer, this bein’ John’s first with our gang.”

Earl leaned forward and pointed his finger in Jesse’s face.

“Ya hear me?”

“Don’t keep bendin’ my ear, Pa. I heared ya the first time.”

Jesse took a gulp of beer and plunked his mug on the table. Earl looked for the barkeep and waved to get his attention.

“Let’s see if this place’s got any food. I’m hungry.”

After the barkeep took their orders, they ate and arranged for a place to sleep.

###

Early the following morning, the men went to the livery and saddled their horses. They slowly rode to the bank as the clerk raised the front window shades and unlocked the main door. They dismounted in front and hitched their horses to the rail.

Earl entered the bank. Jesse followed close behind. Ben and John stepped inside as soon as Jesse cleared the doorway.

“Welcome to the new Winslow Bank and Trust grand opening,” the clerk greeted Earl with a smile.

“Welcome, sir,” the bank manager said, “and I do believe you’re our one hundredth customer, isn’t that so, Walter?”

“Yes, Mr. Clayburn, if my tally is correct, he is number one hundred.”

“Well, what luck! If you would step over to my desk, you can choose a prize.”

Earl walked to the desk and glanced at the items.

“What’s your pleasure, mister? See anything that catches your fancy?” the manager asked.

“I sure do,” Earl said, nodding to the boys. “I’ll take all yer cash.”

“What?” the manager said, his face puzzled.

The gang drew their weapons. Earl waved his gun aimlessly in front of the manager.

“This here’s a hold-up, gents. Nobody moves less’n I tell ‘em to.”

The bank clerk stood at attention near his counter, and the bank manager put his hands above his head without hesitation, his voice quivering.

“E—Easy with that weapon of yours, mister. This money’s not mine, and I’m not dying over it.”

“I like the way ya think, mister,” Earl said.

He waved his gun from the manager to the clerk. The clerk turned white as a sheet when he looked down the barrel of Earl’s gun.

“Stand over by yer clerk and be quiet like him while we help ourselves, and nobody’ll get hurt.”

The manager hustled and stood by the clerk. Then Earl turned to Jesse.

“Keep ‘em covered, Son... and remember what I told ya.”

“Yer like a broken windmill, Pa. I heared ya,” Jesse said with a disgusted look on his face.

Earl ignored him and turned to Ben and John.

“Go to work, boys. Get everythin’ ya can.”

“What about the silver and gold coins?” Ben asked.

“Just bills... Metal’s too heavy ta carry.”

“There’s plenty of them without the heavy stuff,” John said.

“More action and less talkin’,” Earl said. “We ain’t got all day.”

Meanwhile, a passerby looked in the window and saw the bank being robbed. He ran to the livery and told the blacksmith. The blacksmith dropped what he was doing, and they both hurried to the jail.

“Sheriff! Sheriff Murphy, the bank’s being robbed,” the blacksmith said as he pounded on the door.

After listening to the details, Sheriff Murphy enacted the City Emergency Plan. When the alarm went out, several townsfolk with rifles positioned themselves as prearranged, covering the bank.

Ben grabbed all the cash he could find and put it in a bag. John finished emptying the vault into a bag.

“I got everything,” Ben said.

“Me, too,” John said.

“Better check the street, Jesse.”

Earl turned to the manager.

“Thank ya for yer hospitality.”

The clerk and the manager exchanged puzzled looks.

“Let’s ride,” Earl yelled.

Jesse took one last look out the door and checked up and down the street.

“Looks clear, Pa.”

When he stepped onto the sidewalk, five men opened with a blaze of rifle-fire. Bullets zinged to the left, right, and above Jesse. Jesse shot back, unsure where the shooters were. Ben and John emerged from the bank, guns a-blazing. Earl followed on their heels.

Jesse took a hit in his chest and one in his gut. He slumped to the ground. The gang kept shooting at every muzzle blast they saw, but the townsfolk’s firepower was overwhelming.

“Put Jesse on his horse,” Earl yelled above the noise.

John and Ben helped Jesse onto his horse while Earl kept shooting. He reloaded and fired again.

Ben shouted, “He’s on, Earl.”

“Then let’s get the hell outta here!”

Ben and John mounted and rode off, leading Jesse’s horse behind them.

Earl yelled at Jesse, “Hold onto the horn, Son. We’re almost in the clear.”

Ben caught up with Earl.

“Which way?”

“Follow the river!”

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

Chapter 7: Ain’t That Hard Robbin’ Banks — Why Can’t We?

The men rode down along the river until they were sure no posse could follow their trail. After an hour of hard riding, Jesse could barely hang onto the saddle horn. They stopped, and Ben helped Jesse to a shady spot while John brought fresh drinking water. They both hunkered down by Jesse’s side, and Earl stood over them.

“Damn, this stretch of bad luck’s gotta stop. First, Flagstaff, now Winslow. We ain’t amateurs. We done this many times, but of late, fate’s agin us. Ain’t that hard robbin’ banks — Why can’t we?”

Ben heard Earl’s rant, but he wasn’t taking it to heart. Instead, he was focused on Jesse’s wounds and concerned for his dire condition.

“It doesn’t look good, Earl,” Ben said. “Jesse’s gut wound’s bleeding, and the bullet’s still in there... He took one in the chest, through and through, and his lung is punctured, front and back... And he’s turning white as a sheet from loss of blood. I reckon it’s just a matter of time.”

Earl took off his hat and wiped the sweatband.

“So it is.”

John cocked his head toward Earl.

“You don’t seem all that broken up over the prospect of your boy dying.”

Without responding to him, Earl walked to his horse, retrieved the Paho from his saddlebag, and tossed it on the ground in front of John.

“Can ya revive him with this?”

John picked up the Paho.

“Where’d you... How’d you get this?”

“Took it from the old shaman.”

“He wouldn’t have given it up willingly.”

“He didn’t.”

Earl raked his fingers through his hair and reseated his hat.

“I asked ya a question, John... Can ya revive him?”

John held the Paho toward Earl.

“I want no part of this, Earl! It’s bad medicine, harming a shaman. Real bad medicine. You could’ve released the spirit world upon us by killing that old man... And you stole one of the sacred symbols used in the Hopi religion.”

John had heard stories about men just harassing a shaman and then turning up dead by unnatural means. He reckoned they were just campfire tales cowhands told to pass the time and never paid them much mind, but now he wasn’t so sure. Regardless, he wanted no part of riling the spirit world.

Earl rested his hand on his gun and swept his other hand in front of John.

“I don’t believe nothin’ of that spiritual world stuff. They’s nuthin’ but wild tales ta pass the time on the trail ‘round a roaring campfire. What’s important: can ya revive Jesse when he’s dead, or not? I’d be careful how ya answer that question, John.”

At every turn, Earl dragged John deeper into the dangerous assault on the sacred realm of the Hopi spirit world. John looked at Jesse, the Paho, and then Earl.

“Think so... Maybe, maybe not.... Yeah, I think I can.”

“There ain’t no thinkin’ about it, John. Either ya do what needs ta be done, or yer gonna join ‘im wherever he goes.”

Earl’s face tensed as he tightened his grip on his gun. John dropped the Paho and rested his hand on his gun. He was up to his neck in a dung heap with no way out but one.

Earl’s eyes targeted John’s hand and then his eyes.

“Don’t even think ‘bout it, John. I won’t give ya a second thought after yer dead.”

John eased his hand off his weapon and picked up the Paho.

Dung heaps don’t smell all that bad, John thought.

“You two done having a pissing contest?” Ben asked. “If you’re at all interested, Jesse just died without uttering a last word.”

Earl’s eyebrows tightened.

“Time’s a-waistin’, John.”

“You got a watch to mark the time?” John asked.

Earl took out his pocket watch.

“It’s half past noon... At one-thirty then.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Ben asked.

“He’ll tell ya.”

Earl thumbed toward John as he walked away and down toward the river’s edge. He picked up a round stone and threw it as far as he could. He watched it hit the other bank of the river, bounce, and roll to a stop. Then he wiped the tears welling up in his eyes.

Ben looked at John.

“Why am I always the last one to know what’s going on around here?”

“When you died, the old shaman brought you back to life with this prayer stick and a death chant. I’m doing the same for Jesse.”

“You’d better get on with it then. That’s Earl’s only offspring, and Earl’s an impatient man.”

“Can’t. Takes the body and spirit an hour before they can rejoin.”

“You done this often?”

“Never before.”

John shook his head, and Ben’s eyes widened.

“Damn, John... You do know that Earl won’t take it lightly if you fail.”

“Shut up, Ben. My nerves are dancing on a knife’s edge already. I watched it done a few times, so I can do it... gotta do it.”

He glanced at Jesse’s body, then at Ben, and anxiously rubbed his hands together. Ben drew a long breath and let it out slowly.

“You’re a braver man than me, John.”

His concern for John was well-founded: he saw what happened to a former gang member when he failed to carry out Earl’s orders — he didn’t live to repeat the mistake.

John raked his fingers through what hair he had left and moseyed over to a tree near the river. He planted himself on the bank and watched the ripples in the water flow by.

Ben watched John for a few moments, then took his hat and shooed the insects off Jesse’s wounds.

###

When Earl walked up from the river, John and Ben were kneeling beside Jesse. He checked his pocket watch.

“Well, John?”

John’s hands trembled as he gripped the Paho.

“This might not work, Earl. You know that, don’t you?”

“Ya better start prayin’.”

John looked up at Earl, and Earl stared back.

“It’s a chant, not an honest-to-God prayer.”

“I meant ya better be prayin’ it works.”

Ben tried to intervene.

“Can’t blame him, Earl, if it doesn’t.”

“I’m in a killin’ mood because of my grief, Ben. Would ya rather take the blame if John fails?”

Earl shot Ben an angry look. Ben shook his head.

“Just saying, Earl. Just saying, that’s all.”

“Don’t say nothin’.” He said to John, “Get to prayin’... and chantin’... Ya need some privacy to do it?”

“I—I guess it’d be better if I had some.”

Earl and Ben went to the river’s edge while John began the ritual. John passed the Paho over Jesse’s body, head to foot, and recited the Hopi Death Chant.

In the Hopi tongue, John recited, “Great Masauwu, grant my request. Release this soul and send it back. May his soul and body join and live again, oh Great Masauwu, the Skeleton Man, the Spirit of Death, the Great Door-Keeper to the Fifth World. Hear my request.”

John repeated the chant several times.

Without warning, Jesse’s chest heaved, and he coughed. His eyes opened, and he squirmed as if he were in pain. He sat up and patted his boots.

“My feet! I can’t put the flames out,” he yelled.

“Nothing’s wrong with your feet, Jesse. It’s a dream,” John said. “Just calm yourself and rest a spell.”

Jesse coughed again and spat on the ground.

Then, John jumped to his feet, danced around Jesse, and yelled, “Hot damn... I did it... I did it.”

Earl and Ben heard the commotion and looked toward John.

“Is my boy all right? Is he? John? John?”

John’s exuberance was proof enough, and Earl and Ben rushed to see for themselves. They found Jesse awake and looking a little bit older, but none the worse for wear.

“He’s alive and well!” John said, grinning from ear to ear.

Jesse sat up.

“I’m tingly all over, and my legs got a funny feelin’ in ‘em like they was inna fire, but I’m all right, Pa.”

“The tingly will pass, but I didn’t have a burning sensation in my legs,” Ben said. “Guess everyone’s experience is different.”

Jesse felt his face.

“Did I age like Ben?”

John looked to Earl and Ben and then back to Jesse.

“A little bit. Maybe five years.”

“Five years ain’t too bad considering the alternative. It feels good to be alive again.”

“You did real good, John.”

Earl extended his hand. John was all smiles, took Earl’s hand, and shook it.

“Reckoned, I had no choice.”

“If I pushed hard enough, I reckoned ya’d come through, and ya did,” Earl said, slapping John on his back. “So how soon can we ride?”

“Anytime you want, Earl. It all depends on Jesse and if his legs are up to a long ride.”

Earl turned to walk away, but stopped, pondered, and then turned back.

“John?”

“Yo.”

“Could we learn that chant and use the pay hoe?”

John rubbed his chin.

“Uh... Don’t see why not. You got a reason for asking?”

“Won’t do us or ya any good if ya get killed.”

“I see your point.”

“Which way, Earl?” Ben asked.

Jesse got to his feet and stomped the ground to shake the last of the odd feeling from his feet.

“Yeah, Pa, what’s your plan?”

“Continue to Phoenix by way of Camp Verde.”

“What’s in Camp Verde?” Jesse asked.

“Women and whiskey. Ya up for riding yet, Jesse?”

Jesse stomped his feet again and shook his arms. He stretched his neck and twisted his body.

“I feel good as new. All the strange feelin’s gone now.”

“Ain’t gonna be daylight forever,” Earl said.

“How far is it?” John asked.

“We’ll be there tomorrow... Maybe by early afternoon, if we break camp at dawn.”

The men rode southwest toward more mountainous terrain and the anticipation of a good campsite for the night.

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

Chapter 8: Phantom Gunmen Materialize Out of Thin Air

The blazing sun finally dipped behind the mountains, and a pleasant and cooler wind began to blow from the north. It was a welcome relief from the stagnant air and blazing heat of the past few days.

John took the lead. His horse carefully picked its way across the pebbled terrain. He had traveled about five miles when he came across a trickle of water meandering down the hillside.

“Water. I found water,” John yelled.

He turned his mount upstream until he came upon a small pool with grass growing on its banks. The others nudged their mounts, and the horses galloped to the plateau. John’s horse was already gulping mouthfuls of water when they arrived, and John was by its side, slurping the refreshing liquid.

“Good find, John,” Ben said. “You’re a born scout.”

“Don’t know who’s the thirstier: me or my horse,” Earl said.

Earl lay on the ground and gulped the freshwater alongside the horses. Then, after each had had their fill, the men removed the saddles and plopped them in a semicircle.

Earl dug a small circle in the ground with the heel of his boot.

“Build the fire here, Ben. John, help him collect some firewood.”

Earl and Jesse stood, looking at the surrounding terrain.

“What’s these mountains called, Pa?”

“Coconino. Coconino Mountains.”

“Odd name.”

“It’s Hopi. Named for the Havasupai and Yavapai peoples.”

“Sorry, I asked.”

Earl took a long look at Jesse and gripped his arm.

“I’m glad yer back with us, Son. Don’t know what I’d done if I’d lost ya after losin’ yer ma.”

Jesse paid him no mind and kept looking around aimlessly.

“Where we goin’ from here, Pa?”

“I told ya earlier... Ta Phoenix by way of Camp Verde.”

“What’s there, Pa?”

Earl was concerned that Jesse had forgotten everything he had said about the planned journey and what they would find at Camp Verde. Was it a passing phase or a permanent result of the Paho reviving him from the dead? He got an icy chill when he realized Ben wasn’t like that when he recovered.

His foreboding thoughts were interrupted when Ben and John came back with wood. Ben started a fire. Each ate from the dried food they had brought. Then, after another long, refreshing drink of water, the men picked their spot and settled around the fire for a night’s sleep.

“Should we post a guard?” Ben asked.

“Ain’t a soul around for miles,” Earl said. “Anybody wanna stay up?”

John snuggled up to his saddle. “Not me.”

“Forget it,” Jesse said, rolling onto his right side.

“How ‘bout ya, Ben?”

“No, Earl... Couldn’t stay awake anyway.”

John sat straight up.

“I was gonna teach y’all the chant.”

“Too tired tonight, John.” Earl laid his head on his saddle and yawned. “Teach us when we get ta Camp Verde.”

“What’s there, Pa?”

Another icy chill hit Earl as he thought about Jesse’s failing memory.

“Uh... Plenty of whiskey,” Earl said. “And maybe there’ll be plenty of women, too.”

“Just had ta hear it one more time, Pa, befer fallin’ off ta sleep.”

Maybe Jesse ain’t as bad off as I reckoned, Earl thought.

Then, a flame of hope fought off the icy chill of concern he’d felt earlier; at least for the moment, the chill was gone.

The men laughed, whooped it up, and retold the story of the bank robbery, the shootout, and the getaway. But they left out the part where Jesse was killed and brought back to life. Soon, only the sounds of nature, the fire’s dying embers, and John’s snoring could be heard.

###

The refreshing northerly wind gave way to a hotter southerly breeze as the sun rose over the eastern horizon. Its heat greeted them like the blaze of a roaring campfire. Already, the horses were at the pool, drinking their fill and eating the last of the grass.

Earl had gotten up before the first rays fell on the campsite. He joined the horses for a gulp of water before rousing the others. When the sun’s beams reached Ben and John, they stirred, but Jesse turned over, shaded his eyes with his hat, and went back to sleep.

Earl went over to Jesse’s bedroll and gave him a nudge in his *** with the toe of his boot.

“Wake up, Son. Time’s a-wastin’.”

Jesse groaned and gave him the middle finger. He sat up and vigorously rubbed his face and head.

“Can’t seem ta wake up, Pa.”

“If we wanna make Verde by a decent hour, we gotta ride.”

“Remember, Jesse... Women and whiskey,” Ben said.

“Yeah, I remember, all right. But right now, I want food more than I want anythin’ else.”

“Even women?” Ben asked.

“Can’t think of women when yer belly’s gnawin’ on yer backbone, and yer mind’s clouded over wantin’ sumthin’ ta eat.”

“You got that right,” John said. “I’m hungry enough to eat my horse.”

Just then, John’s horse whinnied and turned its head toward him.

“Do that horse of yers understand English?” Jesse asked.

“Seems he does.”

Ben, Jesse, and John broke out in uproarious laughter while getting food from their saddlebags. Even Earl had to chuckle at the horse’s well-timed antics. As the men gathered around the burned-out campfire, they ate and planned their next move.

Earl was explaining his plans for the day when, out of nowhere, two strangers dressed in full-length black coats, black shirts and trousers, and black hats stood with their backs to the rising sun. Ben was the first to notice them. He elbowed John, and John looked up.

“Earl, we got guests,” Ben said.

“Where?”

“Behind you. Toward the sunrise.”

Earl and Jesse pivoted around, hands on their guns. Earl got to his feet and shielded his eyes.

“We’ve come for you, Earl,” the first stranger said.

His voice was deep and hollow, distant, like an echo. The stranger swept his coat aside and reached for his weapon.

Ben and John jumped to their feet, crouched, and drew their weapons. Jesse rolled, crawled, and then stood behind Earl’s right side with his gun pointed at the strangers.

Earl yelled, “Who are ya? Why ya want me?”

“The time for talking has passed, Earl. We’re taking you with us... Now, draw, or we’ll drop you without a fight. It doesn’t matter to us.” The first stranger unholstered his gun.

Earl was so flustered that he couldn’t cleanly draw his weapon. Instead, he nearly fumbled and dropped it.

The second stranger swept his coat aside and pulled his gun. They both leveled their weapons at Earl and fired in unison. Two bullets zinged past, missing Earl.

Ben and John returned fire, hitting the first stranger. He dropped to his knees and fell backward. The other stranger shot again, missing Earl but hitting Jesse, who was now crouched behind Earl.

The bullet hit Jesse square in his right eye and blew out the back of his skull. The impact knocked him backward, and he lay sprawled on the ground, dead. Earl turned toward him.

“Jesse! Son!”

Ben and John kept firing until their guns were empty, but couldn’t take down the second stranger. The stranger grabbed his partner’s arm and dragged him toward a boulder. Ben and John reloaded and shot at the stranger again. Without reloading, he fired an endless barrage of bullets toward the campsite while he pulled his dead partner behind a boulder.

The men hugged the ground for dear life as bullets hit the dirt around them.

“Doesn’t he ever have to reload?” Ben yelled.

Then, as quickly as it started, the gun battle ended.

Earl knelt next to Jesse and lifted him into his arms. He turned to the others and yelled, “Save yer bullets... Ben, ya take one side of that there boulder, and John, ya take the other. Get those bastards that killed my boy.”

“We’ll get ‘em,” Ben shouted.

Ben motioned to John to take the left side of the boulder. John nodded and carefully advanced while Ben slowly made his way to the other side. Ben and John circled and closed in. When they rushed to the backside of the boulder, no one was there. They looked at each other and shrugged.

“Where’d they go?” John asked.

“Beats me.”

“I saw them go behind this boulder. Didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Ben nodded. “I saw both of them: one was dragging the body of the other.”

“Then, where are they?” John scratched his head.

“I don’t like the feel of this.”

“What you mean?”

“Did you hear anything before they called out Earl?” Ben asked.

“Like what?”

“Horses picking their way along the rocky trail. Boots crunching on the hard ground. A soft-footed hare couldn’t approach without making some kinda of sound, so where’d they come from? And how’d they sneak up on us?”

“Don’t know.” John shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything, but I wasn’t listening for anything in particular. Was more interested in what I’d be seeing in Camp Verde.”

“Better break the bad news to Earl.”

When they returned to camp, Earl was kneeling beside Jesse. He looked up.

“Didn’t hear no gunfire.”

Ben knelt next to Jesse and wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve.

“Nobody was there, Earl. We didn’t find hide nor hair of anybody.”

Earl glanced at Ben, at John, and then back to Ben.

“I seen ‘em go behind that there big boulder.”

John shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“So’d I, Earl. I saw them, too... plain as day, but when we went behind the boulder, nobody was there. They’d plumb vanished.”

“People don’t just vanish in thin air, John,” Earl said.

Ben ran his fingers around the sweatband while staring into the crown of his hat.

“I tell you, Earl. When we rushed the boulder, nobody was there.”

“Then... Where’d they go?”

John looked toward the boulder and removed his hat.

“No place I could see. They just vanished. In thin air... That they did. And they didn’t have any horses either.”

Earl slowly shook his head in disbelief.

“Nobody vanishes... and their horses, too. Ain’t natural.”

“Maybe it’s supernatural,” John said.

“Don’t start with that foolish talk ‘bout the Hopi spirit world. I don’t believe it ‘cause it ain’t real. There’s gotta be a logical reason ya didn’t find no one behind that boulder. Vanishin’ in the spirit world ain’t one of them.”

Ben’s eyes met Earl’s.

“Well... These two disappeared, Earl, by magic or otherwise. Either way, I’d like to know where they came from. I never heard anybody ride up, and neither did John. You hear anything?”

“Didn’t hear nothin’ till they called me out.” Earl lowered Jesse to the ground and looked at John. “Don’t hurt to revive a person more than once; do it?”

John shrugged. “Never saw or heard of it being done twice on the same one, especially with a wound as bad as Jesse’s... But we’ll know in an hour.”

*** end Chapter ***