Twelve Bells

Twelve Bells

Sweetwater, New Mexico

1868

           The main street was deserted except for the supply wagon that just rolled into the west end of town. The sky was cloudless and the sun held its place high overhead. A slight dry breeze blew down the street, kicking up dust and letting out a gentle howl as it weaved its way through the spindle rail on the front porch of the general store. Onlookers peered through shuttered windows, but none dared to walk outside.

           “Don’t it piss you off?” Deputy Jimmy Tyler said, looking out the barred window of the sheriff's office at the southeast corner of town. Jimmy was clean-shaven, baby-faced and rail thin, but what he lacked in muscle he made up for in spirit.

           Sheriff Tate Carpenter put the last bullet in his revolver and gave the cylinder a spin before putting it in the holster on his right hip. He was a tall, grizzled man, who wore his hat low and didn’t talk much. “What’s that?” he asked.

           “All these townsfolk, the men I mean, knowing what’s coming and just hidin’.”

           The floorboards creaked with each step Tate took as he walked over to the window where Jimmy was standing.

           “It’s better that way. Last thing we need is a bunch of scared men with guns shooting at anything that moves.”

           “You think they’re really gonna try to bust him out, boss?” A voice came from the back corner of the room. It was Scotty McRae, Tate’s other deputy. He was portly and timid, but the townsfolk loved him and he made Tate laugh.

           “I do. You see boys, men like Laroy over there,” Tate said, as he pointed to a man lying on a cot in the middle of an iron-barred cell. “There ain’t much to them, but one thing they are is loyal to each other. They know that once the Marshals pick him up in the morning, he’s as good as hanged. Ain’t that right, Jacobs?”

           Laroy Jacobs folded his arms behind his head, propped his feet up on the cell wall and said with a laugh, “We’ll see.”

           “Scotty, you just make sure all those guns are loaded. Rifles, shotguns, everything we’ve got.”

           “Yes sir.”

           Jimmy stepped back from the window and called Tate over to the other corner of the room, out of earshot of Laroy.

           “What do you think they’re going to try to do?”

           “Well, they know they’ve got us outnumbered, so I think they’re just going to try to overwhelm us.” Tate pointed to the door at the back of the office. “I don’t think they’ll try anything from back there, ground’s too open, not enough cover for them.”

           “Well, what’s our plan?”

           Tate grabbed Jimmy by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes.

           “Listen, Jimmy, when this thing gets kicked off, whatever they do, it’s going to happen fast. Take deep breaths and stay under control.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Once it gets chaotic, I want you to sneak out that back door if you can and make your way to the bell tower of the church. You should be able to see the whole town, but listen, only shoot while other shots are being fired, unless it’s absolutely necessary. I don’t want you giving yourself away.”

           “What about you and Scotty?”

           Tate looked around the small office. “We’re going to try to hold them off here. I think they’ll try to flush us out somehow, but they can’t get too crazy or they may kill him in the process.” He pointed to Laroy, still propped up in his cell. “We’ve just got to hang on until help gets here.”

           Knock! Knock! Knock!

           A startled Scotty flinched, spilling rifle cartridges on the floor.

           “Why so jumpy, deputy?” Laroy said.

           A frantic, muffled voice could be heard on the other side of the door.

           Tate swung the door open quickly, grabbed the woman by the arm and pulled her inside, slamming the door behind them.

           “Maggie? What the hell are you doing here?”

           “Tate, just let him go please.”

           “You know I can’t do that.”

           “They’ll kill you!”

           The church bell chimed with a loud dong.

           “That’s one,” Laroy said, as he sat up on the edge of his cot.

           “Maggie, you’ve got to leave now,” Tate said, pulling her by the arm toward the back door. She tried to dig her heels in, but her boot just slid across the dusty wooden floor.

           “I’m not leaving you.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

           The church bell rang a second time.

           “You have to. If you’re here, I can’t focus on what I need to and they’ll kill us all.”

           Tate cracked the back door. Just like he thought, no one there, nothing but open grass.

           “Maggie, when I open this door, you run, run straight until you hit the creek. Then take a left and follow it all the way until you get to J.G. McClintock’s ranch. Big white house. You can’t miss it. He’ll take care of you and send help.”

           Maggie nodded.

           Tate reached for the door.

           Maggie put her hands on Tate’s cheeks and pulled him down to her.

           “You stubborn”– she gave him a peck on the lips –“stubborn” – another peck –“stubborn man.” One last peck and she was out the door. Running as fast as she could. Tate watched until she disappeared over a hill.

           Three.

           The wild neighing of a horse could be heard from the other end of town.

           “Jimmy?”

           Jimmy strained his neck trying to see through the iron bars. “Looks like a horse got loose from the livery. The Harris boy is tryin’ to chase it down.”

           Four.

           “You got all those guns loaded?” Tate nodded toward Scotty.

           “Yes sir.”

           “Good. Push the desk in front of the back door. Just in case.”

           Five.

           Tate propped a couple of rifles and a double barrel shotgun under the window to the left of the door. Then he did the same at the window where Jimmy was.

           “Scotty, bring a couple of extra boxes of shells up here and put them by those guns.”

           Six.

           Jimmy leaned close to Tate. “Boss, you sure you don’t want me to go ahead and go to the church?”

           “Look out the window. You see anybody moving out there?”

           “Well, no sir.”

           “That’s right. You go out there right now and you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

           Seven.

Maggie stopped beneath the shade of an old oak tree to catch her breath. She gave a glance back toward town to make sure no one was following her. Ahead, she could see the creek in the distance. Her heart sank when she heard the church bell chime for the eighth time.

“Won’t be long now,” Laroy said as he stood up and pressed his face between the bars.

           Jimmy left the window and walked over to the cell. “Shut your mouth.”

           “Get back over there,” Tate said, grabbing Jimmy by the shoulder and shoving him toward his post.

           “Boss, where should I get?” Scotty stood like a statue in the middle of the room.

           “Whew, what a fine group of boys you got here, sheriff.”

           Before Tate could speak, Jimmy drove the butt of his rifle into the bridge of Laroy’s nose.

           Nine.

           Laroy staggered backwards until the back of his legs found the cot. He sat down on the edge, holding his face in his palms. Blood began to drip from his nose and pool on the floor beneath him.

           Ten.

           “Scotty, take a peek out back. Make sure they haven’t flanked us.”

           Scotty pulled the desk back just enough to crack the door. “All clear.”

           “Boss, you sure we’re not overreacting?” Jimmy said, as he looked out the window. “Ain’t nobody out there except Clem and his old wagon.”

           Eleven.

           Laroy began to laugh, muffled at first but it grew louder as he lifted his head up from his hands.

           “What’s so damn funny?” Jimmy snarled.

           Tate rebuked him. “Not another word.”

           “Oh Jimmy, I just find this entire situation quite amusing.”

           Jimmy tightened his grip on his rifle, gritted his teeth and kept his gaze out the window.

           Twelve.

           The steady clop of the horse pulling the supply wagon stopped in front of the sheriff’s office.

           Tate glanced back at Laroy. He was lying on his stomach on the floor of the cell, with his hands covering his head.

           Tate looked back out the window. Clem fell lifelessly to the ground.

           “Aw hell,” Tate growled to himself.

           Gunfire ripped through the canvas cover of the old wagon, shattering the windows and sending splintered wood flying off the walls. Bullets pinged as they ricochetted off the iron bars of the cell.

Laroy lay on the floor laughing, while smoke and lead filled the room.

           Maggie heard the last crack of gunfire echo through the valley. She fell to her knees in the shallow water of the creek, sobbing uncontrollably.

           There was no way Tate survived.

           The smell of gunpowder drifted through the main street. The gang of men that had been hiding in the wagon scattered and took cover where they could.

           Townsfolk watched in horror through distant windows.

           The sheriff’s office was silent.

           “Go check it out,” one of the outlaws said to the last man getting off the wagon.

           He stepped down, making sure to keep his eyes on the bullet-ridden building. Gripping his rifle tight, he walked up the steps. His boots echoed on the wooden porch as he slowly pushed the door open. He stepped into the shadows, barrel first.

           The deafening blast from Tate’s double-barrel sent the man flying backward through the door. He was dead before he landed on the porch.

           Tate looked around the room. Jimmy had a cut on his forehead, but other than that he seemed fine.

           Laroy was still lying on the floor, wide-eyed, amazed that Tate was still breathing.

           “Scotty?” Tate yelled.

           No reply.

           Through the haze, he could see Scotty in the back corner of the room, lying on his back, blood pooled beneath him.

           Jimmy had made it back to his feet and was returning fire.

           Tate did the same.

           Jimmy shot a couple of guys trying to hide behind the barber shop.

           Tate shot one trying to sneak around the side of the sheriff’s office. He was trying to keep count. He figured there could’ve only been about eight to ten men in that wagon.

           After a couple of volleys, Tate looked at Jimmy and gave him a nod, then started shooting as fast as he could to draw attention to himself.

           Once he ran out of bullets in the rifle, he grabbed the double-barrel and opened the cell door.

           “Get up!”

           Laroy stalled.

           Tate drove the toe of his boot deep into Laroy’s ribs.

           “I said, Get up.”

           Laroy stumbled to his feet, holding his side with his left hand.

           Tate grabbed him by the back of his collar and twisted it, making it hard for him to breathe. He put the double barrel to the back of Laroy’s head.

           “Me and you are going for a little walk. I suggest you let them know you’re coming out first.”

           The door creaked open, shots peppered the wood all around it.

           “Micah, tell the boys to stand down. I’m coming out.”

           Tate tightened his grip even more and they shuffled forward, down the steps and out into the street.

           Micah and four other men came out of hiding and stood in the middle of main street.

           “What do you think you’re doin’, sheriff?” Micah said. “What’s your play? You gonna shoot all five of us?”

           The other men grinned and chuckled.

           “Just let my brother go and we’ll forget any of the little ‘misunderstanding’ ever happened.”

           Tate tightened his grip and shoved the double barrel even harder into the back of Laroy’s skull.

           “Your brother raped and killed an innocent girl and he’s gonna swing for it.”

           “That right? Says who?”

           “I ain’t finished.”

           Micah looked at the men standing beside him and chuckled. “Well, pardon me.”

           “You come into my town, shoot up my office, kill my deputy and think I’m just gonna give you what you want and let you ride out of here.”

           “You know sheriff, I’m getting real tired of your talkin’.”

           Micah lifted his revolver. “Don’t move, Laroy.”

           Tate heard the crack of the rifle echo through the street. Then Micah crumbled in a heap, blood pouring from the dime-sized hole in the middle of his forehead.  He put his foot in the small of Laroy’s back and kicked him to the ground, then drew the double barrel and shot the two guys that were standing to Micah’s left.

           Jimmy took out another, but the last one ran around the back of the buildings out of sight.

           Laroy scrambled trying to get to Micah’s revolver.

           “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Tate said as he pointed to the bell tower. “Jimmy already don’t like you.”

           The sound of galloping horses thundered from behind the buildings. Tate grabbed Laroy and scrambled for cover.

           “Tate!” the man on the lead horse bellowed.

           “J.G.?” Tate said, stepping out from behind some barrels on the porch of the General Store.

           “Maggie made it, then?” Tate said.

           “She made it, and it was all we could do to make her stay.”

           J.G. surveyed the scene.        

           The townspeople quietly stepped out of their homes and businesses.

           “Where are you deputies?”

           “One’s up there.” Tate pointed to the bell tower, then lowered his head. “The other’s still in the office.”

           J.G. grabbed Laroy by the collar and handed him off to a couple of his ranch hands.

           “We’ll take care of him, and get started cleaning up this mess. You go see about your deputy.”

           Jimmy had already made his way down from the bell tower and was sitting on the steps of the sheriff's office. He had a thousand-mile stare that he only broke briefly when Tate put his hand on his shoulder as he walked up the steps. Neither spoke.

           Broken glass crunched under Tate’s boots as he walked through the destroyed room that was once a tidy office. Scotty always made sure that it was.

           He kneeled beside his friend and gently pushed Scotty’s eyelids closed with the edge of his palm, then straightened his deputy badge.

           The door swung open, and there she was dirty and out of breath.

           “Maggie? What are you doing here?”

           “I couldn’t…I had to…”

           “You stubborn, stubborn woman.”