The circle of vengeance

I didn’t want this; I didn’t want any of it.

I’d made my peace with what I was; what I’d done. I knew death would come for me soon enough, I knew how it would come an’ I was determined that I wouldn’t fight anymore. I’ve done things… I knew they was wrong, I knew the price I’d pay an’ it didn’t bother me. If I had it over again I wouldn’t change a thing I’ve done; not a thing.

They should’ve left alone. But they couldn’t; they were driven by vengeance; a master that’d brook no hesitation, no doubts. Besides they thought I’d be easy pickings now that I’d hung up my guns.’ They didn’t come one at a time, face to face even then. No they came together with the pack’s courage.

It started at night, but then don’t it always? They seemed to think that honed instincts had faded with my willingness to fight. They was wrong. I knew they was coming before they’d gotten within half a mile o’ the cabin; could smell the stench of their fear. I waited, patient like, as they surrounded the cabin; just in case I tried to run. Never mistake an unwillingness to fight with cowardice it ain’t the same thing.

I almost felt sorry for ‘em – after all they was the fathers, sons and brothers o’ the men I had gunned down – almost felt sorry. I ain’t ashamed of what I am; it ain’t nothin’ more’n what the world made o’ me. They shouldn’t o’ come.

I let ‘em get all settled in; coverin’ every window and both doors, waited as they opened up, pumpin’ lead in through the glass and thin wood o’ the door. I felt a pang o’ regret; I’d built the cabin with my own good hands; best work I’d put ‘em too in a long time.

One o’ ‘em dropped his Winchester to strike a match and set a lamp burnin’ then he took a run at the cabin his arm drawn to throw the lamp through the window. He stopped short, the lamp falling to the dirt at his feet. His eyes rolled up as he tried to look at the hole that had blossomed in his forehead.

I looked down at my own hand, saw the pistol there; I’d palmed an’ shot without even realisin’.

He swayed but didn’t fall, I angled the barrel o’ my peacemaker and fired again without thinkin’. The lamp at his feet exploded into flames engulfing him and he collapsed in a burnin’ heap.
‘Bastard!’ The scream came from the dark and another one o’ them lurched forward blazin’ away at the cabin with his pistol.
The peacemaker bucked in my hand an’ his chest exploded, sendin’ him back into the darkness.

The firin’ slowed an’ ceased; and I knew they couldn’t figure how I could be so accurate under their fire. Thing is, I wasn’t in the cabin – they still hadn’t figured that out; it would be the last mistake they made. The man I’d tried to leave behind four years ago was back. They didn’t stand a chance.

‘We’ve got the place surrounded!’ One o’ them shouted – it made it too easy to locate him in the darkness. ‘You can’t get all of us!’
I pushed my gun barrel up against the back o’ his skull, ‘You’re wrong.’ I pulled the trigger feelin’ the wetness of his blood splash against my face.
‘Corey?’ The voice sounded from my right an’ I shook my head. They were too stupid to live. I waited.
‘Corey, is that you?’
‘No.’ I answered pointin’ my gun at the darkness and firin’. There was a low groan an’ then silence. I knelt an’ emptied the four spent cartridges, reloadin’ the pistol. Four of ‘em were dead that left eight to go.
I figure it was about then it dawned on ‘em that I wasn’t in the cabin but out in the darkness with ‘em.
I tried then, to argue to myself that what I was doin’ was self defense but the truth was I could’ve got clean away without ‘em even realisin’. The smell o’ their fear was sweet nectar to my nose. You see I ain’t never been good at anythin’ in my life except for two things; I had a talent for stayin’ alive and a talent for killin’. I ain’t sure which sickened me more.

I scooped up Corey’s shotgun, crackin’ it open to check the load. I let out a loud groan, ‘Help me.’ I kept my voice low an’ muffled.
‘Is that you Corey?’ A whisper sounded.
‘I’ve been hit, I’m bleedin’.’
I heard ‘em risin’ from their hidin’ place; they thought the darkness protected ‘em. But they still tried to move quiet. There was three of ‘em. I swung the shotgun barrels in their direction an’ waited.
They materialised from the darkness, bunched together, their pistols holstered.
‘Corey’s dead.’ I said softly, ‘An’ so are you.’ I let ‘em have both barrels.
The shotgun shredded ‘em, blastin’ ‘em off their feet. I tossed the empty weapon and stood but before I could move on one o’ ‘em groaned. His chest was a bloody ruin; he should’ve been dead.
‘H-help m-me.’
I palmed my pistol and shot ‘im in the forehead. ‘No.’ I stepped over the twitchin’ corpse.
‘Jackson, Bremmer, get round here, he ain’t in the cabin no more.’ The call came from the darkness but I ignored it, headin’ back toward the side o’ the cabin.
They didn’t even have the sense to come round from opposite sides. It was like shootin’ fish in a barrel. An’ Jackson an’ Bremmer were dead.

I remembered the names. Clem Jackson; the scar faced knife-man; he liked pain; like to kill his victims slow. Funny he didn’t seem to like it much when I caught up with him down in Senora – I blew his fingers off then his hands, then… It took ‘im a long time to die. I looked down at his namesake; he was young, not much older’n eighteen or nineteen. It was hard to figure that a no good murderin’ bastard like Clem could father a child even harder that the boy would want ‘im avenged. Bremmer looked like his brother, younger but close enough that there was no doubtin’. Had the same surprised look on his face as Jonas had when I outdrew ‘im in that saloon in Jackson. He thought he was the fastest man alive, he was wrong.

That left three of ‘em. They were pathetic; even their dead relatives had been harder to kill. I should’ve pitied ‘em but I didn’t. They had rekindled the fires o’ rage that their relations had first ignited all those years ago. They had come to my home intent on killin’ a man not for justice but for revenge. There weren’t one o’ ‘em that wore a badge. They had come to kill me. Part o’ me hoped they’d succeed, even though I knew they wouldn’t.

I found where they’d tethered their horses an’ settled in to wait. There had been twelve when they started, now there was only three of ‘em an’ none o’ them had even set eyes on me yet. I knew that would set the fear knawin’ in their bellies; they’d wanna cut an’ run.

I didn’t have long to wait. Two of the three came scamperin’ out of the darkness; their faces twisted in fear. I let ‘em swing into their saddles then stepped in front of ‘em.
‘You shouldn’t come here.’ I said quietly.
They looked at one another, both had holstered their pistols to climb into the saddle but neither made a move for ‘em. I knew what they were thinkin’; they figured I’d get one o’ ‘em before the other got his pistol clear an’ got me but neither one wanted to be the one I got.
One ‘o ‘em licked his lips, ‘We’ll leave, you’ll never see us again.’
‘Too late.’ I drew both my pistols and fired. One tumbled from the saddle as the horses bolted but the other somehow stayed on, floppin’ around as the horse disappeared into the darkness.

I took the time to reload.
‘Did you kill the cowardly bastards?’ The shout sounded from the darkness.
‘I did.’ I called back and stepped to the side. A shot sounded and the bullet whizzed through the space where my head had been.
‘How about we quit these games and do this face to face?’
I said nothin’ edging closer to the wall o’ the cabin.
He stepped into the light spillin’ from broken windows, his pistols holstered an’ his youthful face painfully familiar. I stepped into the light across the courtyard from ‘im.
‘You know me?’
I nodded, ‘Your father weren’t like the others. They were murderin’ rapin’ scum. Jake Carlson was a good man; I sincerely regret his death but he drew on me. Don’t make the same mistake boy; I got no urge to kill you.’
‘Don’t worry you won’t.’ He couldn’t been more ‘an fifteen years old but he stood firm and there weren’t no fear in his eyes.
It all came rushin’ back then, why I’d given up the guns. I promised myself silent, like in my mind that I wouldn’t draw on the boy. If anyone had the right it was him.
‘Listen to what I tell you boy; one killin’ won’t be enough. You’ll get to likin’ it; the feelin’ o’ power it gives you. You’ll become the exact thing your father fought against.’
A muscle beneath his left eye twitched. ‘You’re what my father fought against and died for it; a murdering piece o’ filth.’
‘I ain’t no murderer.’
‘There’s eleven people dead here that says otherwise. And there’ll be one more.’
‘They came for me, not the other way round.’ I knew my words were useless; who could know better ‘an I? I knew only a death would satisfy ‘im. But I was ready, I’d been ready for a long time. I promised myself again that I wouldn’t draw on no fifteen year old boy.
‘Shall we do this then?’
I nodded.

His hands were a blur; he was lightnin’ fast. Pistols boomed. Our eyes met; there was a confused look on his features and he looked down at the half drawn pistols in his hands then back at me. I looked down at my own hands and the smokin’ pistols I held. I looked back at the boy and the red stain spreading across his shirt. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came an’ he pitched onto his face and lay still. Movin’ of their own volition, my hands holstered my pistols.

I tried to feel regret at the boy’s death but it wouldn’t come. The boy had wanted vengeance – I could understand that; he done it the proper way; I could respect that. But I knew he’d had his doubts; that he hadn’t been totally committed to the quest. If he had, I’d been dead an’ it would’ve been him standin’ over my corpse.

How’d I know? Because I hadn’t been much older when I set out on my own quest.

I hadn’t been a good farmer, but then that didn’t matter ‘cause Beth was; sweet, beautiful Elizabeth Monroe from Kansas City, my wife. Even bein’ three months pregnant she’d been a better farmer than I ever could be. But between us we were makin’ a go o’ it. Had about twenty head of cattle; three good horses, a field o’ wavin’ corn an’ a garden o’ vegetables. It was a good life an’ I didn’t want any other kind least ways not until the day the riders came. They were a band of rebs, still fightin’ a war they’d already lost. They came in ridin’ hard and firin’. The first round took me high in the chest, spinnin’ me and probably savin’ my life the second round took me in the thigh and the third creased my skull. It was enough to put me out; they must’ve thought I was dead. The last sound I heard was Beth’s screams… Don’t know how long after it was when I came too… The barn was a smolderin’ ruin; they’d stolen the cattle and the horses…
I dragged myself into the house. Clem Jackson had done his work on Beth; she’d still been alive when he’d started. I hadn’t been able to protect her but by god almighty I could avenge her.

I don’t know how I made it the three miles to town but I did. The doc cut the bullets out and brought me back from the brink. Soon as I was able I sold the farm, bought myself a pair of guns and a good horse. Sometimes I had to bribe information, sometimes I had to threaten an’ cajole. It took me fourteen years to find every one o’ the raiders and make ‘em pay. The last was Sanchez the half breed mex. Found him in Rio Blanco. He was supposed to be canny with his fists – I beat ‘im to death; I broke his hands first.
I was strappin’ on my guns when Sheriff Carlson arrived. He was new to the job, just elected. He took one look at Sanchez’s corpse an’ went for his gun. I didn’t even think, just drew.

I looked down at the boy’s corpse. I didn’t want to fight an’ kill again; but like I said. I knew more would come; that these corpses would have friends and family lookin’ for revenge. The cycle o’ vengeance would continue endlessly on. But I wasn’t goin’ to wait all meek like anymore. I’d tried to walk away but they wouldn’t let me.

My name’s Caid Stone. A long, long time ago I was a farmer. Not a good one but I tried. Now I’m a killer o’ men an’ a very good one. I don’t need to try all that hard. If I’ve wronged you; killed one o’ yours; I’m sorry but I ain’t never killed a man that didn’t do me harm first or intended to do the same.
If vengeance still fires your blood then come on in, I won’t be hard to find but remember this I got two talents; stayin’ alive an’ killin’.