Escape from Hell's Corner

ESCAPE FROM HELL’s

CORNER

E. Roy Hector

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Lincoln Shanghai

Escape from Hell’s Corner

All Rights Reserved © 2003 by E. Roy Hector

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ISBN: 0-595-29005-1 (pbk)

ISBN: 0-595-65950-0 (cloth)

ISBN: 978-0-5957-8877-4 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

C H A P T E R 1

C H A P T E R 2

C HAPTER 3

C HAPTER 4

C H A P T E R 5

C HAPTER 6

C H A P T E R 7

C H A P T E R 8

C H A P T E R 9

C H A P T E R 10

C H A P T E R 11

C H A P T E R 12

C H A P T E R 13

C H A P T E R 14

C H A P T E R 15

C H A P T E R 16

C H A P T E R 1

COTTONWOOD CANYON

LAWMAN BUTCH DARNEL yelled, Hold it, Lash. I just heard what sounded like a woman’s scream. You and Woody might’ve heard it, if y’all hadn’t been jabbering like jaybirds.

I heard it, too, Woody protested. I thought it was just a catamount.

Since when have cougars ranged this far from the timber line? Butch asked derisively. You two listen up and try to act growed up.

Butch Darnel and his younger brothers—the twins Lash and Woody—were U.S. Marshals. They were on a mission to locate Watson Clarke and bring his gang of killers to justice. Because of the vile and inhumane misdeeds of the thirty or so outlaws in Clarke’s gang, this was a no-holds-barred, dead-or-alive mission. Accordingly, the trio of marshals was armed with guns, knives, and an unflinching instinct for meting out Western justice according to the U.S. Marshals’ code. These marshals were no barroom toughs. Although they’d been brought up church going, all three had been schooled in the art of self-defense and survival.

In order to orient himself as well as to scout the situation, Butch dismounted from his horse and motioned for silence while holding his horse, Buck, by the bridle. Butch was concerned that they might be riding into a deadly trap. Buck, a proud and spirited high-stepping, bowed neck, coal-black stallion with long silky flowing mane and tail had been drilled and trained by his owner since taking his first step. Buck had acquired much horse sense. Butch pulled his 30-30 Winchester from its leather scabbard and made sure a round was chambered and the

weapon was on safety but ready for action. He checked the two .44s and returned them to their low-slung holsters. He could draw his deadly lead dispensers in the regular fashion or cross-draw them. He knew instinctively when a cross-draw would give him the edge on a lawbreaker foolish enough to face him in a battle. More than once the cross-draw speed had saved his life.

As the most experienced lawman, Butch Darnel was ever aware of his desire and responsibility to protect his younger brothers. He was at all times mindful that the twins tended to be touchy whenever they thought he was becoming overly protective of their welfare. This assignment to track down Watson Clarke and his gang of desperate killers depended on the three of them watching each other’s backs and remaining alert for danger at all times. So he would have to handle this situation with some thought and planning.

Butch remounted and they continued riding in the direction of the disturbance.

At the brow of a low rise, the Darnel brothers again reined to a halt and scanned the endless sand and sagebrush. Ahead, there wasn’t anything out there that could hide a jackrabbit, except that several hundred yards off to the northwest they could see what appeared, to their experienced eyes, to be a canyon of some size.

The marshals could faintly see the tips of cottonwood trees sticking up from the canyon floor. Out here, everything looked strange to Butch. He could not remember ever being in this particular part of the wild country.

They had been traveling in the general direction given them by some holdup victims who lived in the sparsely settled county to the east and were seeking tracks or other clues that would lead them to the outlaws’ lair. Though the sun was setting, it was hotter than Hades.

On the western horizon, a heavy, dark, ominous cloud was forming. That could mean almost anything out here. It seldom rained without an accompaniment of thunder, lightning, high winds, and hail that could beat horses and men into the ground before passing on.

Butch considered these factors as he was figuring how to approach his problem. Paramount in his thinking and planning was the need to safeguard his twin brothers while capturing or killing the outlaws and rescuing their captives. He could not afford to fail. Scouting for information or battle intelligence would be the key in obtaining the edge. The U.S. Marshals Service’s first edict was an acknowledgement that its agents must always seek the advantage in confrontations with outlaws. A fair fight meant arresting or otherwise eliminating the lawbreakers without injury or loss of law enforcers. Such orders did not include sneak attacks, back shooting, or unnecessary use of deadly force. Fair warning to surrender would always be given.

Then Butch said, There it is again. Did you hear her, you numbskulls? His brother Woody agreed that it sounded like a woman who was either in pain or extremely afraid or both. It seemed to be coming from the direction of those cot-tonwoods. Out here sound carried and the direction could easily be mistaken.

Butch, the eldest of the three, said, Listen up, fellows. We could be riding into a trap. We could get our heads blown off. I have no hankering to die a hundred miles from the nearest preacher. Would he have a few kind words to say over this wayward sinner’s bones? In my case, the words would have to be made up and not true. But of course the preacher could talk all day about the goodness of you two mommy’s boys.

Butch Darnel had lived a hard and dangerous life. Now at age twenty-nine he had survived many a shootout and caused other outlaws to be jailed and some hanged. He had a few knife and gunshot scars to attest to his experience as a lawman. Butch might be called handsome by some ladies as he was tall and slender with broad shoulders and possessed the features females were normally attracted to. Others would describe him as rough around the edges with hawk-like cobalt-blue eyes and wavy dark-brownish hair. His way of walking helped to project the authority and power of a contained dynamic person who would never accept failure. He was fond of saying, I never chaw my tobacca twice. His word was law.

Woody said, Lash, do you hear our wise brother prattling that he’s appointed himself as our savior? We’re two lucky buckaroos to have Butch looking out for us. Momma always said he was the smart one and that he could do no wrong.

Lash grinned and nodded. As the most aggressive of the three brothers, Lash was likely to take chances, which unintentionally might endanger the lives of others or even his own. He knew that Butch was onto his seemingly careless attitude and actions. When he was around Butch he forced himself to be more restrained in his actions and less forceful with his ever-ready fast and witty retorts.

His strikingly handsome and well-groomed appearance always caused much notice from the ladies and envy from some of the men. His curly black hair, worn neatly trimmed to collar length, gray-blue piercing eyes, prominent nose, high forehead, and a readily devious smile, regardless of whether he was facing danger or enticing beautiful maidens, all worked together to cause many glances to turn his way. Yes, Lash was an uncommonly handsome fellow and was only just marginally more striking than his two brothers.

Butch continued as if he hadn’t heard Woody’s smart remark.

Just shut up and give me your attention. No one knows we’re here. It will serve our cause if we keep it that way until I can find out what the devil is going on over in that canyon yonder. Sounds like someone is in serious trouble.

At that moment, Butch was in a mental battle mode with engines running on caution and the safety valve tied down. In the past, deep but mixed feelings of fear and fearlessness had served him well and he did not intend to allow harm to be inflicted on his brothers or, for that matter, himself.

Already he was beginning to regret the decision to allow his brothers to join him as fellow U.S. Marshals. He was worried because he had been given little choice except to bring them along on this dangerous mission. They were instructed to either capture or eliminate a bunch of murdering outlaws who had terrorized the southwestern part of the state the previous two years.

Butch’s boss at the regional headquarters of the U.S. Marshals Service had offered him the horns of a real dilemma: to either use his brothers on the mission or to instead take two cranky old veterans who were nearing retirement age. Neither of these old lawmen was the picture of health. Both had trouble staying on a horse for any length of time. Butch liked and trusted each of them but knew the trail leading to the outlaws would be long and hard. He didn’t want to put these two worthies through such an ordeal of pure hell and punishment.

So he chose his twin brothers to accompany him on what he knew would be a mission fraught with pitfalls, traps, and perhaps even the death of himself or his younger twin brothers, God forbid. On the other hand, by taking his brothers with him and not placing them in the hands of some less-experienced leader, he could protect them and hope to see them safely through these first years of their work for the U.S. Marshals Service.

These thoughts flickered through Butch’s mind in mere seconds. He then shifted to the danger at hand. Whoever was causing the sounds in the canyon could possibly be part of the gang of murderers and robbers he was to bring in. It was generally agreed that none other than the self-proclaimed killer and marauder Watson Clarke, who had in the past few years managed to avoid being killed or captured, led the evil and vile gang he was assigned to eliminate.

Clarke was known far and wide for his cruelty and just plain inhumanity. They say he enjoyed using his blacksnake bullwhip to tear the hide off his victims, even to the point of killing them. Clarke’s gang numbered thirty or forty members, all of whom were seasoned criminals with generous bounties on their heads.

This particular band of lawless deadbeats was in the habit of sneaking out in groups of five or six and returning to their hideout with loot, booze, and captured women. Invariably, the women were abused until they were no longer useful or appealing and then were casually put to death in ceremonies unfit for the human eye.

The outlaws buried these poor souls under rock mounds or simply covered them with brush and leaves in the nearest ditch, leaving their remains to the tender mercies of the coyotes and other animals. The lawmen knew they were after evil, vile, and mean-spirited killers who had no respect for law and order. The Darnel brothers had been assigned to locate Clarke’s hideout and bring him and his killers to justice. Some of that same gang might be hiding out in that canyon.

Here’s the plan, Butch said. You two take the horses to that gully we crossed back there aways and wait out of sight until I return or you hear shooting. In which case I want you both to come barreling up that gully leading into the canyon with your pistols blazing. And dammit, do be careful and make sure of your target. Don’t shoot me like you almost done in that bar last night, when Woody had to kill Barley York.

Butch was speaking of a lone wolf who was responsible for killing more people than any outlaw ever to terrorize the West. They say York was worse than Watson Clarke. However, that night he had failed to stand up to Woody’s fast draw and accurate shooting.

Woody was the most laid back of the three. He knew that he was just about as handsome a man as either of his brothers. Perhaps he had gotten his light sandy straw-colored hair and light sky-blue eyes from back up the family tree aways. Even though he had managed to shave each of them by an inch or so in height, they all were considered tall and had not a hint of fat, just muscle. Woody’s life had been quietly devoted to safeguarding his twin, Lash, and he had great admiration and respect for Butch. Woody had every intention of protecting his brothers at all costs. He considered them much more important than himself.

Butch went on to say, So please be sure who you’re shooting at. Let’s make sure no harm comes to the woman we heard screaming. That was no cougar we heard and she wasn’t exercising her lungs.

Butch then continued to outline the plan, I’ll slip up there on the lip of the canyon and get a good look at what’s going on and causing that woman to be screaming her lungs out. Got the plan, boys?

Lash and Woody didn’t like the plan: that of being left to hold the horses. However, they also knew their older brother far too well to argue with him. At the drop of a hat, he could fly into a fit of rage and anger that would dwarf a swarm of hornets.

Butch had acquired the reputation of being a real mean fighting machine by the time he was ten and, now that he was a ripe twenty-nine, his anger and fighting abilities had been multiplied several times over. He had never lost a shootout or fistfight. Some of his disappointments in life might have been caused by what was generally considered his rough business-like demeanor, which served to project a cold hard power. Yes, he was feared, while his brothers appeared more gentle, youthful, and very handsome and got all the pretty girls at the dances. Their mother had always heaped an ungodly amount of praise on them according to Butch’s way of thinking. Theywere not spoiled in the accepted meaning of the term out here, but they were sure of themselves and just a mite on the cocky side with a witty remark ever present on their lips. Of the two, Lash had the more outgoing and fast witty clips. Butch knew most of this came from their good nature but was also derived from their knowledge and confidence in their inherent abilities to handle themselves in dangerous situations. His brothers were not the easygoing and shy fellows they very much liked to have people believe.

On the contrary, Lash and Woody—the twin look-a-likes—at twenty-four years old were experienced lawmen and knew no fear of man or beast. Even young lawmen age fast out here where danger lurks behind every clump of brush or rock. During their lifetime, they had acquired the well-honed habit of following their older brother’s lead no matter where it might end up. They privately resented his newly acquired protective attitude, which they thought treated them as if they were helpless little brothers who could never be his equal. Secretly, both Lash and Woody knew it would be a long time before they acquired Butch’s unmatched sense of knowing the right trail or the best action to take in dangerous situations. They also knew that Butch would risk his life for either one of his brothers without giving it a second thought. They would follow him to hell if necessary.

Butch said, Now if you fellows have to come shooting, make sure that Buck isn’t tied down because he’ll come to me when I call him. I don’t want to walk out of this desert along with your nags if you two get killed. I still don’t understand why you both spend all your money on wild women and booze instead of getting yourselves dependable mounts. Those nags will never make it into and out of Hell’s Corner, wherever that might be. It appears to me that I’ll have to carry you both on my back at some point before we finish our business out here.

Lash said, Don’t worry yourself too much about us, Butch. Just make sure that Woody and I don’t have to fight to see who rides Buck out of this godforsaken place. I always had me a hankering to have a good horse like old Buck.

Butch replied, Anyone who won’t keep a mount long enough to give it a decent name doesn’t deserve anything better than nags like those you fellows ride around.

Woody asked, Are we going to stand here chattering all day listening to that poor woman scream, or are we going to do something?

Butch said, I’m going now and you two do exactly like I instructed or you both will be in a heap of trouble with me.

Butch always approached situations in a calm and deliberate way; sometimes he would take extra time to formulate a plan to help keep his brothers from taking action too soon and thereby increasing their exposure to danger. It had only been minutes since they had heard the first scream, and now the plan was set and it was time for action.

After making sure his brothers were almost back to the gully, Butch moved slowly forward. He was aware that the storm could strike at any moment, as it was now lightning and thundering something terrible. He could still hear the woman yelling at the top of her voice. He could not make out exactly what she was saying, but it sounded something like, Keep that damn thing away from me! and then several angry words he could not catch.

Upon arriving at the clump of bushes near the drop-off into the canyon, Butch crawled forward so that he had a clear view of the drama unfolding on the canyon floor. He could count six horses staked and tied with ropes, grazing on the rich green grass near the small water hole. He could see four men sitting near a small fire, eating some kind of roasted meat and laughing at the action taking place nearby. Butch admired how expertly they had arranged the fire to lessen the volume of smoke rising above the canyon walls while still being able to cook what was most likely a rabbit or