1'The Posse's Trail'
By Phineas Redux
—OOO—
Summary:— Henrietta 'Harry' Knappe and Sally 'Snapshot' Nichols, Deputies and lovers in 1870's Red Flume, Arizona Territory, USA, lead a posse in search of a renowned female outlaw.
Note:— Influenced by the 'Wolfville' stories of Alfred Henry Lewis.
Copyright:— copyright ©2025 Phineas Redux. All characters are wholly fictitious representations, and the overall local geography may be questionable, too.
—O—
The overall natural environment, generally speaking, around the town of Red Flume, Territory of Arizona, covered a multiplicity of terrains; to the south and west, sandy desert, to the east and north, mostly grassy pastures. To the extreme south lay the Bentlaw Ridge, which was in effect a thirty mile long, five mile wide range of mountains averaging 3,000ft with lower rolling foothills filling in the spaces between. This area being of interest at the moment, October 187-, because the two main Deputy's of Red Flume, Henrietta 'Harry' Knappe and Sally 'Snapshot' Nichols, who were also lovers together, were heading a posse numbering fourteen solid citizens of the town—all determined on their present aim, finding and holding to account one way or the other, the famous bandit Georgina 'Jack' Hawkins, bank robber, kidnapper, rustler, murderer, and general deadbeat—her official Wanted Poster declaiming her Reward as $3,500, an enormous fortune, each member of the posse satisfied they were in line for an even cut of same on satisfactory completion of their present safari.
"At least the weather's holdin' up some."
Henrietta, on hearing this, cast a pitying glance at her partner riding on her left flank.
"Yeah, sure; 'll help no end."
From years of living together and sharing the same bed Sally knew instantly her paramour was not in complete agreement with her idly meant aside.
"Just a passin' remark, lover; don't take it t'heart."
Before Henrietta could think of an adequate reply a cry came from one of the members of the posse.
"Thar be smoke, campfire, over t'the right thar, some coupl'a miles off, I fancy!"
Henrietta raised a gloved hand, bringing the riders to a dusty halt as they all stared across the intervening wide pasture.
"Comin' from behind that line o'low foothills." Sally pinpointing the thin line of smoke rising into the calm air. "Campfire, sure enough. Should we?"
Henrietta let out a sigh at the complexities of commanding a posse on a mission.
"Bob-Fred-Jake, you three go on off an' see what's t'be seen. We'll meet up with ya some three-four mile further on. If there be anythin' other than a innocent prospector fire off a few shots, OK?"
In answer the trio nodded acceptance, turning their steeds to head off towards the distant foothills as the rest of the posse resumed their forward motion.
Sally consulted a battered silver half-hunter pulled from her jerkin pocket.
"Just gone four! Cain't see Jack Hawkins lettin' fly with sich a obvious sign so early in the day; specially when we think she knows well enuff we're on her trail now."
"Yeah! Probably jes' a prospector; sort'a thing that'll hold us up t'no purpose. Best we get on fast's we can. Come on, boys, let's raise the pace some, OK?"
An hour and a half later, just as twilight was beginning to engulf the surrounding area, the trio of scouts returned in a cloud of dust; Bob in the van as they pulled up beside the two leaders.
"Jes' some ancient character who sez he's on the lookout fer silver. Ain't found any yet, but's got high hopes. Looks t'be aroun' seventy-five if a day."
"Figures!" Henrietta nodding without much interest. "Thar's a patch of scrub trees over thar by that little stream; fancy we ought'a camp thar fer the comin' evenin'. No sense in goin' on further t'day."
Making the best of the situation the group of men soon made a series of separate campfires, small groups round each, the women having their own private fire to themselves. The pack horses supplied the means and soon the delightful smell of coffee and bacon filled the air all round, fresh water easily to hand via the shallow pebbly stream.
"Bacon, beans, coffee, an' hardtack—uurgh!" Sally repeating a favourite criticism of hers concerning the usual rations in these circumstances.
"Give it a rest, baby." Henrietta hoping to quench the argument before it gained fire and flame.
"What's our plan fer when we meets up with Jack, Harry?" Vernon Waites, from a nearby fire, calling over for clarification on a fine point of procedure.
Henrietta, however, held old-fashioned, not to say downright Draconian, beliefs in this matter.
"Thar won't be any light bandyin' o'hallo's a'tween us, fer sure. The moment ye sees her grab yer iron an' let fly promiscus an' with dileeteerious meanin' all round. Got that, boys?"
The sustained muttered growl of understanding and acknowledgement from all round made the posse's united stance clear as crystal.
"Think we'll catch up with her t'morrer?" Sally going on to another important facet. "An' have we enuff men with us t'face her off successful?"
"Sure on both counts, baby." Henrietta nodding as one who knew what was what. "We started out only two days behind her an' her motley crew; now we're fer certin only some few hours behind, an' gainin' all the time. As t'numbers, thar's sixteen of us all told; an', as reported, only some eight-t'ten o'them. Shouldn't be more'n a light engagement; some two minutes sustained firin', an' it'll all be over, I reckon."
Sally frowned over this, clearly not so sure of the prophesied outcome herself, but said nothing more.
"Come on, gal," Henrietta sloshing the remains of her coffee in the ashes of the low fire. "Wrap yersel' in yer blanket an let's git some shut-eye. Gon'na be a day t'remember t'morrer, fer sure."
"Uurph!"
—O—
The next morning did indeed bring some interesting news.
"Got up aroun' two hours since," Fred Barnes rather ruefully reporting at breakfast. "t'go fer a leak, like. Went up t'that stand o'oak on thet little hillock thar-aways. Did the needful then walked on up to the crest o'the hill fer some fresh air a'fore turnin' in agin. Saw, some far off, a faint light twinklin' in the distance aroun' meb'be three mile t'the east. Sort'a came an' went, not very bright; could'a bin a campfire, but I wasn't sure, so left it till now. Hopes I did right?"
Sally wasn't in the mood to take prisoners, however.
"Should'a come an' woke us up immediate. No sense in seeing important information then keepin' same t'yersel'; don't do no-one no good thet way, laddie. Next time knock us up notwithstandin' whatever ye thinks yersel, OK?"
Henrietta was more focused on the important aspect of this news.
"Three miles or so t'the east? Means we ain't so far a'hind the bunch after all. We ride fast we could catch 'em somewhere's aroun' noon or thereabouts. Come on, boys, breakfast's over, get this site put t'rights an' let's git on our way—make it snappy thar!"
High hopes, however, were doomed to disappointment; just after 1.00pm, after riding like a bunch of angry Banshees for several hours—thereby knocking most of the stuffing out of their steeds in doing so—they came up on the source of the faint light spied in the night—the old prospector, with his two pack horses; he having just made his midday camp and now well settled with a tin mug of steaming coffee.
"Come on round, folks, plenty o'coffee fer all!" The man waving his own tin mug in hearty greeting.
"Oh, sh-t!" Sally growling like a bear with the stomach-ache.
The surrounding countryside was a perfect example of the general grassy pastureland so loved by the local cattle ranches; wide prairies of grass rolling to the horizon in every direction but the south, where the Bentlaw Ridge ran. By the low banks of a swift-flowing stream and a handful of scrub oaks lay the temporary encampment of the old prospector.
Having stood to greet his unexpected guests he now showed as around 5'8" in height, scrawny of physique, face mostly hidden by a chest long thick grey beard, and dressed in clothes that looked to date from the early years of the late National Conflict of infamous memory.
"What's yer name, ol'-timer?" Henrietta taking control of the situation.
"Ben Morgan." The man nodding happily as he looked round at the group of riders. "Jes' seen yer stars; you bein', I takes it, a posse? Who ye after, may I ask?"
"Jack Hawkins," Sally contributing this fact againt her better judgement. "Georgina Hawkins, as is. Seen anythin' o'her hereabouts on yer travels, mister?"
Ben sipped his coffee for inspiration, musing on this for a while.
"She got a bunch of deadbeats aroun' her, p'haps?"
"Yeah."
"OK, then; yeah, came across her day a'fore yestern." Ben nodding again, spitting on the ground by his raggedy boots. "Not a nice woman, by far. Called me numerous names, most o'which a Mississippi riverboat pilot'd have bin embarrassed t'know never mind artiky'late!"
Henrietta was still somewhat unconvinced, looking for specifics to make the old man's claims verifiable.
"What'd this lady look like, may I ask? What were her attributes physique-wise, principally?"
Ben took another seeming eternity to consider his answer to this query.
"Waal, les'see; what'd she look like, ye asks? Uumm—"
This slow hesitation, of course, triggered Sally's famous lack of patience right off.
"Not difficult t'say what she looked like, surely? Come on, man!"
This grumble had no visible effect on the old prospector, he continuing to scratch his chin beneath his beard as if he hadn't heard her remark, then—
"What were she like? OK, about the size of ye thar, lady? Thet is, ye t'the right, the small leddy, not the tall one beside her. Yeah, you, ma'am. Whar was I? Oh, yeah—height. Waal, thar she was, about yer size, leddy. Physique? Mmm, I'd say some solider than ye, ma'am; yeah, you, the small gal. Meb'be I could git yer name, ma'am? Help me summat."
Rolling her eyes in near physical pain Sally gave her moniker, not with any controlled politeness.
"Sal Nichols, this here by my elbow's Harry Knappe; so, anythin' else ye kin tell us about Jack, if it were in fac' her?"
Again Ben fell to ruminating on the matter, as if his memory needed to be pulled, pushed, or shaken up—like Smallweed in 'Bleak House'—into anything like reasonable activity.
"Her hair's some long an' wavy; sort'a dark copper, pale face—pale skin all over I reckon. Speaks with a Texas brogue, some high-pitched. Likes some t'swar meticulous across the board at all points. Sort'a got the idee she was only refrainin' from killin' me out'ta hand 'cause she couldn't think o'a good reason off-hand. Thet sort'a mind, if'n ye follows?"
"Which direction did she take, on leavin'?" Henrietta looking to the certain ascertained facts in Life.
"Some t'the sou'-west, amongst the mountains over thar; them's I've jes' come out'ta." Ben shrugging disinterestedly. "Heerd while she, this Jack gal, was castin' aspertions on me an' my relatives fer no sound reason, some o'her compatriots talkin' amongst theirsel's, some loud. One o'whom said somthin' about headin' fer the Rawlins' Cabin, whar-ever thet might be. Thet be about all I recalls, as things stand."
Henrietta gazed at Sally, who shook her head in answer.
"Don't know it. Ho, boys! Anyone heerd o'the Rawlins' Cabin, whar-ever?"
A low rumble swirled through the assembled group of dust-covered men, before a single voice spoke up.
"I do!"
Henrietta swivelled on her saddle to pinpoint the speaker.
"James? James Framley?"
"Yeah, ma'am."
"OK, tell us, then."
Suddenly made the cynosure of all eyes the young man, hardly more than 21 by his looks, flushed nearly crimson before summoning the strength to reply.
"Ahh, what it is—ahh, is, er—"
"Take a breath, lad." Sally being kind-hearted for a change.
"So, ah, the Rawlins Cabin!" James finally grasping the nettle and racing forward. "It's an ol' abandoned ranch-house, out Green River Rapids way, jes' by Mount Aloma, over south-west in the mountains thar."
Henrietta and Sally exchanged another glance.
"Ye bin thar a'fore?" Sally asking the important question.
"Yeah, ma'am."
"Find it agin, from here-aways?"
"Yeah, ma'am."
"Go to it, James." Henrietta giving the command like a General his troops. "Ride on ahead, we'll be followin' along hard on yer tail. Thanks, ol' timer; see ye aroun'. OK, boys; Boots an' Saddles! Let's git out'ta h'yar an' git on our way thar! Move it on out!"
—O—
The Rawlins Cabin, on arrival, turned out to be a problem; it sat immediately in front of a stand of trees, almost a thick extensive wood, which came right up to its rear; Mount Aloma rising steeply to around 2,500 feet some two miles further to the west. To one side a sizeable river, the Green River, showed itself to be aptly named as it tumbled over a bed of large rocks in the vicinity thereby giving the title of Rapids to the whole local outfit. Before the ranch, which was what it had originated as, a four-bar corral still stood, more or less protecting the front of the building from attack. To one side a barn, still in fair shape, allowed for a host of steeds to be stabled there, which was the present case, smoke rising from the tall stone-cased chimney on the left of the main building. Out front several men could be seen idly wandering around or simply chewing the hay in a couple of small groups.
From their position atop a low rise to the west Henrietta and Sally could oversee the whole outfit spread before them.
"We attack up front they'll close the shutters an' probable set-to t'withstand a dam' three month siege in thet thar fortress."
Henrietta nodded agreement at this sage description of the likely outcome.
"Yeah, an' even with the whole sixteen o'us thet'd git us nowhar quick."
"Could burn the place down aroun' 'em!"
Henrietta gave her partner a close look of concern.
"Knows well enuff ye likes the straight route ter perdition, but ain't thet goin' thet step too far, lover?"
"Oh, well, jes' a passin' suggestion."
Another problem now made itself known as one of the posse, Liam Johnson, hurried across to the women, a spy-glass in hand.
"Jes' bin examinin' thet place through the glass, leddies."
"Yeah?" Henrietta vaguely interested. "What'd ye see, then?"
"Front door's standin' wide, shutters on the main room winders same. Could see right in. Don't think Jack's thar! No sign o'her at all."
This gained the attention of both women; Sally looking like a cougar having expected a juicy calf finding instead a raggetty-ass gopher, Henrietta growling low like one of the mountain bears she spent her lighter hours hunting.
"Y'sure thar, pard?" Henrietta seeking clarification.
"As onions, ma'am!" Liam standing by his statement unafraid.
"B-gg-ration!" Sally saying it like it was.
Henrietta came to a swift decision.
"What we'll do is I'll go down thar with a white flag, talk t'them, see what the position is vide Jack. You stay up h'yar, Sal, keep everyone in order; come down like thet Assyrian on the Fold in the poem if anything goes awry, OK?"
Sally wasn't having any of this, however.
"You go down thar, I goes alongside ye, baby."
Henrietta gazed at her lover for a few seconds before shaking her head in defeat.
"You annoys me some, sometimes, y'know thet, lady?"
"Thet's me through n' through; c'mon, let's git to it."
The sudden appearance of the two women, waving a white piece of linen in lieu of a flag; more so the sight of the rest of the posse standing their mounts atop the distant low foothill, caused a wave of movement to break out round the ranch. Those men outside made a rapid move to reverse their position, disappearing inside like snow in Summer. The door slammed shut and the window shutters clapped-to hiding all further movement internally. As the women rode up to the front door it opened slightly to reveal the long barrel of a rifle and the dark silhouette of a man in dirty dusty clothes and a scratchy beard.
"What yer wants? Whatever, we ain't got none! Git lost, go on!"
In her element in such a situation Sally merely grinned broadly at the cowering form behind the partially open door.
"An' me an' my partner h'yar jes' arrived? Thet ain't no way p'lite. Look'ee h'yar, we both be wearin' stars. Y'know what thet means, don't'cher?"
"Oh, f-ck!"
"Jes' so!" Sally taking command with consumate ease. "An' all my pals, back atop the hill thar, they be my posse—all'a them!"
"Oh, f-ck!"
"Yer beginnin' ter bore me, son." Sally changing to her well-rehearsed tyrant tone. "No sense o'a meaningful vocabulary at all. Lem'me fill ye in h'yar. Ye surrenders one an' all instanter, or all Hell breaks loose round these h'yar parts like t'Satan hostin' a Hoedown! We shoots promiscus an' wild till there ain't a single space left a'tween bullet-holes in the fabric o'this h'yar ruin nor nobody in it. Get me, sonny?"
"Oh, f-ck!"
"Jee-sus!" Sally at the end of her never long tether. "Ye are borin' me now, lad. OK, surrender, or face the consequences immediate—they bein' extreme Death immutable. What's yer play, laddie; so's we kin git this show on the road, one way or t'other?"
Wholesale surrender, without a single shot being fired, is a wonderful thing, and such played out as everyone in the ranch-house threw their weapons aside and sought solace in accusing each other of a variety of past crimes they themselves had certainly been responsible for. It took only five of the posse to round-up the stragglers; they amounting to nine bandits of various ages, but all of the opinion that surrender was better than being cut down in an extended gunfight which was the only other option the bandits,—deadbeat and mostly moronic as they were—could still see in their immediate futures.
"You!" Henrietta facing-off a particularly offensive looking member of the bunch of criminals. "Ragged as a dam' scarecrow, scraggly beard like as if ye'd bin dragged through a wheatfield backwards, physique thinner'n a hoe-shaft,—I got questions fer ye."
"F-ck ye, b-tch!"
Sally, by her paramour's side, stepped forward, sneered in her victim's face, and kicked him where for a man he would feel it most. As the women gazed on the writhing form twitching on the dusty ground at their boots Sally turned to her partner with a seemingly extraneous question.
"Jes' as well ye didn't take me up on thet earlier thought o'mine—burnin' them like roast ducks in the house!"
"Oh, yeah? For why?"
"We'd a'had the dam'dest trouble identifyin' the burnt corpses, re reward money fer each afterwards's all."
"Oh!" Henrietta giving her lover yet another glance of wonderment. "Thet's some—"
But Sally was already re-focusing on her immediate duty.
"Hey, guy? Come on, it ain't thet painful—waal, I assumes not, sure. Come on, git the hell up. Thet's better; now, my pard h'yar's gon'na ask ye some pertinent questions, ye answers 'em fair an' squar' all's well; ye does anythin' else—meanin' spittin' mouthfuls o'slander an' swarrin' across the landscape, ye gits some more o'the same, git me?"
"Oaah!—Arrghh!"
"Thet ain't no answer; anyways, Harry ain't asked no questions yet. Pull yersel t'gether, man! OK, Harry, he's all yours."
Taking it as it presented itself to her Henrietta sighed inwardly and got down to business.
"Look, mister, what we wants is Jack Hawkins. We assumes she was h'yar some time past, but ain't at present. Now listen careful, laddie; whar be she now? Be precise, in as few words as possible; but make sure ye is also accurate an' true, cos' if not my partner h'yar'll come back ter commit sanguine vengeance on ye thet'll stay in yer feeble memory fer decades t'come, assumin' ye lives thet long. Git me?"
"Wh—wha—what ye want t'know, dam'mit!"
"Thet's better. See how easy it's gon'na be?" Henrietta giving her renowned Medusa smile. "OK, whar be Jack right now, an' what's her plans thetaway? Take yer time, don't rush things; I only wantin' the true fac's an' figures; no unnecessary embellishments."
Knowing when you were in the deepest poo-poo with no escape route to hand was one of the hardened criminals best apprehensions, of those with enough gumption to realise such anyway. Now, the deadbeat rustler, bank-robber, and general thug before them gazed around, took in the posse and his corraled companions, and made the right decision, if with an ill-nature, spitting comprehensively in the sand at his boots.
"She's headed on out ter Olendyke, some fifteen mile t'the nor-west. Tol' us thar was a Bank thar thet supposedly has some aroun' a hunner' thou' in gold in its vaults. Wanted t'reccy the joint prior t'us all descendin' on the dump an' makin' hay an' murderous mayhem o'the whole place."
"Whoo-eey!" Sally whistling unmusically through her teeth. "Looks like we came along jes' at the right time! Bob, an' a handful o'the others, kin see ter takin' this bunch o'no-hopers back t'Red Flume, baby; while we take the majority on t'the town o'Olendyke. Should git thar late afternoon if we takes-off now."
"Yeah, suits me." Henrietta nodding approval at this plan. "I tell's ye, lover, when I sees thet dam' b-tch thar ain't gon'na be any foolin' aroun' with the social grace's—I'm'a jes' gon'na drop a ton of boulders on her head promiscus an' without warnin'!"
Sally laughed outright.
"Thet's my gal, leddy! Come on, let's git to it—I'm rarin' fer the game, so I am!"
—O—
The community of Olendyke, Territory of Arizona, was one of those authentic towns originally grown round a gold strike in the 1840's which, unusually, had prospered in the interim; allowing the original handful of tents to metamorphose into the small group of wooden shacks and handful of adobe buildings which now claimed the title. The fact there was still some gold to be dug out of the surrounding hills being the reason why its relatively small size and low populace were honored by the presence of a stone-built Bank widely surmised to hold uncounted wealth in its vault.
It was not a town large enough to have a dedicated Sheriff however; a fact well-known already to Henrietta and Sally as they sat their steeds on another low foothill quarter of a mile east of the ramshackle town.
"Thet thar two-storey stone buildin's the Bank, I expec's." Henrietta nodding in the structure's direction.
"Cain't quite see," Sally squinting in the same direction, putting up a gloved hand to shield her eyes. "But is thar a crowd o'cit's milling about some antagonistic in the street over thar, d'ye think?"
Henrietta took another, more comprehensive, look and swore horribly.
"Come on, let's git down thar; looks like Jack an' her myrmidons've already bin up t'some dam' skullduggery, dam'mit!"
Five minutes later, curtesy of an upstanding, but presently damned angry, greengrocer by the name of Graham Benson, the posse was given the latest news.
"Some dam'med woman, with a bunch o'deadbeats, came swannin' in'ta the town." He spitting his words out in his ongoing anger. "Milled around in the street outside the Bank h'yar then, on bein' questioned by Jake Farnham h'yar, she took out her pistol an' tried t'commit murder right h'yar in the dam' street. Waal, us not havin' the benefit of a Territory registered Sheriff, we've banded t'gether in'ta a unofficial group of vigilantes, the Stranglers, me bein' the honored leader thereof. So's I went an' got my Henry rifle an' started takin' potshots at the whole bunch; soon my reg'lar companions arrived, all tooled-up, an' helped me defend the town. Result, she backed-off and high-tailed it fer the mountains t'the west some hour or so ago."
"Oh, dam' an' f-ck!" Sally denied her lawful enjoyment once again.
Henrietta, however, had been side-tracked by Graham's unasked for revelation about his mode of local Law-making.
"Vigilantes'? Thet thar brings up some mighty moral questions—cold-blooded murder, fer starters." She dismounting to face her now suddenly rather embarrassed opponent. "Ye ain't got any Lawful official representation behind you; anything you, or your other companions've done in this line, is wholly unlawful an' liable to all the real Laws o'the Land. If'n ye've strung-up any law-breakers in the past, as the name ye've chosen fer yer organisation suggests, then all I kin say is you have a reliable date with a rope yersel some time in the near future, Mister Benson!"
Benson stood non-plussed for an appreciable time before finding some iota of logical reply.
"What's ter be done when thar ain't no Law about, then?" He puffing-up with annoyance. "What yer want? We let rustlers, card-sharpers, shootists, an' general thugs go about their daily lives, assaulting citizens an' thieving out'ta hand every dam' whar? An' not do anythin' in opposition t'same, jes' 'cause thar ain't no legally appointed Sheriff t'hand?"
"Yeah, jes' exactly that." Henrietta trying hard to get her point across. "Sheriffs', an' Depities, is the legal way o'carryin' out the Laws o'the Land, like I said. Vigilantes' has no legal basis whatsoever; they're illegal in every direction an', if they executes any criminal in the course o'their day, then they're jes' as much criminal as those they stand against—meanin', Mister Benson, you!"
Benson now took the offensive attitude towards this criticism of his warmly loved hobby.
"Oh, come on, leddy! You think any jury in the Territory'd stand aginst a Vigilante group? If'n ye does yer naïve as a newborn babe, is all!"
Sally, never one to stand by listening to anyone call down anathema on her lover, stepped in here with verve and cold intent.
"Benson, we h'yar, this band o'Depities round me, is on the trail presently of as much of a dam' scourge t'Law an' Order as ye could easily imagine. Fer us t'roll-up h'yar an' find a bunch o'egotistical folks takin' the Law in'ta their own hands, without any scrap o'due legal backin', is jes' thet one tribulation too much we really don't have the time, energy, or interest, in sortin' out. Not t'say we won't come back, when we've completed our present work, put you an' the rest o'your band o'Law-breakers under the microscope an', on findin' due reason fer same, hang the lot'ta you wholesale an' promiscus from the same tree branches ye've been utilizing fer your own activities thet way so far. An' thet ain't no empty threat, buster! We've got you in view, we'll put ye through the wringer, fer sure, an' if the end result's what I imagine it will be, then, buster, you better think some quick about what t'put in yer parting letter t'friends an' relatives, is all."
Staring at his oppressor, her partner again sitting her steed before him, like a stern uncompromising Valkyrie determined to fulfil her duty, and the stony-faced group of other assembled members of the posse, Benson finally realised the seriousness of his situation.
"Wha—what's t'be done, then? I still don't see thet I've—we've—done anythin' outright aginst the straight moral natur' o'the Law as it's writ down in the Reg'lations."
"Waal, ye has, is all." Henrietta taking no prisoners listening to this idiot, instead reverting to her more important reason for being there at all. "But we'll talk more about it when I return, so think on some mighty fine excuses in the meantime. So, Jack, ye sez, took off fer the mountains t'the sou-west, ye sez? Thet right?"
"Yeah, thet road leadin' out'ta town in thet direction. If ye ride fast ye may still catch 'em; it, the road, leadin' up in'ta the Bentlaw Range some two mile out'ta town, an' stayin' among the mountains the whole way t'Avondale ten mile thetaway."
Henrietta sighed heavily before turning away from the much cowed and clearly worried Benson to the group of men beside her.
"Come on, boys, we got some ways t'go yet a'fore we has the pleasure o'paintin' the local landscape with the b-tch's blood. Come on! See you later, Benson!"
Surprisingly they had only ridden another five miles or so, finding themselves once more in the higher latitudes of the foothills of the great Range when they finally sighted their so-wished for prey.
"Hold hard thar, everyone!" Henrietta waving her arm in the air, bringing the riders to a dust-shrouded halt. "What in Hell's goin' on over thar?"
Over there being some half a mile distant immediately in front of them on the sloping grass covered side of the next foothill where a bunch of other riders could be seen grouped round something as yet invisible to the observers.
"Could thet be them?" Sally hardly able to believe her eyes. "Don't seem quite enough o'them, t'my way o'thinkin'.
"Dun'no; only one way t'find out, though." Henrietta deciding on her plan on the hoof. "Pistols at the ready, boys; we ride up thar, see what's a'goin' on, an' takes it from thar. If we has t'shoot make every cartridge count, mind. OK, let's go!"
The trouble with riding roughshod at full speed over open grassland on the slopes of a steep hill is that folks can see you coming from miles off. The present band of outlaws, for such they certainly were, noticed the approaching arrival of Nemesis within seconds of the posse riding forth in righteous anger towards them. Another few seconds and the majority of the raggle-taggle group had re-mounted or turned their steeds and ridden off in several variable directions in small groups of two, three or five, leaving only two figures still standing by their mounts as if focused on something of more import than being arrested by the Law.
"Hold it!" Henrietta shouting this command as they rode up to these few remaining stationary members of the bandit group. "Don't go after any o'them, boys; they's too broken-up ter worry about, an' I don't think Jack's amongst 'em, anyway. OK, you, what the hell's goin for'rard h'yar? Make same snappy as all get-out, too!"
The figure she spoke to rose from a crouching position to reveal herself as a young raven-haired woman, dressed in trousers, shirt, heavy jacket and red leather boots, a wide-brimmed hat on her head, gunbelt at waist though she made no move to reach for her weapon.
"Name's Fanny Daniels, bin ridin' with Jack Hawkins these last three months." Her voice cracking under a great strain. "Me an' Mary h'yar by my side. Us'n Jane Coppins, h'yar lyin' dead a'fore us all at our feet, we wus a trio t'gether o'pals. Jack, howsumever, found fault with Jane over all sort's'a things, culminatin' in a red rage jes' an hour since, over her, Jack, havin' pushed the cits o'thet thar town, a step too far, as is her usual wont—she bein' some cracked in the head, as everyone knows."
Henrietta let out an anguished growl, as of a bear that had lost a particularly juicy fawn in the undergrowth.
"Hell an' double damnation! What d'ya have'ta do t'do yer dam' duty these days? Which way she go? Whar's she headed? What sort'a state's she in? Why in the Hell—!"
Fanny growled herself in return.
"She's madder'n a Spring hare! In the mentals, I means. Lost her rag entire; shot Jane h'yar; Steph shot her, in the side, an' she rode off cursin' like a longshoreman. Thet's it."
"God'dam!" Sally contributing her own distress at this unexpected turn of events. "This whole unpleasantness's jes' got'ta come t'a end somehow, fer sure. Which way she go? Anyone go with her?"
"Anybody go with her?" Fanny obviously amazed at the question. "Be ye out'ta yer mind, woman? We all h'yar, at least all'a us as were h'yar, the gang, I means, we've known fer a long time Jack's bin deterioratin' somethin' awful. But now she's definitely gone the whole hog, mad as a Hatter, certin. We may all be rustlers an' thugs, but none o'us is daft enuff t'follow her anymore. Figure she knew same a'ready, an' same contributed t'her latest brain-storm. Y'may go after her, sure, but jes' mind she's madder'n a crazed bar, an' won't be comin' back from same, take my word on it."
Henrietta folded her hands across her saddle-horn lost in thought for a perceptible time, then sprang into action once again.
"OK, this's the way it's gon'na be—Fanny, which way precisely did she take-off? So's we don't go gallivantin' after any other o'these dam' road-agents scattered in every dam' direction across the local landscape."
"Over t'the west, thetaway." Fanny pointing with a gloved hand. "Might be headin' fer the road t'Alverton, meb'be."
"OK; listen, boys, we're goin' after her, an' her alone. Nobody else. Fanny, I'm leavin' ye an' yer companion h'yar; do what ye likes, go whar ever ye pleases, I got more important prey in mind than ye this day. In short, git lost soon's ye both likes, I don't care none. The rest o'ye! We're goin' after Jack, an' we ain't stoppin' this time till we catches her an' does the necessary thar-upon. Let's go!"
—O—
The idea of riding in the mountains, on a sunny day with a cool breeze blowing and the grass giving of its multitudinous scents as one rode over the sweet pastures, is a dream many have; but the reality of riding in a group where haste, speed, and the intention to get somewhere, and get to that somewhere as speedily as possible over whatever terrain might intervene, is a wholly different kettle of fish. By the time another hour had passed on its way towards Eternity Henrietta and Sally both were beginning to feel the strain; the rest of the posse in no better condition.
"Harry! Stop! Thar's a stream jes' over thar, an' I needs some terrible t'fill my water-bottle an' splash some o'thet thar cool water over me wholesale."
Taking her lover at her word, not least because she felt in exactly the same straits herself, Henrietta nodded, waving the posse to a halt by the said watercourse.
"Twenty minutes, fill yer bottles, make a quick cup o'coffee, an' then we're on our way agin."
Being experts, and having a lifetime's experience in same, it took only a couple of minutes for a handful of fires to be lit and the coffee bubbling in its pewter mugs and pots.
"God, needed thet!" Sally swallowing her hot potion as if it were merely ice-water. "How far ahead y'think Jack is by now, lady?"
"No more'n ten mile, cain't be further off." She nodding to herself. "From when we met up with thet Fanny gal, t'now it's bin what? Jes' under a hour? Nah, not more'n ten mile; another coupl'a hours we'll be up with the dam' vagrant fer sure."
"An' then?" Sally already knowing the answer but asking all the same—you never knowing, you know!
"What then? I'll tell ye, darlin', what then. We catches up with her, I pins her eye t'eye, calls her the dirty low-down scraggy pile o'sh-t thet she shor is, then I shoots her directly a'tween the eyes an' calls it attempted escape with armed menaces in my Report. How's thet sound, baby?"
Sally paused before replying.
"It's a solution, sure. Some dubious from a moral point o'view, meb'be—if morals was what ye were lookin' at the sity-ation with. Otherwise, a wholly acceptable solution. Think Charlie'll absorb same without kickin' back none?"
Henrietta, on her part, took a moment to consider Sheriff Charles Donaldson back at Red Flume, awaiting her Report on the posse's success or lack of same.
"Look at it this way, lover, we took out after Jack with the sole intent o'bringing her by the heels at the feet o'Justice with a capital Jay! What with one thing an' another it's become clar t'me, at least, the only sure-fire method o'accomplishing same is with pistols at short range, used promiscus an' without mercy! How's thet rock yer boat, leddy?"
Sally shrugged in as unworried a manner as she could adopt at short notice.
"It's a plan, sure; like I said. Up t'you entire, I ain't complainin' none."
"Yeah, well, thet's OK, then."
By this time the rest of the posse had drunk their coffee, re-filled their water-bottles, let their mounts slake their own thirst in the shallow stream, and were ready for the next step in the interminable chase.
"OK, boys!" Henrietta sounding relieved and recharged herself. "Let's git on our way; won't be long now."
On a flat plain, or even in a desert landscape, a five mile run could be accomplished in short order if rider and mount were in good condition; but over the slippery grass-covered slopes of numerous foothills, not to say the steep scree-covered sides of actual mountains themselves, it was an entirely different matter—a five mile ride often taking most of a day, depending on various circumstances, of weather and physical condition, of horses as well as riders. Sufficient to say that by the end of another two hours, late afternoon rapidly approaching, everyone, including the mounts, were feeling the pace and the strain.
They had just slowed to a gentle trot to rest the mounts when Liam Johnson rode over to the women.
"Bin taking a view through my spy-glass agin, leddies."
"Yeah?" Henrietta waiting on his reply. "See anythin' o'interest anywhar?"
"Yep. Jes' over t'wards the far horizon, t'the east, thar. See the slope o'thet thar mountain? With the two long screes? Waal, a'tween them thar's a long extended dust-cloud, like to someone riding thar."
"Har!" Henrietta all attention in a bare second. "Someone ridin', y'say? An' h'yar, at the present moment! Cain't be anyone else but dam' Jack, fer sure. How far off's she, y'think?"
"I'd say not more'n two mile complete, but she's half-way up the side o'thet thar mountain, God knows why?"
"Slow her down all the more, God be praised!" Henrietta smelling the scent of the Hunt and Success in her nostrils. "Come on, Sally—boys! We're nearly thar, at last!"
—O—
The only known, acceptable, and possible method of taking-on a mountain scree is to dismount and walk, step by uncertain step across the loose ever-sliding surface of small pebbles, stones, and actual boulders; the possibility of activating a loose scree-fall or full-on avalanche ever-present; the number of riders making-up the posse only contributing even more to these likelihoods. The only up-side being that they could now see, far ahead across the intervening steep slope of the mountain, a standing horse, though there was no sign of its rider, even through Liam's spy-glass.
"What's up, y'think?"
"Cain't say." Henrietta shaking her head as they progressed over the unsafe gravelly surface. "Dam' this scree, y'kin feel it movin' under every dam' step. We'll see when we gits thar, baby. Meanwhile watch yer step."
Another careful, though danger-ridden, half hour's scramble—not without heart-wrenching incident, when a horse slid fifty feet down the scree on its haunches before being rescued, not without trouble and strain on the mens' part—finally resulted in their arrival, more or less without undue injury, beside the abandoned horse; it seeming more or less in good condition, though a little nervous. Of its rider, however, there was no sign whatever.
"Bloodstains on the saddle." Sally registering this clue as they all stood round the steed.
"Hmm," Henrietta not jumping to conclusions without evidence, as was her way. "Didn't slide down the scree, we'd'a seen same; an' the body'd still be in view down thar, some five hunner feet below. Nah, she's gone along the side o'the mountain, fer some reason."
"Might she have climbed t'wards the summit, y'think?" Sally putting this hypothesis forward for the Hell of it.
"Nah," Henrietta just as sure of the impossibility of this possibility. "If so, we'd still have her in view up thar; which she ain't, so she hasn't, if'n y'catch's my drift?"
Sally simply raised her eyebrows in answer as they set forth over the scree once more, one of the men taking the loose mount in hand meanwhile.
Ten minutes hard labour and they reached the other side of the dangerous scree, standing on what passed for solid ground again on the mountain slope.
"This's better." Sally relieved beyond belief, sighing wholeheartedly. "Don't wan'na do thet twice, fer sure!"
"Be thet a body, over thar?" This shout coming from one of the leading men.
A minute later and the entire posse, Henrietta and Sally in the van, stood looking down at the last mortal remains of Georgina Jack Hawkins, lying on the ground in a pile of untidy disordered dirty clothing; the right side of her shirt soaked in dark red blood. Sally crouched by her side, gently examining her as closely as circumstances allowed.
"She's dead, shot through the right side; lost a dam' lot'ta blood—died thereof, I'm sure."
Henrietta sighed loudly and emotionally, obviously feeling herself unkindly denied her lawful prey at the final hurdle.
"Dem'nation!"
—O—
"An' ye sez it warn't you as shot her, promiscus an' with feelin' while she was otherwise engaged?" Sheriff Charles Donaldson frowning darkly a week later in his office in Red Flume as he covered the obvious question on the posse's return, they having left the body in question in Olendyke.
"—'course she didn't, Charlie!" Sally coming strongly to her lover's rescue.
"Let Harry tell her own tale." Charles not to be brow-beaten. "Go on, Harry, hit me with the worst."
So the whole sorry odyssey of the posse's comings and goings across a large slice of Arizona was re-worked for his pleasure over the next half-hour; he finally accepting Fate as it was described to him, if only because there wasn't the faintest hope of any clearer or truer explanation coming forward.
"Oh-OK! Y'kin git t'figurin' out the shares of the total rewards fer her an' the bunch o'deadbeats ye did bring in alive. Mind, the shares goes t'the posse entire, you two don't git none, bein' wholly registered Officers o'the Town's Law. All ye two gits is yer lawful weekly pay."
Sally sneered loudly.
"How's about a trifle o'lawless bonus, under the counter, sort'a thing, boss?"
"On yer way, youngster! Yer an hour late fer yer mornin' carousel round the dam' streets as it is." Charles not supporting mutiny on his watch whatever. "Another half-hour without your beauteous presence amongst the citizenry an' I'll be gittin' complaints the whole town's turnin' lawless in it's own right. Git on out thar, leddies!"
Sally turned unwillingly to the door, behind the equally dissatisfied Henrietta, though not without casting a malicious parting-shot back over her shoulder.
"Charlie, yer a mean sun'na-a-somthin' or other, ye knows thet, right?"
"Git, leddy!"
The End
Another 'Red Flume' story will arrive shortly.