FORTITUDE
By: Heather F.
Chris, Vin, and Nathan reached the top of one of the mesas. The grassy plains just outside of Four Corners lay less than a half mile away. The river that cut just out side of town to the west flowed at its low summer levels.
Larabee yanked roughly on the black's reins, swinging the gelding's head to the right. The animal chomped and held the bit, more than ready to spill over the side in great leaps.
"Chris, hold up." Nathan's sharp words snapped the gunslinger's attention to the road winding below them.
Two horses galloped out of town. From this distance, they could not make out the riders but the silhouettes spoke volumes. The second rider clung desperately to the saddle. The first horse held two riders. One had long blonde hair.
"Son of a bitch." Larabee ripped his rifle from the scabbard.
"We're too far off, cowboy." Vin's frustration laced the soft observation. Their horses pranced in impatience.
"There's a third rider." Nathan leaned forward in his saddle trying to get a better look at the riders below.
The third rider bolted from the confines of the town. Its rider leaned low over the horse's neck. The horse had itself stretched out. Long legs clipped the ground one hoof at a time. Its head angled out, its nose cut the wind with teeth bared. No saddle graced the horse's back; no stirrups secured its rider's legs or feet.
Tanner pulled is eyeglass from his saddlebags. He focused on the first group winding up the dirt road. They stuck to the stage route. The quickest, cleanest road out of town.
"They got Mary. Looks like the second rider is hurt."
Chris seethed, watching the outlaws, trying to discern which way they intended to head. From this vantage point, they could see the whole valley but the steepness of the perch only allowed one trail down. Once they started their descent, they would lose their quarry.
"Shit! That's Ezra behind them. Got 'imself a rifle, nothin' else though." Vin's voice pulled Nathan's eyes toward the third rider.
"He ain't got no shirt on, does he?"
Vin cracked a smile. "Nope." Tanner moved the glass down a little. "No shoes either . . . but he does have on pants."
Jackson snorted. 'Better have pants...ain't gonna treat no rashes down there.'
Chris nodded once curtly. He narrowed his gaze, waiting impatiently for the riders to veer from the trail.
The kidnappers took the East trail. The fools were heading right towards Josiah and the others.
Time to act. Larabee squeezed his legs, leaned forward and gave his black its head. The gelding baled over the edge of the mesa as if it could fly. For a few seconds, its four feet hung suspended in midair. Then the front feet touched ground only moments before back feet slid past front ones. With giant, ground swallowing strides, the gelding lunged down the rocky trail. Chris leaned back instinctively, taking weight from the horse's shoulders. With no fear of falling, with no conscious thought of failing, horse and rider careened down the hill at a maddening clip.
Unalil grabbed the bit and followed. The Indian pony felt the ground roll under his feet. With the whites of his eyes blazing and nostrils flaring, Unalil followed like a hound from hell. Tanner kept his boots snugly against the horse's ribs.
Jackson took a steadying breath and gave his bay its head. The healer's horse held no qualms about following the others. It pitched over the side in a fearless state much like his rider. Saddlebags flapped under the jarring punishment, leather strained and twisted. Croupers pulled tight, keeping saddles in place as cinches tried to work forward toward the front legs.
The three lawmen urged their mounts for speed. The black lunged from the path to flat ground. Larabee pulled its head towards the East trail and dug his heels into the horse's side. The black, with a snort of rage, dug in and bolted down the empty trail.
Josiah did not bother arguing. There seemed no sense. Buck and JD had refused the luxury of riding in the wagon and jumped to their horses instead. The big gray danced and tossed his head. Its massive hind end quivered and tucked itself under its barrel, in hopes of an order for speed.
The little bay to his right acted no different. The smaller gelding snorted and shook its head. It tossed its front legs a few inches off the ground, slicing the air, fighting the rein that held him in check.
The mules quickened into a trot. Their ears whipped forward and backward, in time with their front feet. The wagon rattled over the rough trail. Supplies bounced and tipped in the back.
"You boys want to ride on ahead, go on." Josiah's voice held a stern tone, warning mule and horses alike. Loki and his own gelding tried to run the length of the wagon but their pony lines continued to pull them up short, reminding the two riderless horses they were still tethered to the back of the wagon.
"We're stickin' with you, Josiah, jist in case," Buck reassured him. He then turned his attention to JD. "I'm gonna ride ahead . . . check out the trail . . . you watch our backs."
Dunne started to protest. His swollen eyes prevented him from getting a good perspective of the things around them. Hills and mesas rose and fell on all sides of the small group. Though no trees marred their view, the undulating landscape itself could camouflage approaching riders.
"Listen, JD, that damn woman's more devil than human. It would be like her to be sittin' out here just waitin' for a chance to strike out at Chris. What better way than to take one of us down?" Anger bordering on hatred laced those harsh words.
Any argument JD felt quickly fizzled out.
"You can count on me, Buck."
"Always knew I could."
The gray felt the tension leave the reins. The horse sprang from a walk into a flat out gallop. JD's bay pirouetted in a mad attempt to follow. Dunne sat deep in his saddle, communicating through his legs and hands before swinging the small bay toward their back trail.
Chunks of wet earth flew into the air in his wake.
The kidnappers wound their way up a pebbled trail. Shod feet dug for purchase as their mad dash slowed from a full out gallop to a canter.
Between looming rocks and clinging sage, the horses snaked and twisted their way up the steep, narrow trail. The sun only now reached this dark recess. The leader took a nervous gaze over his shoulder. His arms ached from holding the blonde on the saddle. He had half a mind to just dump her and leave her for the buzzards. But the mad woman financing this whole plan seemed half crazed if not completely insane and she wanted the newspaper woman alive.
The kidnapper snapped a glance over his shoulder as his horse crested the top of the trail.
A third rider closed the distance behind them.
Unable to grab for his rifle, and with his partner barely hanging on, the kidnapper urged his blowing mount back into a gallop. Rider and horse raced ahead.
The horse, with shaking legs and a pounding heart, found more speed and raced down the trail.
Ezra leaned forward giving the young horse its head. He trusted it to manipulate and pick its way up the trail at the same maddening pace set by the kidnappers.
The young gelding covered the ground. In an almost effortless gait, it slowly closed the distance. With an air of exhilaration, the half grown gelding felt the thrill of the chase and the urge for speed. It easily tapped the broad expanse of energy found only in the young and spirited.
Standish hung onto the mane with his rein hand. He brought his knees up to the horse's shoulders and gripped for all he was worth.
"Brothers, we have company." Josiah's deep voice rang across the flats. He reached behind his seat for his rifle.
Buck swiveled in his saddle and faced to his left. Into the sun.
JD did not hear Josiah's warnings but saw the older man reach for his rifle. The sheriff followed his gaze. JD raised a hand to his brow, just under the brim of his hat and squinted into the sun.
Three riders bore down on them from the West.
Chris swore as he angled his horse up another trail. The gelding slipped, his nose nearly banging to the ground. Angry with himself, the big black lunged ahead, trying to make up for lost ground.
The kidnapper saw the wagon. Maybe his 'boss' had moved the meeting point. Maybe she grew impatient and came to meet them. He urged his horse forward milking every bit of strength from the weary animal. The captive in his arm began to stir. 'Damn.'
Ezra felt the thrill of the chase. He leaned closer to the young horse's neck, drawing his legs further back on its flanks. The wagon and ponied horses never even registered.
In a few yards he would have the outlaws.
The kidnappers nearly cried out in desperation. Two riders barreled down on them from opposite, flanking position. Though they did not recognize any of the horses or men, the two knew they just sprinted headfirst into a pit of trouble.
Buck pulled his rifle. With one hand he swung the lever action, sliding a shell into the chamber. With the reins secured between his teeth, he leaned precariously to the side of saddle and squeezed the trigger.
The explosive boom of the rifle did not register with the second rider. He heard nothing, felt nothing but had been flung from his horse a dead man. His body rolled and skipped across arid, unforgiving ground.
The first rider heard the blast of the rifle. He clearly saw his own death and it terrified him. He held snugly to the squirming woman hoping to use her as a shield. He barreled down on the flatbed because he simply had no other option. He never saw the iron rungs that arched up over the wagon. From this distance, the uncovered wagon appeared no more than a buckboard.
JD pulled his revolver but hesitated. Mary sat precariously in the saddle.
Buck swung the lever action again dispensing the empty cartridge and sliding a second one home. The big gray held his pace steady and his course true. Horse and rider had a rhythm seldom seen in others.
Ezra's young bay nimbly sidestepped the downed body. With bulging eyes and the adrenaline rush of near victory, the young horse quickly ate up the distance between himself and the runner before him.
Standish urged him forward.
Josiah raised his rifle but kept his finger beside the trigger guide. Mary sat as a shield. Sanchez wondered if the rider realized he had lost. Did he see surrender as an option? 'Hell, did the man even see the wagon?'
The kidnapper barreled toward the wagon with a plan. He felt, rather than saw, the business end of rifles aimed at him. He knew they hesitated because of the baggage sitting before him.
The kidnapper's arms ached. The widow was fighting with more vigor.
He kept his heels dug viciously into the faltering horse's sides. Wild eyed and breathless, the horse bore down on the wagon. With no intentions of going around the buckboard, the rider smiled.
A stride or two before the flatbed, the kidnapper shoved his victim from the saddle.
His smile faltered as the realization that the buckboard was actually a covered wagon with no canvas hit. He tried for a brief moment to haul back on the reins but the horse had been commanded to run too far for too long. The command to stop might have registered with the brain but muscles and tendons refused to listen. With conflicting reports and a burning chest, the horse leaped from the ground.
The rider, for one insane moment, thought that perhaps they would fit between thin iron rungs. A stirrup fender, along with his leg, hooked a rung. A saddlebag became ensnared as well.
Momentum shoved them forward but snagged gear misdirected them to the right. The hind quarters swung left, balling through a second canvas support. Rear legs smashed through the weathered bed flooring. Front feet clipped the far side of the wagon and the animal sailed sideways, saddle and rider pointing toward the ground.
The feet snapped free. Wood buckled and iron bent. Horse, rider, wagon and driver tumbled to the side in a massive collage of bodies, gear and debris.
Loki and Josiah's gelding snapped their pony lines, freeing themselves from the chaos erupting. The two trotted some distance from the catastrophe.
The horrendous scream of mule, horse and human alike filled the air with fright and agony. The mules tried to bolt, tried to distance themselves from the mayhem behind them. The wagon lay on its side. The horse kicked itself free and clawed to regain its feet. Its rider rolled multiple times, head over heels across an unforgiving desert floor.
Josiah saw the impending disaster and tried to bail from the driver's seat. The wagon flipped before he could get clear. Dirt, wood, and flashes of light filled his vision. His ears seemed to have stopped working.
JD and Buck spurred their horses onward at the explosive destruction of the wagon.
