The Last Confession

Chapter 7

Where shooting was concerned, Rick O’Shea had an uncanny ability to calculate from just the sound, where and at what distance the firing was from. He also had a shrewd idea from hearing a single shot whether the weapon being discharged was a pistol, rifle or scattergun. In the present case, he judged that somebody had fired with a carbine at distance of perhaps a hundred yards to their left; which was to say in the direction of Grey John Gap. Before the echo had died down, O’Shea was off his horse and had dragged Jemima Covenay from hers. The girl struggled, saying ‘I got to get to Emily. There’s blood on her head.’

‘It won’t help her none if you get killed,’ said O’Shea harshly, ‘Lay still here, by these rocks. Whoever fired at us is lower down. We can’t be seen from down there. We must o’ been silhouetted up against the sky, which is what gave him his target.’

His cool and collected manner worked some purpose, for Jemima Coveany stopped fighting him and said quietly, ‘I’m going to wriggle across to my sister. I’ll keep low.’

While the young woman crawled over on her belly to see to the injured child, Rick O’Shea cursed himself for a damned fool who had brought those poor girls into deadly hazard. He really should have known better and without even thinking the matter through consciously, he knew now just what had occurred. So busy had he been with setting a watch to make sure that they weren’t being followed by Yanez and his gang, that O’Shea had hardly given a thought to the one or two riders he could see ahead of him. He had been so damned certain-sure that Seth Jackson would be making common cause with Yanez that he hadn’t paused for a moment to think that the sheriff might have his own motives for silencing O’Shea and doing away with Emily and her sister. It wasn’t a matter of missing out on a reward or failing to be voted in as sheriff in a few weeks. If O’Shea told all he knew, then Jackson would stand an excellent chance of being lynched by the men of San Angelo.

All this went through O’Shea’s mind before Jemima Covenay had reached her sister and found that the blood was just from a slight cut on her head, where she had fallen from her horse and banged her forehead against a rock. The little girl had been stunned, but was now coming round and beginning to sob. O’Shea said, ‘Jemima, is that musket of yours primed and charged?’

‘Yes,’ she answered distractedly, but it’s on my horse yonder.’

When he looked up, it was to discover that Jemima’s horse had trotted on ahead and was now in a position where anybody approaching it would be in plain view of the slope below. He’d have to make do with the pistol, which was a nuisance. He risked a quick glance over the rocks which were sheltering them from view and nearly had his head shot of as a result. Sheriff Jackson was positioned less than a hundred yards away, with his rifle resting on a boulder to better his aim. The only good thing about their current situation was the reflection that had they simply rode through the Gap, then they’d all be dead by now. It was plain as a pikestaff that Jackson had counted on their riding hard through Grey John Gap in their haste to get back to San Angelo. He’d found a nice vantage point overlooking the Gap and all he had needed to do was wait until they passed below and then pick them off one by one; including, thought O’Shea in mounting fury, a little girl who wasn’t in full possession of her wits. It was the most devilish scheme he’d ever heard tell of in the whole course of his life.

There was nothing for it, but that he would have to act immediately, thought O’Shea to himself. At any moment, Yanez might coming riding out from Archangel and then it would be all up with them. He had to deal with Jackson without any delay. O’Shea called over to the older of the sisters and said, ‘Come over here Jemima. Leave your sister for a moment and attend to me. It’s life and death for us all.’

After murmuring some reassuring words to Emily, the older girl scuttled across to where Rick O’Shea lay prone and said, ’What are we going to do?’

‘What I’m going to do is run down that slope and kill the man down there. While I’m doing that, you must run to your horse and fetch out that rifle of yours. I’ll keep that devil too busy to trouble you while you do it. Then, if anything happens to me, you must be sure that you’re ready to kill him before he knows what’s what.’

‘It’s certain death for you to go after him that way. Is there nothing else?’

‘I’m no keener on dying than you Jemima, but ‘less you got another plan, I reckon as we’ll go with mine.’ There was the ghost of smile round his lips as he said this and suddenly, the girl leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Good luck!’ she said, her voice choked.

‘Just be ready to move as soon as I jump up.’ said O’Shea.

Then, because he had already wasted enough time explaining his intentions and with Yanez perhaps already on the road from Archangel, Rick O’Shea drew the gun from its holster, leaned over the rocks, snapped off a single shot at Seth Jackson and then leaped up and began running at full speed towards the startled sheriff.

There was not, despite the apparent recklessness of his action, any intention on Rick O’Shea’s part to throw away his life. He knew that firing at a stationery target is a very different thing indeed from shooting at somebody moving rapidly and erratically and so as he ran, he jinked from side to side; making it impossible for the man on the slope below to guess where he would be in the next second. He also fired twice as he was running, not because he thought he could hit Jackson with his pistol while running to and fro in this way, but simply to spoil the other fellow’s aim and prevent him from settling down to take careful aim.

Several shots came close and O’Shea wondered is he would be able to get the sheriff to waste enough ammunition to make it necessary for him to reload. He must have fired four times now. O’Shea sent another wild shot in Jackson’s direction, just as the other man fired. At that moment, his ankle twisted on a loose rock and O’Shea found himself tumbling forward; landing behind a boulder. There was another shot, which hit the boulder behind which O’Shea was sheltering and sent chips of rock flying off. Then there was silence and he wondered if Jackson might think that he had taken him down. In the heat of battle, a man flying forward, the way that he had done, might have looked like a direct hit. He looked up to the trail where he had left the Covenay sisters and was pleased to observe that only the horses were visible. It was to be doubted that Jackson would think it worth expending any ammunition on their mounts, which gave O’Shea reason to hope that they might yet make it back to San Angelo.

Then there was a puff of smoke from up on the trail and fraction of a second later the boom of Jemima Covenay’s rifle. This was followed by a perfect fusilade of shots from Jackson, which ended abruptly. It was now or never and O’Shea rose to his feet, cocking the pistol with his thumb as he did so. Twenty yards away, Sheriff Jackson was fumbling frantically with the carbine in his hands. O’Shea called out, ‘Over here, Jackson!’

Seth Jackson looked up fearfully and, before he had a chance to duck or undertake any other evasive action, O’Shea drew down on him and fired twice; both balls taking the sheriff in his chest. Taking no chances, O’Shea sprinted down to where Jackson was looking down stupidly at the two holes which indicated that his worthless life had run its course and was fast drawing to a close. Grabbing the rifle from Jackson’s hands, Rick O’Shea gave the other man a kick, which send him to the ground. From overhead came Jemima Covenay’s voice, calling, ‘Are you all right? I thought he’d taken you.’

‘Not a bit of it,’ he shouted back cheerfully, ‘God takes care of fools sometimes. I’m fine. How’s that sister of yours?’

‘Shaken up and bruised, but she’ll do.’

It took only a couple of minutes to loot Sheriff Jackson’s corpse and pretty lean pickings there were to be had too. The only items of any value or use were the dead man’s rifle, a Winchester ‘73, and his pistol. There were plenty of shining brass shells for both weapons but only five dollars in cash money. The sheriff’s crooked life did not seem to have made him all that wealthy.

Once he had regained the trail, O’Shea cast an anxious glance back in the direction of Archangel and found to his relief, but not inconsiderable surprise, that there was no sign yet of any body of riders heading north. He muttered to himself, ‘We might make it yet. We might just.’

Emily’s good spirits did not seem noticeably dented by having been shot at, fallen from her horse and stunned, followed in quick order by being caught up in a gun battle. As they remounted, the child said, a broad grin splitting her face, ’Gosh, that was an awful noise all them guns made! I put my hands right over my ears, didn’t I ’Mima?’

‘You did just fine, darling.’

‘I’ll sure be glad to get home. Won’t pa be surprised when he hears the larks we’ve been up to? You bet he’ll laugh his head off!’

Jemima Covenay’s eyes met O’Shea’s, and hearing this innocent expectation from the excited child, they both smiled. O’Shea said, ‘I’m not sure that he’ll laugh all that much Miss Emily, but let’s get you home anyways.’

‘I’m sorry I missed my shot,’ said Jemima, a little abruptly, ‘I guess I’m not used to shooting at targets which are firing back!’

‘It takes a bit of getting used to, I’ll allow,’ replied O’Shea, ‘But it was having him distracted by your firing on him that gave me my chance.’

‘Why did you shout out to him and alert him to your whereabouts afore you shot him?’

Rick O’Shea looked a little embarrassed at the question and rubbed his chin before answering. Then he said, ‘Why, the truth of the matter is that if anybody was going to get killed, I’d sooner it was me than you, I suppose. Had he drilled me, then it might o’ given you the time to reload and finish him off.’

This was something of a conversation stopper and the three of them mounted up and set off without speaking again.

Fortunately, the winding track soon led them into the space between two of the peaks and out of view of both the plain which lay between the Reds and Archangel, and also Grey John Gap. If Yanez was coming after them, then there was every chance that he’d ride straight through the Gap and so miss them entirely.

The worst that could be said of that journey across the Reds was that it was tedious and dull. There was little to be seen, other than bare rock, scrappy brown grass and the occasional clump of bristlecone pines. Their path led them to some abandoned mine workings, which occupied much of a little plateau and prompted O’Shea to suggest that they could do worse than spend the night there. As he reasoned the case out to the older sister, ‘We’re not going to hit San Angelo today and I don’t altogether feel easy about sleeping out in the open, out on a plain.’ It was plain that young Emily didn’t take to this scheme, having had more than enough adventures by this time and wanting only to be tucked up safe and sound in her soft bed at home, but her sister could see the sense in what O’Shea was saying and sided with him on the point.

The little girl said nervously, ’We won’t have to sleep in that dark cave, will we? I’m scared of it. Anything could live there!’

’Don’t you worry none,’ O’Shea told her, ’We’ll just sleep out under the stars. You never done that before? It’s rare fun, I tell you. Be something else for you to tell your father about when you get home.’

At this, the child brightened up and was soon chattering away to her sister about how much she would have to tell their pa when they got home. Jemima remarked to O’Shea, ’Mind, I shouldn’t wonder if he don’t take his buggy-whip to me when we get home. I came down here without asking so much as a by-your-leave.’

’I’ll talk to him, set things out straight. Had you not come, I doubt I’d have managed this. It’s took all that the two of us could manage to get this far.’

It might have been thought that following her kidnap, rescue, fall from the horse and having been in close proximity to a duel in which one man was killed, Emily Covenay had used up all her chances lately, but she was to face another mortal hazard before the little party set off the next day.

There was little enough to eat and drink, only the meagre provisions which remained in Jemima Covenay’s pack, and by common consent, they allotted the lion’s share to Emily. She was ravenously hungry after all the riding that day. While stuffing bits of dry bread and more or less stale cheese into her mouth she talked about the day’s events. ‘I never rode so long in one day. I’m awful tired now though. Can we sleep soon, ‘Mima? You think we might be home tomorrow? I hope so. It’s been fun, but I miss pa. I was sorry you tied up that old lady, you know,’ she remarked, addressing O’Shea directly, ‘You think somebody would have come by and untied her now? She was all right. A bit of a crosspatch, but kind of sweet too, if you know what I mean?’

‘Emily, darling,’ said her sister, ‘Don’t speak while you’re eating. It’s not at all ladylike.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t think that manners mattered out here. What do you think?’ She turned again to O’Shea.

‘I don’t know that I’m the best man to consult on manners and such,’ said O’Shea, with a laugh, ‘I ain’t moved in those circles where fancy behaviour was needed. But you’d best mind your sister, if nothing else.’

They were all three of them dog-tired and settled down as best they could to sleep; before it was even completely dark. Emily took quite a bit of settling and her sister fussed around her, trying to make the child as comfortable as could be under the circumstances. For his own part, O’Shea fell asleep almost at once and slumbered soundly until dawn, when he was awoken by a ferocious roaring sound, coupled with frantic screaming.

Emily Covenay had had a restless night’s sleep, tossing and turning on the stony soil where she lay. When she finally drifted off at around midnight, it was to doze fitfully; her sleep disturbed by lurid and alarming nightmares, where she was chased through dark passages by inknown, but terrifying, creatures. At first light, she opened her eyes and was enchanted to see what appeared to be an animated toy snuffling around a few feet from her head. It was something big and black and furry and Emily felt an overwhelming deisre to throw her arms around whatever it was and cuddle it. She accordingly threw off the rough blanket which her sister had palced tenderly over her sleeping form and stood up. The furry creature did not seem at all nervous of her, but evinced what Emily took to be the desire to play. It gambolled around a little in front of her and then scuttled off a few yards and turned round to peer at her; for all the world as though it wanted to say, ‘Come and catch me!’ Nothing loath, she scooted across to the little ball of fur and attempted to throw her arms around it.

Having lived the whole of her life on a farm, which she left only to visit a town, it was not to be expected that Emily Covenay would be familiar with the ways of black bears. She had from time to time glimpsed them from a distance, but never been this close to one; let alone one like this which was so playful. The cub was only three months old and although it weighed a good thirty pounds, was very much still a baby.

Black bear cubs are especially vulnerable to predators and it is common for them to carried off by bobcats, wolves and mountain lions. For this reason, their mothers tend to be acutely sensitive to any perceived threat to the young and although black bears are in the usual way of things fairly timid and shy of humans, a mother with cubs can represent a great danger to those who are foolish enough to come to close. So it was in this case, because as Emily Covenay chased the cub and it ran from her, an enormous female bear emerged from the mouth of the old mine and, after giving a tremendous roar, lumbered straight after what she believed to be a deadly hazard to her offspring.

Even first thing in the morning like this, Rick O’Shea’s mind worked out matters relating to life and death danger very quickly and efficiently. He saw that a gigantic bear was reared up on its hind legs, roaring and trying to get at something which was cowering behind an old wooden cart. Then he glimpsed a smaller shape, which he saw at once could only be a bear cub. Everything fell into place at once and he knew that the most urgent priority was to get that bear away from its intended target. Already, it was pushing its bulk against the wagon, pushing it aside to get at the terrified child wedged behind it. The obvious way to distract the bear from its prey was to offer it a new lightning rod for its wrath, so O’Shea jumped up and ran over to the cub, making roaring noises of his own as though he meant to eat up the little ball of black fur.

Rick O’Shea’s gambit worked better than he could possibly have hoped, for the she-bear instantly forgot whatever lay behind that old cart and turned its attention to a new threat to the cub. For a creature of such great bulk, it moved faster than you would think possible and began running towards O’Shea, with the evident intention of tearing him to pieces.

For short bursts, a black bear can run almost as fast as a racehorse and O’Shea had no time to plan anything. All he could hope to do was remain out of reach of those teeth and claws. He ducked behind a boulder, just in time to avoid a mighty swipe from a paw which was almost the size of his head. Then there was a crack and the bear let out another roar of anger and turned away from him. Jemima Covenay had snatched up the pistol which he had taken from Jackson after their little contretemps and had fired at the bear, seemingly hitting it. The sight of that slim girl, dressed in boys’ clothes and with her hair cut short, standing there facing down a bear with the pistol in her hand was a memory which never left Rick O’Shea for the rest of his life.

Infuriated by the pain of the ball which it received in its side, the bear bounded across the clearing towards Jemima, who fired twice more, before the beast skidded to a halt and collapsed only a dozen feet from the white-faced girl. O’Shea hurried over to her, saying, ‘I never saw the like in my life. There’s not one man in a thousand would’ve stood his ground like that, with the animal charging at you and all.’

‘It’s not the first bear I killed. Though the last ocassion was with a rifle. I didn’t know if this pistol would answer or not.’

‘Yet you stood your ground still,’ said O’Shea, admiringly, ‘You never flinched.’

‘I have to tend to my sister, excuse me.’

O’Shea quite expected for young Emily to develop a fit of hysteria and he, for one, would not have blamed her in the slightest. Truth to tell, he felt a little shaken himself by the onslaught of the bear. But Emily, whatever other shortcomings she might have mentally, showed that same tough resilience which he so admired in her big sister. She seemed quite stoical about the whole business, when once her sister had explained that the mother bear was only looking out for her cub.

‘Like you look after me, you mean ‘Mima?’

‘Just so, darling. You know how cross I’d be if anybody hurt you? That’s all that mother bear was about. She didn’t know that you were just playing with ther cub, see.’

‘Just a mistake, you mean?’

‘That’s right, just a mistake.’

O’Shea said, ‘Tell me, how’d you know where to shoot the thing? I heard tell of men emptying their guns at a bear and the thing still carried on and mauled ‘em.’

‘When you’re hunting big animals, you have to aim for the dead centre of their brain,’ the girl explained, ‘That’s what my pa taught me. Imagine a line running from ear to ear and wherever you’re firing from, you have to aim for the mid-point on that line. So when that bear came for me, I knew I had to shoot right between its eyes if I was to kill it.’

‘You gave me to understand that you was no great shakes with pistols,’ remarked O’Shea, ‘That don’t square up with what I saw this day.’

‘I’m better with a rifle.’

After all the noise and shooting, Rick O’Shea deemed it wise if they were to be leaving the vicinity sooner, rather than later. The horses were looking a little droopy and could do with some water and feed. The three animals had remained surprisingly untroubled by the bear’s antics and the subsequent shooting.

‘One thing which is encouraging,’ O’Shea said to Jemima, out of earshot of her sister, ‘Is that Yanez has either given up on hunting me down or he took the road through the Gap, as I hoped. Either way, he didn’t come upon us while we were sleeping and cut our throats, which is something to be thankful for, at any rate.’

‘Yes,’ said the girl dryly, ‘We must thank heaven for small mercies.’

By the time they were ready to move out, the bear cub appeared to realise that its mother was no longer around to protect it. The little thing was nuzzling its mother’s lifeless body and making pitiful mewing noises, which put them in mind of a lost kitten. Emily said, ‘It’s awful sad. Can we take the baby bear along of us?’

‘No,’ said O’Shea, in a voice which brooked no opposition, ‘We most certainly cannot.’