The Outlaw's Daughter ( On Hold)

Chapter 5

Wayne had spent two years on the trail of the man that stole his wife away from him, before the trail ran cold. He was close to getting his revenge now. He knew Carson Johnson was the gang leader responsible for the death of his dearest Emily, but he always seemed to be one step behind, every time.
After Emily's death, Wayne sold the ranch his father had bought him and his new bride and moved back home to help his father. The cows from his father were almost all gone. The bandits made off with most of the herd, leaving only the straglers and those who had bedded down in the trees. Wayne sold the remaining cows with the ranch.
Wayne was on his way home after finding his lead to Carson's gang had been a dead end. Heading back to his father's ranch, he could see smoke starting in the direction of the ranch. Wayne snapped the lines on the rumps of the team and they took off fast at a lope. If his father had seen the way he was driving the wagon, he would have tanned his hide. The team kept up there pace, never slowing until they came into the yard. The smoke had grown thicker all the way and the horses nickered in fear.
The house was ablaze, completely engulfed in flames, and the roof had started to cave. The fire hadn't yet spread to the barn. He jumped off the wagon and ran to the barn. He had left a horse at home in case his father had an emergency, he'd be able to get to town. The trusted steed was still there in the first stall where his father had him. He went to the tack room to get his saddle. There, in the middle of the tack room lay a lump, covered in red splotches of blood. The blood was starting to pool, but the lump was still breathing. Reaching for his pistol, he turned the lump over. In a puddle of his own blood lay his father.
"Wayne." Gasped his father. He could see clearly from this side, the affliction causing him so much blood loss. A bullet wound to the left side of his chest helped to make each breath near impossible. Wayne watched as the life slowly drained from his father's body.
Wayne grabbed his saddle and threw it atop his gelding. This was the closest he had ever come to Carson and his gang. He tightened his cinches and rode out of the barn. The cattle tracks headed south, and so Wayne followed hot on the trail.
    He rode at a lope for about a mile before he could hear the bellows from the herd. Wayne slowed his pace to a trot, unlatched the strap over his rifle and checked the rounds in his pistol. Another half mile on the trail and he could hear the shouts of the men driving the cows. He followed at this distance till dark. The cattle wrestlers set up camp at the mouth of a valley, fencing the cattle in.
   Any man in his right mind knows when he's outnumbered, when the odds don't lie in his favor. Wayne was too angry to see these facts, and kept soldiering on. Wayne snuck his mount to the north side of the bowl. The spot they had picked was perfect for his plan. Edging his horse down the steep sides, Wayne made it to the bottom near the herd of cattle. He glanced quick at the camp the wrestlers had set. One man stood guard, but he was facing north, that meant they didn't think anyone would try something from the south. Wayne watched as the man paced slowly back and forth before making up his mind.
    By the time a second man took the first watch's place, Wayne was sure most of the men were asleep. His time was now, as the second watchman was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Wayne raised his pistol above his head and pulled off three shots with a yell. The peaceful herd sprang to life, fear fueling their stampede. Wayne was on their heels as they plowed over many of the tents. Something knocked him from his mount, making him realize how poorly planned this all had been. He needed to keep the herd headed south. The wind had been knocked out of him, and before he could catch his breath, he saw what had caused his sudden dismount. Over him stood a man, with a rifle held by the barrel. The man pulled back, ready to apply the stock to Wayne for a second time, but Wayne rolled out of the way as the brute swung, missing him by inches. Wayne jumped to his feet. His rifle was still on his horse, wherever he was and he only had two shots left in his pistol. Wayne reached behind his back and pulled out his buck knife, as long as this man didn't want to use the other end of that gun he would be fine.
   The moon was full, but the clouds cast shadows as the passed over, making it difficult at times to view his opponent. The man drew back, ready to swing again, and Wayne kicked at the right moment, sending the gun flying through the air powered by the man's momentum. The tables had turned and Wayne felt that things were slightly in his favor.
    The man, now without any weapon, came charging at Wayne while releasing angry grunts. This man was easily double Wayne's size and he knew in no fair fight would he ever be able to beat him. Wayne didn't care about it being a fair fight, this man had caused him so much pain, he would only be satisfied with causing an equal amount of pain. The man charged and Wayne side stepped and threw his leg forward, causing the man to fall. Wayne took in the scene. The tents were smashed flat, bodies were laying exposed, each covered in hundreds of hoof marks. Had this man been the only survivor?
    "Carson." Wayne said with realization. The man had already made it to his feet as Wayne turned to face him, a smile played at the man's lips.
"Carson Johnson." He said just a little bit louder. The man's smile turned to laughter, the kind of laughter any man with sense would flee from. Rage engulfed Wayne.

Carson turned around, regaining his position after Wayne had knocked him off guard. "Don't take it personal." Carson said, as he lunged again at Wayne. Wayne wasn't sure how this all was going to end, but he knew he would risk his life to avenge the lives of those he loved. As Carson drew closer, Wayne readied his buck knife. Carson lunged and was on top of Wayne in a moment, the larger pinning the smaller to the ground. Wayne didn't stay there long, using carson's weight, Wayne rolled the two men over. Wayne held his knife inches from carson's face, waiting for his opportunity. Carson was trying to keep Wayne's knife from finding his skin, trying again to gain dominance of his situation. Wayne's Back was in the dirt once again and Carson seemed to have control over his knife. A grin spread over Carsons lips, and laughter followed as he dug the tip of the blade into Wayne's chest. The pain that he felt, caused the latter to spring to action, sending Carson yet again into the dirt. Wayne was sweating and the dust began to settle to his skin. His opponent didn't look any better. Wayne struggled with the knife to near no avail, then carson's hand slipped from the knife and all Wayne's strength sent the blade gliding down carsons jaw line.

AgainWayne found himself in the dirt, this time, the force sent the knife sailing from his hand. Now with a free hand, Carson used his advantage to lay blows to Wayne's face. Wayne used his feet and kicked Carson from off top of him, regaining his feet. The two men continued to exchange fists. Suddenly, a noise happened from behind Wayne, and pain shot again through Wayne's head. Crumpling to the ground again, he saw that Carson must not have been the sole survivor. His assailant handed the rifle to Carson. Now Wayne knew without a doubt that his decisions had been poor. Carson lifted the butt of the rifle to his shoulder, aimed at Wayne and pulled the trigger. A metallic click rang through the pocket they were camped in. "Sorry about your wife." Carson said with a laugh. He took to steps and closed the distance. Grabbing the riffle again by the barrel, Carson brought it down firm to the back of Wayne's head. As darkness clouded his vision he knew this wouldn't be the last time he saw Carson Johnson.