The Loaded Gun

"Sadie, hold Billy tight while I cut this fool horse loose. Looks like she ran into a piece of barbed wire, and now it’s tangled up in the wagon wheel." Blake handed the reins to his wife and stepped down from the wagon. We don’t know what spooked the horse; perhaps it was when Blake pulled on the wire trying to free the wagon wheel. The horse jerked sideways, then took off running full out. Blake’s arm became tangled in the wire. He was yanked off his feet and dragged across the expansive prairie, desperately shouting to Sadie to halt the wagon. Sadie tried her best. She sat five-year-old Jeremy on the seat and stood in order to put her full weight against the brake lever, while holding the reins in her other hand. She didn't see what the wagon struck, but the impact sent her airborne. Thoroughly frightened now, the horse continued to run until the wagon tipped over while crossing a dry creek bed. The horse had become free of the barbed wire, but not Blake, at least his arm, which dangled from the spokes of the wagon wheel.

A passing cowboy saw the runaway horse and wagon and tried to stop it before it hit the wash. He was too late. He found the small boy pinned under the overturned wagon. After freeing the child, he rode back along the path that the wagon had originally traveled. In less than a mile, he found Sadie kneeling beside the torn and broken body of her husband.

The doctor was unsure if Blake's death resulted from the loss of his arm or from head injuries incurred during the dragging. Sadie had dislocated her shoulder when she fell. Billy suffered compound fractures of both legs. The doctor did his best to set Billy's broken bones and put casts on both legs.

Two days later, the deputy sheriff returned with Sadie to her ranch to feed and water the livestock. Billy stayed at the doctors. On Sunday, they laid the mutilated body of Blake Halsley to rest. Given that Silver City, New Mexico, in 1872, consisted primarily of miners and Mexicans, the attendance at Blake’s funeral was unusually large.

I was still recuperating from surgery performed on my legs and did not attend my father’s funeral. The doctor assured my mother that I would be fine. I’m not sure what his definition of fine is, but the healing process did not go well. A week following surgery, I was burning up with fever. I almost died of a staph infection. Because everyone focused on my legs, they failed to notice my shattered right collarbone. Three weeks passed before I was well enough to return to our home. Our ranch abutted Whiskey Creek, which lay five miles east of Silver City. My father raised cattle and had a lucrative agreement with the mining companies to supply beef.

Growing up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, his family's prosperous coal mining company influenced Blake's formative years. He entered college intending to get a degree in engineering. However, when the Civil War started, he joined the Union Army despite his family’s objections. In 1863, nineteen-year-old Blake Halsley was wounded during the battle at Cemetery Hill on the second day of the Battle of Gettysburg. During his recovery in the hospital, he fell in love with sixteen-year-old Sadie Young, a volunteer nurse. Two years after his release from the hospital, they married and lived in a guest cottage on his parent's estate. Blake received his degree in engineering in 1868 and was eager to go west and mine for silver. When his grandfather died, he had left Blake 500 acres of land in the mineral-rich land of southwestern New Mexico. After finding no silver, Blake became a cattle rancher. Now, Sadie was alone with her disabled child, Billy, to run the cattle ranch. She was two months shy of her twenty-fifth birthday.

News of the beautiful young woman trying to manage a large cattle ranch attracted the attention of eligible bachelors. In the 1800s, outside of prostitutes, young single women were a rarity in the Southwest. Blake’s family wanted Sadie to sell the property and return to Pennsylvania. When she declined the offer, they arranged for another rancher to send one of their ranch hands to assist Sadie three days a week.

I was glad to see someone come to help Mom with the ranch. He was an older man with a handlebar mustache, his shoulders slumped forward because of a back injury he received in a bar fight. He wore a pistol holstered high on his left hip, and that really impressed me. Occasionally he told me stories of gunfights with Apache’s who used to control the land of southwestern New Mexico. I never knew his real name as everyone called him Dusty.

It has been almost five years since my father died, and I have never recovered from my injuries. My legs are shriveled and twisted, so that I have to walk with the help of a cane. I can barely raise my right arm because my shattered collarbone never healed properly. Dusty insists I learn to ride a horse and lifts me onto the saddle to ride the range, checking on the cattle with him. Sometimes he lets me shoot his pistol. The gun is really heavy, and I'm not very accurate. Dusty’s help is crucial to the ranch’s survival, as well as to my own.

My mother does her share of running the ranch, and within a year of Dad’s passing, she began accepting invitations for dinner and dancing. I didn’t think she was serious about any of the men she went out with. I never worry about staying home alone, and sometimes Dusty will stay with me until Mom returns home.

Then word came that by 1886 the Santa Fe Railroad would reach Silver City. Mom takes me into town at least once a month. I enjoyed those days, the excitement of cowboys and miners bustling about, and especially the ice cream. I could tell things were different now that the railroad was coming. The area buzzed with construction as new businesses sprouted almost daily. It was on one of those trips to town that my world changed.

Dakota Smith rode into Silver City one day in October 1877. He was riding a beautiful bay gelding and leading a pack mule. I watched from the window of the mercantile where Mom was shopping as he dismounted in front of the store. He was tall, well over six feet, and moved with the grace of a cat. His clothes were tailored to complement his trim mustache and the two guns he wore low on his waist. My heart skipped a beat. A gunfighter for sure, or maybe a famous marshal following the trail of cattle thieves. I froze in wonder and fear as he strode into the mercantile, only three feet from where I stood, gaping with my mouth open. He walked past me without even seeing I was there. He stood at the counter next to Mom and ordered a box of .45 caliber bullets. Mom was bundling her purchases into her shopping bag when the man addressed her in a low, smooth voice.

“That’s quite a load you have there, miss. Perhaps I could lend you a hand?”

He was holding his hat in hand, his dark curly hair coming almost to his shoulders. Gleaming white teeth showed behind his pleasant smile. I had a bad feeling about him from the moment I saw him. He had a different effect on Mom, who smiled appreciatively and handed him her packages. I could hear them talking to each other as they passed by without noticing my existence.

“My name is Sadie. Have you been in town long?”

"I just rode in a few minutes ago. It looks as if the town is booming. Was there a new silver strike? By the way, my name is Dakoda Smith."

"Well, that's a fine name. As far as I know, there have been no new significant silver strikes. I think what you are seeing results from the railroad coming to Silver City."

Dakoda said nothing for a minute and then asked if she lived in town.

"No. My son and I live on a ranch about five miles outside of town. Speaking of my son, here is Billy. He was in a horrible wagon accident that resulted in my husband's death."

Dakoda reached to shake my hand, and I gave him my left hand. He seemed confused, then smiled and shook with his left hand. I could sense the repulsion in his dark eyes. "It's nice to meet you, boy. I suppose you are a great help to your mother in running the ranch."

I don't think my mother caught the sarcasm in his statement. I turned and hobbled to the buckboard.

On the ride back to the ranch, Mom couldn't stop gushing about this handsome man we had just met; her voice filled with excitement. I sensed real trouble ahead. I would have to speak with Dusty about this man.

When Dusty came to work the next morning, I asked if we could ride down by the creek. He sensed something was bothering me and said, of course. He helped me down from the saddle, and we sat under the shade of a cottonwood tree. "What is it, Billy? Is something wrong with your mom? She looked in fine spirits this morning."

"Sir, it's probably nothing, but we had a strange encounter with a man in town yesterday." I think my mom is smitten with the man, yet I don't trust him.

Dusty rose to his feet. "Don't jump the gun, Billy. It would be a fine thing if your mom found a good man to run the ranch and be a father to you. I won't be around forever. Did you catch the man's name?"

"He said it was Smith, I think. Yeah, Dakota Smith."

Dusty sat back down and sat there with a faraway look in his eyes. "Is he a tall fellow with a small mustache, curly hair, who packs two guns?"

"Yes, sir, that's the man I'm talking about. I thought maybe he was a marshal or a gunfighter like I read about in those western books."

"I can't say I have the pleasure of meeting mister Smith, but many mining towns throughout the Southwest and California know him well. Basically, a gambler, but people say he has killed several folks in disputes over cheating at cards. I sure hope the missus doesn't get mixed up with his kind."

Two days later, Dakota came to take Mom to dinner at the new hotel in town. He arrived in a fine carriage pulled by his bay horse. He was certainly handsome, all decked out in a suit and tie. Mom was all smiles and laughter, and I knew I had a problem. She didn't make it home that night. The next morning, Mom made breakfast without so much as a word about staying out all night. A few weeks later, I heard them arguing. Dakota wanted to move out of the hotel where he was staying and move in with us. Mom said it would not seem right to her son. He was too young to understand their relationship. I understood alright. Dakota had his eyes on this ranch, and a pretty widow was a nice extra benefit.

A week later, Mom announced she and Dakota were getting married. She felt I would come to like the man after I found out what a good person he is. I knew if I let her know my true feelings, it would just make life worse for me. I grew to fear and hate the man. The first thing he did was send Dusty packing, saying there's no need for the old fella anymore, and he would manage the ranch. I rode with Dusty for a few miles as he was leaving. When we stopped to say our goodbyes, he handed me a small pistol. "There may come a time you will need this, and I won't be around to protect you. It's unloaded, and here are five .32 caliber bullets. The one thing to remember is that a gun is a last resort, but if you need it, don't hesitate to pull the trigger. Hesitation can be the difference between life and death."

I casually loaded the gun after Dusty was gone, and when I got home, I hid my prize under my mattress and promptly forgot about it. After a year, the happy marriage soured. The first problem arose when Mom refused to turn the ranch over to Dakota. She claimed that in Blake's grandfather's will any son resulting from Blake's marriage had first ownership rights to the ranch contingent on Blake's death. This argument continued on and off for several months. Then he wanted to sell off half the herd to pay for gambling debts. Again she refused, claiming a reduced herd would not provide enough beef to meet their contracts with the mining companies. Then things got ugly. Perhaps because Dakota was desperate to pay off his debts, he resorted to violence. At first, he would grab her by the neck and shake her head against the wall. Soon he would punch Mom in the stomach when she disagreed with him. He didn't allow us to go to town, so no one knew about the brutality we suffered.

One day he threatened me with a death sentence if Mom didn't sign the ranch over to him. She screamed and reminded him it would not be legal. That the will was the law of the land and Billy owned the ranch. The next morning, he saddled up two horses and lifted me onto the saddle. He rode the other horse and led my horse with a rope tied to the saddle horn. We traveled north all morning before we stopped in a dry, desolate area with no trees in sight. Dakota dismounted and lifted me from the saddle, where I fell to my knees in the sand. He removed the rope from my horse and turned him loose, chasing him off until he was just a speck in the distance. He mounted his horse and started back the way we had come. As an afterthought, he threw me my cane. I watched him fade from sight, realizing I was going to die in this unforgiving land.

I grabbed my cane and tried walking over the rough terrain.After stumbling and falling both times I tried, I gave up and sat with my back against a large rock. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. A sound awakened me, and I saw my horse standing a few feet from me. I blinked twice, thinking this must be a dream, but my horse stood there, the reins dragging on the ground. I rose and slowly stumbled toward her, not wanting to spook her. Grabbing the saddle horn with my left hand, I finally pulled myself into the saddle and began the long trip home.

It was dark by the time I made my way into my bedroom. Reaching under the mattress, I removed the pistol Dusty had given me and tucked it out of sight under my shirt. I could hear Mom crying in the kitchen as I slowly entered the room. Dakota's back was to me, and Mom was crying with her eyes closed. Maintaining my composure, I sat in a chair just inside the doorway, and spoke in a steady voice. "You had your chance, Mister Smith, but I am harder to kill than you might think." I was holding the pistol in my left hand now, my hand shaking like a leaf in the wind. I couldn't remember whether I had ever loaded the pistol.

Dakota's face registered surprise when he turned around. Then, an evil grin spread across his face. "Damn, boy, what are you going to do with that peashooter? I'll bet you've never shot a gun in your life. Tell you what. I've had enough of you and your mother. After I finish my dinner, I'm taking my horse and heading for Tombstone. I suggest you put the gun away before you hurt yourself. I doubt you could hit the side of a barn with it anyway."

I really didn't like his attitude, and Mom was staring at me with pleading eyes, so I never gave him a chance to finish his supper and kept pulling the trigger until the hammer clicked on empty. I sat up all night holding one of Dakota's guns, worried that he would return to this world and kill me yet. In the morning, Mom rode into town and returned with the sheriff, who gently removed the gun from my hand. "It's alright, son. You'd better get some rest as you look completely worn out. Don't worry about killing this fella as he deserved all he got."

"Oh, killing that man doesn't bother me at all, sir. It's just that I can't sleep, thinking about what would have happened to me out there if my horse had not returned."