MISSION OF VENGEANCE

A Sequel to "Laramie - The Runt" (1962)

First Prize Winner, the Leonard Nimoy Convention, Nottingham, 1986

 

Rix Catlin came to, on the floor of the cell Slim Sherman had pushed him into, to the sound of gunfire nearby. He groaned as he pulled himself upright and sat heavily on the bed, his body aching and his lip and left eyebrow bleeding from the fight he had just lost with his step-brother, then Sherman. He was still sitting on the bed, holding his head in pain and despair, when Sherman burst into the jailhouse. Seeing Catlin was conscious, he threw the guns he had acquired onto the desk and, dragging his feet, came over to the cell. Catlin did not look up. "Your brothers are dead, Catlin." he announced unceremoniously.

"Awwwww." Catlin got up, turned his back on Sherman and stood, hands on the cell wall, head bowed. Suddenly he spun round, eyes burning hatred as he quickly paced the distance to confront the temporary lawman. "Didya haveta kill them, Sherman? Why' d you haveta kill them?"

Sherman backed off a couple of paces to avoid Catlin's flailing hands. "Calm down, cowboy." he soothed. "I had no option - they came outta the bank with guns blazin' - they hadta be stopped."

"Oh, sure, you stopped them okay, you stopped them good and proper! I shoulda dropped you when I had the chance!" Catlin shouted, angrily, despairingly.

Sherman could see there was no point in arguing with the captured outlaw. Instead, he said "You'll not be goin' anywhere, either, Catlin. The Circuit Judge comes round in a coupla weeks' time. You'll be given a fair trial."

The remark just added fuel to Catlin's anger. "Fair trial! Hah! You cain't wait to get my head in a noose to collect the reward!"

"Any reward money there may be will go to your step-brother and his young wife to help redeem the money he lost when you set fire to his crop. You and your brothers have robbed two banks, killed a teller in the Denver raid and killed Marshall Brody. You can't expect clemency."

"I never killed no-one." asserted Catlin. "It was Lew - he done all the killin' - me and Cobey had no stomach for that, but he kept sayin' that dead men tell no tales..."

"Tell that to the Judge, Catlin." replied Sherman gruffly, remembering the murder in Catlin's eyes when he was about to shoot him in cold blood. He walked out the jailhouse door, carefully locking it behind him.

---oo0oo---

It was evening, and a mood of depression had replaced Catlin's anger. Sherman had returned and was sitting at his desk, doing some paperwork. Catlin sat, arms on legs, hands clasped, head bowed. The noises of the bustling frontier town were all around, and the pleasant smell of cooking wafting in on the evening breeze made him suddenly realise how hungry he was. Unwilling to admit any kind of weakness, he said nothing. There was a knock on the jailhouse door, and Sherman rose, looked out, smiled and opened the door. Catlin saw a small, brunette bargirl enter, a red rose at her cleavage the only adornment of her black dress. She smiled up at the tall lawman. "The girls reckoned you'd be hungry, Slim." she said as she laid an aromatic basket on his desk.

"Sure am, Noreen, sure am."

Noreen's curiosity got the better of her, and her eyes strayed to the prisoner in the cell. Catlin turned his head away from her gaze. "We prepared some for your prisoner, too." she said as Sherman unpacked the contents. "Has he to get any?"

Catlin looked up again.

"Weeelll..." drawled Sherman, "reckon I haveta keep him alive till the Judge comes." and he took a portion of the barbecued chicken over to Catlin. While Noreen flirted with her favourite bachelor, Catlin ate the proffered meal enthusiastically. Although Noreen was all eyes for the tall lawman, her attention strayed occasionally, when she thought Sherman wasn't looking, to the man in the cell. She felt a small thrill when he nodded recognition in return. He remembers! She thought, happily.

When Sherman had finished his meal, she packed away the dishes, then said "Can I get his plate from him, Slim?"

"Uh, yeah. Catlin, push your plate under the bars." and Noreen went to collect it. Catlin caught a whiff of exotic perfume and heard the swishing silk of her dress as she stooped to pick up the plate and, despite his dark mood, he felt a quickening of interest as their eyes met. His sudden, wide smile as he said loudly "Thank you, ma'am." took her by surprise. In a quick whisper he added "Don't let on you know me!" She flounced and bustled out of the jailhouse. Catlin turned away in order that Sherman could not see the grin on his face, and the sudden upsurge of hope in his heart.

She visited the jailhouse twice daily with meals for the temporary sheriff and his prisoner, and Sherman allowed Catlin a little time with her as the days went by. After one short visit Sherman said "Don't you get interested in that owlhoot, Noreen. He's a killer. Judge Danville comes in a week's time, an' I reckon Catlin can start countin' the days." Noreen caught her breath and left the jailhouse as quickly as possible, her mind in a whirl.

---oo0oo---

The next day Mort Cory returned to duty and Noreen came only once daily thereafter. The evening before the trial, Noreen arrived on time as usual with a steaming, aromatic basket. "Can I give the prisoner his food, please, Mr Cory?" she asked, coyly.

"Don't you go associatin' with that kinda scum, Miss Noreen!" warned the sheriff.

"Oh, no, but he looks so lonely - couldn't I just speak to him for a moment to cheer him up?"

"Oh, well, reckon it'll do no harm, jest this once." and Noreen went into the cells.

Catlin stood up when she came to him, and she watched as he hungrily gulped down the proffered food. Between mouthfuls, he spoke quietly. "Can you get me outta here, baby?"

"I don't know, Rix. The place is so heavily guarded, there's someone watching over you 24 hours a day."

"Lissen!" he hissed. "I gotta idea. Do you know ..."

"HEY! No talking in there!" Sheriff Cory shouted through.

Hurriedly Noreen took the empty plates and cups and whispered "See you later!" and left the jailhouse quickly.

However, although Catlin waited all night at his cell window, Noreen did not return to listen to his plan. A mood of despair again descended over him. Maybe he wasn't going to get out of this one, this time.

---oo0oo---

The trial took place the following afternoon. Despite his counsel's pleas for leniency, witnesses from Denver confirmed he had been the one to shoot a townsman who had been a customer at the bank and who had tried to pull a gun on the robbers. The man had subsequently died of his injury. The judge called on Catlin to stand to receive sentence. "Rix Catlin, you have been found guilty of armed robbery of banks, stages, the murder of a townsman in Denver, and intent to murder Deputy Sherman. You were also an accomplice to the murder of Marshall Brody and to the severe injury of a Laramie stageline driver and his guards. You are therefore sentenced to hang by the neck until dead, sentence to be carried out at dawn tomorrow."

"NO!" Catlin jumped to his feet behind the dock. "You cain't hang me! I ain't killed no-one! It was Lew! Lew and Cobey! They done the killin'!" While Catlin was shouting, two burly court officers were restraining him and hustling him out of the courtroom. A few minutes later the cell door clanged behind him. Soon after, he could hear the sound of carpentry in the front street, which continued for the rest of the afternoon.

---oo0oo---

By dinner time Catlin was feeling desperate - he had less than twelve hours to live, had no chance of escape and the scaffold was waiting for him in the morning. Then Noreen arrived with the evening meal. He heard the sound of her voice, muffled through the closed cell block door, then the clank of the bolts as Sheriff Cory admitted her with his last dinner. To Catlin's surprise, Cory closed the door behind him and allowed the two a few moments together. The conversation was whispered and rapid.

"Rix, don't eat the food!"

"Why, dammit? Cain't the condemned man have his last meal?"

"The sheriff's eating his now. Give it half-an-hour and I'll be back - I've put something in his food and coffee to knock him off to sleep for six hours or so - he'll be dead to the world, so to speak! Wait till it's dark and I'll have a horse in the alleyway for you. I'll meet you in Canada, my love, then we can be together forever!"

"Yeah! Yeah! I'll meet you in Medicine Hat in a month's time, baby!" and he succeeded, with difficulty, in kissing her through the bars. Then she backed off and he shouted loudly "Get outta here! I don't need sympathy from no-one! Go away, and take your damned food with ya!" and he threw it at her through the bars. Mort Cory ran to the cell door and hustled the apparently frightened girl away. Cory had eaten his meal and Noreen cleared up the plates and left quickly.

---oo0oo---

Under cover of darkness she led the hired horse into the alleyway and knocked at the jailhouse door. Receiving no reply she slipped quickly in. Cory was slumped over his desk, snoring loudly. She took the cell keys from his belt and unbolted the door.

"Come ooon, come ooon, lemme outta here, baby, fast!" urged Catlin impatiently while she found the right key for his cell. The lock snapped open and Catlin was out in an instant. He unbuckled Cory's gunbelt from the sleeping man's waist and took a carbine from the rack, checking that it was loaded. He also grabbed a box of cartridges from a drawer before looking out from under the drawn blinds into the dark street. Seeing the coast was clear, he quickly turned, kissed Noreen roughly and, with a "See ya in Medicine Hat!", slipped into the night, deliberately not looking towards the waiting scaffold which was silhouetted against the night sky. Noreen heard the pounding of hooves, then he was gone.

---oo0oo---

Noreen, however, was not the only one to hear the pounding hooves. Slim Sherman, in town for Catlin's trial as a key witness, had stayed on to take provisions back to the ranch in the morning. He was walking back to the hotel for the night when he was nearly run over by Catlin, riding hard out of the dark alley. Recognising the tall figure on the sprinting horse, he drew his gun, called "Catlin, stop!" and fired. He saw Catlin rock in the saddle and heard a cry of pain as he dropped the rifle, but Catlin stayed on and rode hard out of town.

Sherman holstered his gun and ran towards the jailhouse. He found Noreen there, looking down at the unconscious lawman. Sherman was immediately suspicious. "What're you doin' here at this time of night, Miss Noreen?"

"I ... I was going home, Slim, and I - thought I heard something. Catlin was escaping - he - he pushed me down and ran away! Oh, Slim, is the Sheriff all right?"

"I don't know, Noreen." he replied, believing her story. "You'd better get the doc to come and look at Mort. Don't see any signs of injury on him, though."

Noreen ran for the doctor while Sherman watched over the sheriff. She managed to buy time for Catlin to make good his escape before Sherman mounted up and followed the trail north that Catlin had taken. Before he left in pursuit of Catlin, Sherman left a note for Jess and Daisy at the ranch.

---oo0oo---

Fortunately for Catlin, Sherman's aim in the dark had been poor, and the bullet had just creased his shoulder, causing a lot of blood to be lost, but nothing worse. He stopped at the nearest waterhole and cleaned the wound, grunting in pain as the cold water stung. He bandaged himself up with difficulty using his bandana, then rode on towards the Catlin ranch. Opening the empty barn door, he slipped into the enveloping darkness, hurriedly sought for, and found, the saddlebag he had stashed away when he and his brothers were there earlier. He checked that all the money was still there. Satisfied, he slung the saddlebag over his horse's back, then made for the ranch house. Sandy and Marcy Catlin were asleep in each other's arms when he broke in. Sandy jumped out of bed, reaching for his gun, but Catlin was quicker and the butt of his pistol crashed down on Sandy's head. "I owed you that one, runt!" he grunted as Sandy fell unconscious to the floor. Marcy screamed and made to go to her fallen husband's side, but Catlin stepped in front of her, barring her way. "Now, you little shorthorn" growled the angry outlaw, "you are comin' with me as insurance for me gettin' across the Border in one piece! Get dressed - fast!" Marcy's eyes grew wide in fear and she backed away. "Do it fast and you won't get hurt!" he shouted as he threw the dress she'd left over a chair towards her.

"Don't - don't look!" she gasped, clutching her nightgown.

"What, and have you kill me while my back's turned just to preserve your modesty? Hah! I ain't that stoopid."

Thinking quickly, she turned her back, knowing there was a derringer in the bedside drawer. If only she could ... She made a dive for the drawer, but Catlin leaped over the bed and slammed it shut on her hand. She screamed in pain and struggled against him as one big hand gripped her thin wrists. She tried unsuccessfully to kick him in the groin and, suddenly stimulated after months of purely male company by her violent resistance and her nearness, he threw her on the bed. With his other hand he prepared himself, then her, and, stifling her screams, he used her to exhaustion. Finally slumped over her, he felt a warm wetness spreading over the bed. In the dawn light he looked down and saw a great deal of blood on the covers. She seemed to be unconscious and he jumped off the bed, appalled at what he saw there. He quickly checked the still-unconscious form of his step-brother, raided the pantry of as much food as his saddlebags could hold, and made his escape, heading north.

---oo0oo---

Slim Sherman played a hunch and headed for the Catlin spread, arriving shortly after sunup. Suspecting trouble, he tied his horse to the corral, drew his gun and stalked towards the ranch house. He knew that Sandy would normally be up and about his daily chores by this time, so he suspected a trap. He glanced obliquely in at the bedroom window and saw Sandy lying there, struggling back to consciousness. Holstering his gun, he ran in to help the injured man, then he saw Marcy. Shocked and sickened at the sight, he realised immediately what had happened. She was fevered and delirious, tossing her head to the left and right on the pillow, softly sobbing and muttering "No! No!"

Sherman thought fast - take too long to head back to town, be quicker to go get Daisy - she'd know how best to help Marcy. He went back to Sandy, who was trying to pull himself upright, holding his head and swaying. Then he saw his wife. "Marcy! Oh, my God, Marcy!" Slim guided him to a chair and said "Stay right there, Sandy, I'm goin' to get help. Was it...?"

"Rix! It was Rix, Sherman. I'm gonna kill him for this!"

"There'll be no killing, Sandy. The law will deal with him, I promise!" and he rode out for help.

---oo0oo---

Sheriff Mort Cory was no fool. When he had recovered, he immediately went in search of Noreen. At the saloon, Kitty told him that she'd said she wanted to see her sister, and rode out early in the morning.

"Did you see which way she was headed, Miss Kitty?"

"North, I think, sheriff."

Cory organised a posse of four volunteers and headed up the road.

They met Slim Sherman riding back into town. He told the sheriff what Catlin had done, and they rode hard and fast in pursuit of the criminal.

---oo0oo---

Catlin, meanwhile, was worried and ridden with guilt. He knew his only chance was to reach the Canadian border, but to do that he had to cross the whole of Wyoming and Montana territories, a distance of some 500 miles. He also knew that he would have to avoid every township on the route, as the Laramie sheriff would have telegraphed all the lawmen down the line to watch out for him. He was forced to ride through the high country, going for days without seeing anybody, and sustaining himself with the bread, cheese and jerky he'd taken from Sandy's kitchen. He was soon forced to ride into a ranch, where he worked for a couple of days in exchange for food and a bunk then, raiding the cookhouse larder, he rode on into the night.

---oo0oo---

When Sheriff Cory's posse reached the town of Casper, Slim took Mort to one side. "Mort, I gotta hunch. Catlin knows the territory real well - he ain't gonna show in town unless he's desperate for food or assistance of any kind. I'm sure I winged him when he escaped - maybe he needs a doc."

"Good thinking, Slim. You check that out, I'll pay a call on Sheriff Lumsden."

Sheriff Lumsden offered information on the theft of food by an itinerant cowboy from a ranch nearby. The ranch manager had given a good description of the man, saying that his shirt had been stained with old blood which the man had attempted to wash off.

However, Catlin was wily and his horse was agile. He crossed the county line into Montana five days after escaping from Laramie. Mort Cory was forced to turn back to Laramie, as his jurisdiction did not hold in another State. However, Slim Sherman was a determined man. "I owe this to Sandy and Marcy, Mort. I promised him that justice would be done, and I intend to do it, bring him back for hangin'."

---oo0oo---

When Catlin crossed the County line he knew he was free of the Laramie posse, but he reckoned without Sherman's dogged persistence. Unable to sustain himself any longer with stolen food, he was forced to shoot game. Camping by the side of a tributary of the Yellowstone River one evening, Stetson tipped over his eyes as he waited for the skinned rabbit to barbecue, he dozed over and did not hear Sherman's stealthy approach.

Sherman saw him in the campfire light, head resting on his saddle, feet towards the fire, his hands clasped across his chest as he rested. The first thing Catlin heard was Sherman's gun cocking. He jumped up, reaching for his gun, only to look down the barrel of Sherman's 45.

"We meet again, Catlin." drawled Sherman. "Unbuckle your gunbelt, then reach!"

Catlin, standing, had no option but to obey, and raised his hands, as expressions of anger, hate and worry flitted across his features. Then he started to chuckle. "What you plannin' on doin' with me, Sherman?" he asked.

"I'm takin' you in to the nearest sheriff in Miles City, Catlin."

"Heh. That's a good coupla days' ride yet. Jest me agin' you - you reckon you'll last out that long?"

"I've made it this far, cowboy."

"Hm. Yeah. Well, I was jest gonna have food - care to join me?"

"Reckon not, Catlin - I've had mine."

"Okay. Tell me - how'd you find me?"

"Heard your gun." replied Sherman, indicating the cooking rabbit.

"Oh. Ah, well, a man's gotta eat." and he settled down to his evening meal, then, stoking up the fire, turned in for the night.

---oo0oo---

Sherman knew that if he fell asleep, he would be dead. Catlin was a killer and would not hesitate, if the opportunity arose, to kill him and escape. Exhausted from his day's ride, he was unsure whether or not he could last out without sleep till he got Catlin into town. Catlin, however, was impatient. His active mind had thought up a ruse and, in the dead of night, he started moaning.

"Shut up that moanin' Catlin." growled the sleepy Sherman.

"Ahhhh!" gasped Catlin. "My gut - it's agony!" and he doubled up on the ground, both arms wrapped around him. "Must've - been - that bobtail!" and he rolled around, giving the acting performance of his life. Sherman approached hesitantly, unsure whether Catlin was faking or not. When he was within reach, Catlin uncoiled like a spring and brought Sherman down, fighting and struggling for the gun in the darkness. Sherman's head hit a stone when he fell and, groggy, was unable to fully defend himself against the rested badman. Two hard blows to the jaw were sufficient to defeat the big lawman. Catlin struggled to his feet, gun in hand. "I owed you that, Sherman." he said, eyes flashing with hate as he cocked the gun at the helpless man. This time there was no-one to stop him pulling the trigger ...

Sherman twisted at the last moment, but the bullet caught him in the side and he collapsed by the campfire. "Guess all I need to do is leave you here to die reeeal slow, lawman." he drawled, laughing evilly as he rode out.

---oo0oo---

The sun was rising when another rider reached Catlin's overnight camp and discovered Slim Sherman's unconscious form lying, face down, next to the embers of the fire. The man, tall and lean with a black frock-coat, wide-brimmed hat, and gun, holster and saddle tricked out with silver, gently turned Sherman over. Sherman's eyes flickered open and he let out a groan. The stranger opened Sherman's shirt and examined the damage, then went to his saddle and gave Sherman some water from his canteen, which he gulped down eagerly, then sputtered and coughed as the water choked him.

"Hey, take it easy, cowboy!" the man in black urged. "You gotta bad wound there but I reckon you've been lucky - the bullet's passed clean through your body an' I don't think anythin' vital's been hit. Let me tend to it, then I'll take you into the nearest township."

For the first time, Sherman's eyes focused on his succour. "Hey," Sherman's voice was a croak, "don't I know you from somewhere?"

The stranger gave a soft laugh. "Maybe you do, cowboy, maybe you do." Then he set about his task. "Tell me, who did this to you? Was it Rix Catlin?"

"You - aaah! - know him?"

"Could say that." came the terse reply.

"Have you been trackin' him, too?" persisted Sherman.

"Sure have."

"Ohhh - now I know who you are! You're - ah! - a long way from home, ain't you?"

"So're you."

"I got good reason to." replied Sherman, defensively.

"So've I." the other man drawled.

"He an' his brothers done damage in your area, too?"

The man's eyes hardened with memory as he replied "Yep."

"What happened?"

"That's gonna be between Catlin an' I. Enough talkin'. I'm gonna mount up behind you an' get you to a proper doctor - take some time, but I reckon I kin still catch the varmint afore he reaches the Border." Then, attaching the reins of Slim's horse to his silver saddle pommel, he eased the wounded man onto the saddle and they rode slowly out.

---oo0oo---

Catlin lived like the hungry, hunted animal he was; living off the land, living on his wits. He slept in barns, line shacks, disused mineshafts and under thickets, stealing food from sleeping homesteads and disappearing like a shadow into the night. He was dirty, smelly and unshaven, his clothes unkempt and torn on overhanging trees and shrubs; his face became gaunt and his eyes haunted; his whole body ached and his head was heavy with a depression he could not dispel. As he rode, he continuously glanced over his shoulder, back down the trail, tormented by a prickly sensation in the nape of his neck and the conviction that he was not alone... He covered his tracks as best he could without losing too much time, but as the long trek north wore on and exhaustion set in, he began to be careless. And all the time, a hunter stalked his prey.

---oo0oo---

One night in Montana he made camp in a heavily wooded area. He had had no food all that day, and had no prospect of any. Wearily he attended to his horse, which cropped the grasses on the ferny ground. Suddenly he froze - something, or someone was moving about in the undergrowth. A bear? A coyote? A potential meal? He drew his pistol, cocked it. Then a childish, tremulous voice called uncertainly "Poppa?" A kid! Out here at this time of night? Must be lost. "Over here, sonny!" he called. Suddenly a six-year-old, blond, tousle-haired boy rocketed out of the brush and into his arms. "POPPA!"

"No, son," he said, gently putting the child back on his feet, "I'm not your paw."

The boy drew back, unsure, a good bit frightened. "I WANT MY POPPA!" he yelled.

"Hey! Hey! Calm down will ya!" Catlin hunkered down to be on a level with the button-nosed boy. "I ain't gonna hurt you. The boy shifted his weight from foot to foot, still unsure. "What're you doin' out here at this time a' night?"

"I'm runnin' AWAY." stated the boy.

"Oh, now that ain't a bright thing ta do, kid. Where do you live?" The child turned and pointed vaguely back down the trail. "What's your name?"

"T-Tommy."

"Well, Tommy, now just what's makin' you run away from your Mommy an' Poppa?"

The boy regarded him warily, uncertain whether or not to trust this stranger. He walked forward and dumped a little package he was holding.

Curious, Catlin asked "What's in the package, son?"

"Cheese."

"Hey, I'm real hungry - share it with me, huh?"

Somewhat reluctantly the boy halved the chunk of cheese, and Catlin sat by the campfire and ate it with relish. The boy watched, then sat beside him and ate his piece, too. Catlin went to his horse, unhitched the canteen of water, and they drank as they sat by the campfire.

"Now - you gonna tell me why you're out here?" Catlin was insistent.

"Mommy and Poppa are sending me to school and I don't want to have book-learnin'." asserted Tommy.

"Why not?" Catlin's voice was deep, gentle.

"I don't need to learn things."

"Weeeell, I'm gonna tell ya somethin', kid, and you kin believe it if'n you want."

The boy's curiosity was pricked. "Yeah, mister?"

"My name's Rix, son - Rix Catlin. Anyway, if'n you don't have no book-learnin', you'll end up like me."

"But you're free, mister."

Catlin chuckled at that remark. "Free. Yeah, free. Free an' runnin'. You wanna be a badman, kid?"

Tommy's eyes widened. "You a badman, mister?"

"Reckon I am, Tommy."

"Gee whizz! What'd you do?"

"Robbed a bank, stagecoaches, shot a man." Catlin' s voice was low, not boastful.

"Wow! Tell me about it!" and Tommy lay down, hands at the back of his head, feet towards the campfire.

"Don't you think you should be gettin' back to your Ma and Pa - they'll be worried clean outta their minds over you, you know."

"But I wanna be a badman, like you!"

"No, you don't. Reckon it's too dark to find your own way back tonight, kid, an' they'll probably be out searchin' for you at first light, anyway."

"Awww."

Catlin could see the youngster was very sleepy, so he took his bedroll off his horse's back, tossed it towards the boy. "Here, bed down in this. I'll get you back home somehow."

"Tell me a story, Mr Catlin - please!" pleaded the boy, but long before Catlin could work out a suitably innocuous story, the little boy had fallen asleep.

---oo0oo---

Catlin now had a big problem. He had no intention of retracing his steps and meeting someone, possibly even a lawman, out looking for the boy. On the other hand, he couldn't leave him out here on his own. The fire was guttering and he was almost asleep himself when the boy woke up suddenly and screamed. Catlin was awake instantly and on his feet, but when he saw what had caused the boy's terror, he froze. A rattlesnake, tail aquiver, tongue flicking, was inches away from the boy's face. At the angle he was standing, he could not shoot the snake without shooting the boy. He had to circle round to be behind the boy - and there wasn't much time, he knew.

"Don't move a muscle, kid!" commanded Catlin, as he warily sidestepped round him. The boy was shaking with fright, but stayed quite still. It was going to be difficult shooting in the dark, towards the firelight, Catlin realised, but the first bullet must kill it. Gently, so as not to irritate the reptile, Catlin drew his gun, aimed and fired. The snake died immediately, and Catlin had a frightened little boy to comfort.

The scream and the shot, however, had not gone unheard. Catlin, still holding the crying child, did not hear the two men approach until they stepped into the circle of light. He made to jump up, going for his gun, but the two men both had their guns drawn. Catlin straightened, hands up in surrender. His eyes flicked over his unwanted guests. One was fat, with a florid face, long red hair and beard and small, slitted eyes. The other was smaller, quite young, clean shaven and wearing clothes that were too big for him. They looked what they were - saddlebums. Catlin edged away from the boy. "Whaddaya want?" he asked angrily.

"Ohhh, now, don't be uncivil, neighbour," said Fatso, "we only want a bite to eat!"

"Sorry," drawled Catlin, "I'm clean outta food tonight."

"Well, ain't that jest too bad. Wonder what you've got in them saddlebags then?" and he made to go over to Catlin's tethered horse.

"No!" Catlin made a dive at the man, but his small partner was fast and Catlin's brain exploded as the butt of Tiny's gun crashed down on his skull. With a grunt of pain he fell and lay face-down, unmoving.

---oo0oo---

The first thing he was conscious of was the throbbing agony in his skull. The daylight, even through his closed eyes, made it worse and he groaned, covering his eyes with his hand.

"He's coming to at last." he heard a man's voice speaking. Something cool was placed on his forehead and he struggled to full consciousness. He looked up into a woman s concerned face and realised he was indoors, lying on a soft bed.

"Wh-Where am I?" his voice was a croak.

"Shhh. Don't speak." the woman replied.

"Ohhh, my head." he groaned, closing his eyes against the light of day.

"You're safe, Mr Catlin," the man's voice said. "We're Tommy's parents and you're at our homestead."

Catlin tried to struggle onto his elbows. "Sa-Saddlebags?" he managed to say.

"They're safe, too."

Catlin subsided onto his back again. He realised he was very thirsty. "Water - please, water."

"Here, drink this, Mr Catlin, it'll help you to sleep and you'll be better in the morning." said the woman.

"No, no sleep, must move on..."

"You're not goin' anywhere with a concussion like that, Mr Catlin. Now - drink up." the woman said, assertively.

Too weak to argue, he did as he was told, and drifted into a deep sleep.

---oo0oo---

He woke the next morning to a cock crowing and smells of cooking wafted towards him. He realised he was very hungry. His head still hurt, but he was able to get up out of the soft bed.

"Good morning, Mr Catlin, feeling better?" the housewife asked brightly.

He sat on the edge of the bed, holding his head. "I've felt better, but I sure could do with some of that grub you're cookin'." and he shakily got to his feet.

Tommy raced in and headed straight for Catlin, wrapping his arms around Catlin's slim waist. "Oh, great, you're all better!" he shouted. Catlin winced, then bent down to the boy, riffling his blond hair. "Yeah, I'm better!" he managed a smile. Tommy's father then entered, a bucket of freshly drawn milk in his hand. "Ah, Mr Catlin, good morning." he put down the bucket and sat at the breakfast table. "Here, join us. I must fill you in about what happened back there." Catlin tucked into a hearty breakfast while the man talked. "Name's Hunter - John Hunter, and this here's my wife, Rita. Guess you've already met Tommy." Catlin nodded, his mouth full.

"These two owlhoots weren't the only ones to hear my son scream and your gunshot when you killed the snake. Me and a neighbour were nearby, looking for my son, and came runnin'. You were down and out and Tommy was kneeling over you while the two men were stealing your saddlebags and preparing to ride off. I stopped them, had to shoot one, took them into town to the sheriff after getting you and your belongings back home here. Now, Tommy came up with a wild tale that you had told him you were a badman. You were joshin', weren't you?"

Instead of answering the direct question, Catlin sidestepped and said "Uh, how long have I been here?"

"Two days." replied Hunter.

"Awgee." Catlin stood up quickly. "I gotta get goin'."

"You are on the run, ain't you?" persisted Hunter.

"I gotta deadline to keep, Hunter, gotta meet a cute little girl in Medicine Hat, real soon. If I ain't there, maybe she won't wait fer me." He rose from the table.

"You're carryin' a lotta loot in them saddlebags, Catlin."

"Don't trust banks." replied Catlin, curtly, strapping on his gunbelt. "Look, Catlin, you saved my son's life and I'm real grateful to you for that. I owe you one. I gotta ride north and, if you like, I'll ride with you."

"No, I..." then Catlin stopped, thinking. Protection. If there's anybody lookin' for me, they'll not look at two riders, an' that money's a sore temptation to anyone. Yeah. Makes sense. "Mr Hunter," he said formally, pulling himself up to his full six foot height, "I'd be pleased of some company."

"Swell. My trip takes me to Shelby, just a few miles from the Border. I'll be ready to ride in a few minutes."

While Catlin was saddling his horse, Tommy approached shyly. "Mr Catlin?"

"Hi, son." Catlin turned and hunkered down again.

"You all right, Mr Catlin?"

"My head hurts a bit, but I'll be jest fine, kiddo. Here." He reached into his shirt pocket, took out a silver dollar. "This here's my good luck charm. Guess I won't be needin' it once I get across the Border. I want you to have it, and to promise me you'll stick in at your book learnin' an' never to aim at bein' a badman."

"Gee, Mr Catlin, thanks." said the boy, taking the silver coin. "I promise." His eyes were shining with wonder and admiration at the man who had shot the snake for him. "Will you come back, Mr Catlin?"

Mounting up, Rix Catlin felt a shiver running down his spine, and heard himself saying, "No, son, I reckon not. But you take care of that silver dollar for me, y'hear?" Then, pulling on his reins, Catlin rode out with Hunter. There were tears in the little boy's eyes as he waved at the receding figures of his father and the dark, mysterious stranger.

"G'bye."

---oo0oo---

Catlin's luck ran out one day's ride from the Border, after he had left Hunter, and the township of Shelby, behind. On a lonely stretch of the road, with a cliff-face on one side, a shot rang out and his horse fell from under him, throwing him. He fell and lay there, winded. Someone scrabbled down the rocks towards him. He came to with the feeling of his gun being removed from its holster. It was Fatso. Catlin made to get up. "Jest you stay right where you are, cowboy. This is where you and your saddlebags full o' money part company, permanently." Fatso's campadre, Tiny, followed him down the slope, his arm in a sling. Catlin looked over to his horse. It was dead. They had the drop on him and there was nothing he could do but stand and watch them rob him. "You an' your buddy made us have a coupla nights in th' slammer, now that wasn't real neighbourly, was it?" Fatso's voice was dripping irony. He stopped to think. "Tell you what, cowboy. I'm gonna give you a break. Yeah. You start walkin' the way you was goin' an' I'll not take you out. Now, ain't that fair?" and he punctuated the statement by aiming a few bullets from his rifle at Catlin's feet, making him dance. Catlin was furious but, defenceless, he had no option but to walk. Fatso threw him his bedroll, a strip of junky and his canteen of water. The last he heard of them was their wild laughter as they rode in the opposite direction down the trail. They did not, however, get very far.

---oo0oo---

As he walked, the prickly sensation in Catlin's neck increased, as did his uneasiness and the frequency with which he turned to look back down the road he had come. Was that a dust trail, or just the wind whipping up the soil? Was that a glint of metal, or only the sun reflecting off the rocks? He plodded on - there wasn't far to go... He was sure that all the obstacles to him becoming a free man had been removed. He had thrown off the Colorado posse and disposed of Sherman. There were many trails leading into Canada, and the thinly-spread body of lawmen would be unable to cover all the routes out of the country. As long as his strength held, tomorrow he'd be over the Border and heading for Medicine Hat and a cute little girl who was waiting for him there. Maybe he'd marry her and settle down, leave his crimes behind him. He'd waylay a single rider, steal his horse and make good his escape. Steal some more money somehow. Yeah. He walked a little faster.

---oo0oo---

Night was falling and he found a small cave in the rocks on a high ridge above the roadside. He went in. It smelled of animals, but was unoccupied. Real fine. He ate the last piece of junky and sipped the precious water from the canteen. Before settling down for the night he went out of the cave. Looking down the valley of the road he had come, his keen eyes saw, in the distance, a flickering campfire. For a moment his blood ran cold, then he reckoned it could be anybody - his robbers, some trappers, cowboys, anybody. No, nothing to worry about. He went back in, covered himself with his blanket, and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

---oo0oo---

Only a mile to go to the Border, the wooden sign by the road said. Yee-haa! His heart leaped with real hope at last as he increased his pace till he was almost running. There it was! There was the Borderline! But who was that, up ahead, just over the Border? Someone riding towards him, someone small, in riding leathers and a skirt. A woman! Noreen! It was Noreen! How did she know which road he'd take? No matter, she was here. "Hi!" Despite his exhaustion, his grin was wide. "You came to meet me! Now ain't that fine!" he drawled, conceit and self-satisfaction at his drawing power clearly in his voice.

"Yes, Rix, I came to meet you." There was something cold in her voice that made him stop in his tracks.

"What is it, Noreen? What's the matter? You did real good by me, an' I wanna thank you proper." He edged forward, intent on reaching the horse.

"Don't come any nearer, Rix. There's something I've got to say."

He stopped, puzzled. "Yeah?"

"You've robbed, killed and done other bad things, Rix, but there's something I cannot forgive you for - ever. Marcy Catlin, your step-sister-in-law. You raped her, made her lose the baby. She'll never have any more children. Rix, Marcy is my sister."

"Your sister! Look - I - I didn't mean to hurt her - it - just - happened..." his voice trailed away as she drew a derringer from her skirt. "No! No, gimme a chance!" Catlin backed away, dropping the bedroll pack in the dust, his hands up in surrender.

"Chance? I'm going to give you the same chance you gave Marcy!" she replied, levelling the gun at his body. He reached for his handgun, forgetting it wasn't there. His eyes widened in fear and realisation as she fired at point-blank range.

The impact of the bullet threw him to the ground. Hit in the stomach, he rolled from side to side, gasping in agony, tears of pain streaking his dirty face.

Watching his thrashing dispassionately, Noreen rode up to him, an expression of hatred and disgust twisting her pretty face. "They say it takes a long time for a man to die when he's gut-shot, Rix Catlin. Personally, I hope it takes you days." and she spurred her horse away, back into Canada, without a backward glance.

---oo0oo---

The post in the road that denoted the Canadian Border was just beyond his reach. He could see it - if only he could reach it, he would be a free man ... Teeth gritted, one hand pressed to his stomach, he pulled himself towards it, gasping with pain as he moved. With the last vestiges of his strength he reached it, clutching it with both hands, staining it red with his blood. With the effort the pain reached a crescendo and he cried out, then slid into unconsciousness. He did not hear the approaching hooves, nor see the dark rider dismounting. The man in the black frock-coat leaned down to the curled-up body, felt for a heart-beat and found one. He grunted, then threw some canteen water in the dying man's face. Catlin's eyes flickered open, focused on the man standing above him. His eyes widened with fear. "You! No!" he gasped, grimacing as he clutched his stomach, his voice rasping with pain.

"I gotta score to settle with you, Catlin, but I see someone else had the same idea."

Catlin's mouth shaped the question "Why?"

"You killed kin o' mine in that raid in Denver, Catlin. He died later, real slow and painful, an' I swore I'd avenge him. I should leave you to die real slow too, same as you left that big cowboy you shot down the trail, but I wouldn't want someone comin' along and savin' your worthless hide, so I reckon it's time to treat you like the animal you are an' put you outta your misery for good an' all." Slowly, deliberately, he drew his Buntline Special. Catlin, body wrapped around the white Border post, one hand holding the post tightly, was totally unable to move. He heard the big gun being cocked, and squinted up its lengthy barrel, his face contorted with fear and pain. "Nooo..." Without a trace of compassion, Marshal Wyatt Earp pulled the trigger and, with the Border post and freedom in his grasp, Rix Catlin died.

---oo0oo---

His mission of vengeance complete, Earp slung the body over his horse, the recovered saddlebags behind him, and rode back the way he had come.

---oo0oo---

Soon, very soon, no-one, except, perhaps, a little, tousle-haired boy, would ever remember the name of Rix Catlin.

---oo0oo---

CONTENTS