literature

Red Dead Rectitude Ch. 5

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Ch. 5 Not Too Bad Farm Boy
Wes had awoken in small bed in a room, where the light, through the few windows, streamed down warmly over his face. Wes had remembered lying on the ground coughing, his vision had been fading in and out, he was on a horse, and then he had woken up in this place. He looked down at his arms which were wrapped in bandages. He surmised that he must have been burned worse than he thought and that he must be at a doctor. Wes picked himself up out of bed and grabbed his hat, duster, and guns from a nearby chair. As he pushed open the door, he saw a rather short looking man in glasses at a desk. The man immediately spun to face him with a wide grin on his face.
"Ahh, Mr. Hutchins! Back in the land of the living I see!"
" 'Scuse me sir?" he replied scratching his head in confusion.
"You inhaled so much smoke we weren't sure if you'd make it. Although it seems death is not quite ready for you yet sir!"
"I appreciate yur help Doc. Do I owe you anything? I'm afraid I aint got much."
"No Mr. Hutchins, Marshal Evans paid in full for your treatment."
"Well I'll have to thank him for that. Good evening doc'."
Wes pushed open the door and was nearly tackled by Rachel who ran straight into him.
"Wes! Thank the lord yur alright!"
"Sorry Miss-"
"What'n the hell did you think you were doin' jumpin' into a fire for? Tryin' to save all the women in town? An' here I thought I was a lucky lady bein' saved by New Palmer's rising hero, Wes Weedbrain Hutchins."
"It aint nuthin' like that Miss Rachel-"
"An' stop callin' me miss, I hate that. Just call me Rachel already!"
"Rachel I'm sorry, but I'm here aint I? I'm still alive an' well right?"
"Yeah, well, you won't be much longer you keep this up Wes Hutchins." She said leaning forward and poking him in the chest.
"Why're you so worried about me anyway Rachel?" Wes said, finally able to tease her for once.
"I aint worried 'bout you at all, not one bit!" She said shaking her head and folding her arms across her chest.
"That so?"
"Yur damn right that's so! …Uncle Ben wanted to talk to you when you came to, so go bother someone else fer a change." She quickly turned and began walking towards the house.
"Rachel-"
"You have more important matters to attend to than me, Mr. Hutchins…"
"… I swear, women ain't right in the head some times. Guess I'd better see what the marshal wants."
As Wes began to head down the main road towards the marshal's office he noticed there was a large crowd of men from around town gathering outside the marshal's building. The men cheered and shouted as the marshal's deputies distributed guns to those that weren't already carrying their own. Wes charged through the crowd, pushing people aside.
"Marshal, what's all this? What's goin' on?"
"Ah, Westin, yur here! My deputies have finally found where those Dunbar boys is held up!"
"An' what exactly do you plan on doin'? Just show up and start shootin'?"
"Well if you wanna be so black an' white about it."
"An' what if you kill 'im?"
"Dunbar? Then our problems are over son!"
"And I'll have no lead! You have yur men do yur thing… but I get Dunbar, alive."
"Westin, I want to help you as much as I can, I owe you for your heroism at the farmhouse, but this is sumthin' these people have been waitin' for."
"I'm not sayin' to let 'im go marshal. I'm saying just let me get what I need from him first."
"We'll do what we can Westin, but I can't promise you anythin'."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun had begun its descent behind the Carlmont Rise, the approaching dusk painting the sky a brilliant amber as the moon prepared for its own arc across the sky. Wes had taken up a position in a wooded hill with dense foliage that masked his presence. The large posse had taken him to the Carlmont Basin. The basin was a swamp like gully where rainwater collected before running off into the Miller River that ran farther south. The marshal had given Wes a Rolling Block Rifle to help support the attack on the gang hideout, while giving him the ability to pick out Alex Dunbar from the rest of the gang members. The hideout was mostly comprised of shoddily built log buildings and tents, with boxes and barrels scattered about, ratty log hewn gates flanking the hideout on either side. Wes watched as the marshal walked up to the makeshift gates of the hideout and spoke with a grizzly, black haired gentlemen, who didn't seem all that friendly. After only a moment the man had raised his rifle to shoot the marshal, when a shot streaked out and buried itself in the man before Wes could even react. The marshal had run back to the safety of the rocks the large posse had taken cover behind, shots bouncing off the stone all around them as a massive gunfight broke out. Wes turned to see who had fired the shot so close to him without him knowing they were there, but when he turned to face the marksman, Rachel knelt beside him propping herself up on a scoped rifle of her own, looking down at him.
"Not very quick on the draw, are we Westin?"
"What are you doin' here? How did you get here?"
"I got here the same as you silly, by horse, an' I came to make sure you aint gone and got yurself killed again."
"We're on that again are we?"
"Someone's gotta do it if you won't."
"How 'bout we worry 'bout helpin' yur uncle right now instead of me."
The two of them took aim at the outlaws below. Most of them hid behind cover, not daring to lift their heads in fear of having their life cut short by the volley of shots from the townsmen. Wes took aim at one of the men, who was struggling to reload his revolver with shaking hands. He put the crosshairs on him and squeezed the trigger. He watched as the shot splintered the wood a foot from his head. The man seemed to panic, debating to try his luck with moving to different cover or stay put. As he seemed to have made his decision, a shot streaked out and embedded itself in his chest, and he crumpled to the ground.
"A tad off it seems." Rachel grumbled as she fiddled with the long scope that ran the length of the rifle.
"Off? You dropped him cold."
"That's not where I aimed though, it was low."
"That's harsh, givin a man a closed casket."
"Quicker that way though, aint it?"
"I guess yur right. Who'd a thought you'd show mercy on men like these." Wes laughed.
"An' whats that supposed to mean?"
"Not a thing Rachel, not a single thing."
"Well yur one to talk. You couldn't hit a barn with yur aim."
"I didn't have it adjusted is all."
"Calm yourself. Breathe deeply. When yur ready to fire, exhale as if you were the one takin his final breath."
Wes put the scope back to his eye and found another gang member poking out from inside one of the ramshackle buildings. He repeated Rachel's words in his head. Calm yourself. Breathe deeply. Exhale as if you were the one taking your final breath. He pulled the trigger and this time met with success. The man dropped to the floor motionless.
"Not too bad farm boy." Rachel teased.
"Why thank you Miss Evans."
"I thought I- Oh I see how it is."
Wes scanned around through the scope when something caught his attention. A man with dirty blonde hair and a scraggly beard yelled at another man as he was saddling a horse. Wes watched as the man looked out at the townsfolk and vaguely in the direction of their hiding spot as the other man pointed it out. He yelled something else and hoisted himself into the saddle, spurred the horse and took off through the back gate.
"That must be that rat Dunbar!" Wes exclaimed, dropping the rifle and jumping to his feet.
"Where are you goin?"
"Where do you think I'm goin'? I'm goin' after that bastard!"
Wes whistled sharply and he could hear hoof beats on the dirt in the distance. When Wes reached the beaten dirt path Whiskey had come cantering to a halt long enough for Wes to hoist himself up onto his old friend. As Wes dug in his heels Whiskey tore off in pursuit of the fleeing outlaw.
"Wes!" Rachel yelled in the distance as he galloped away. "You dropped your gun idiot…" She snatched up his engraved revolver from the ground near the shrub that had snagged it with its thieving branches.
Wes ducked low as Whiskey broke into a full sprinting gallop, one hand on the rein and one hand on his hat. He had reached the bottom of the path that had lead to the hill, and he could see Dunbar not more than 100 yards ahead of him. He had him now. He was a bullet and one dead outlaw away from being hot on the trail of James Luton.
chapter 5 as promised for :iconcharming523:
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Diyaru4500's avatar
Yaaaaaaaaay getting closer to my sadly fictional ancestor :P