Tell 'Em Red Jack Was Here…
by O.G. Green
Chuparosa, Mexico
1914
Jack Marston was enjoying a fine meal of tortilla soup and chicken fajitas when Death swaggered into the cantina. According to the brass clock above the bar, it was high noon.
The El Gato Negro was very crowded at lunchtime. Both the local vaqueros and the ranch hands from across the border enjoyed spending their money here. The food was excellent, the booze even better, all served by the most beautiful senoritas here in the Sonoran desert. It was also supposed to be a place where an outlaw like himself could relax without fear of being arrested or killed. His hand slowly made its way to the nickel-plated, ivory-gripped .41 caliber revolver he kept as a belly gun.
As Marston covered his revolver with a towel, he watched the newcomer sidle up to the bar. Jack took note of the hand-tooled Justin boots, tan canvas pants, brown pullover shirt, and the putty-colored flat-crowned hat with a wide brim. Two things caught his interest about this stranger. First was the Randall Special, a cut-down Winchester rifle that sat in a skeleton holster along the thigh. Second, was the dirty blonde hair that definitely came with a familiar face. They had crossed a trail or two around Gaptooth Ridge. There were a number of female manhunters taking down bounties but none more dangerous than Nancy "Shotgun Anne" Svensson. Even Pa had shot it out with her around Tall Trees some years back and almost didn't survive the encounter.
Jack tried to recall what his Pa told him about this hellion. Shotgun Anne made her rep in Armadillo taking out Tularosa Bill Dahlgren and a number of the Bollard Twins gang with nothing more than a sawed-off Parker 12-gauge. Instead of bringing a hand back, she usually clipped the men's balls to collect her bounties. Jack even heard she tracked a leader from the Sociedad de Bandidos to the Ojo de Diablo, knifed his bodyguards, and returned him across the border. Ms. Svensson would not be open to bribery or intimidation. Jack Marston was thinking of how to escape her notice when he felt the cold muzzle of a Colt .45 automatic being pressed into his ear.
"Buenos Tardes, mi amigo. I've go the bulge on 'ya Jack. You wouldn't want to kill an 'ol friend, now, would 'ya?"
Looking to his right, Jack saw an older man in his forties dressed in a black sack coat and trousers. Cinched around the man's waist was a Buscadero-style catridge belt that held a double-action Smith & Wesson revolver in a double-loop holster. When his eyes met the other man's face, Jack actually smiled.
"Howdy to you too, Uncle Frank. If you wanted to see Pa, you're a few years too late. The gov't put him down…"
Frank "Sin-Killer" Kerr kept the pistol steady as he lowered himself into a chair next to Jack. Kerr was an ace-high shootist and curly wolf who has out-smarted both the U.S. Marshals and the Mexican Army. He also used to ride with both Pa and Bill Williamson in robbing banks along the Rio Grande. Legend had it that both Frank Kerr and Langdon Ricketts were on opposite sides of the Lincoln County War in New Mexico. These thoughts raced inside Jack's mind as Frank raised a glass of whiskey towards Shotgun Anne who returned the salute.
"I read about that massacre in the papers. Heard also that you caught up with that sonuvabitch Ross. Bully for you, Jack. I always knew you had it in you to walk the owlhoot trail. Before I get ahead of myself, why don't you hand over that hog-leg underneath the towel so we can have us a proper conversation." Frank smiled at the younger outlaw.
"And if I refuse?" Jack tightened his grip on the revolver.
Before Frank could answer, the batwing doors of the cantina slammed inward as gray uniformed Federales marched in with guns drawn. They carried Winchester repeaters and Colt revolvers. Leading them was a tan uniformed officer, Captain Jorge Perez. Frank grimaced at this interruption. He winked once at Shotgun Anne who gulped down another shot of tequila. Her hand rested on the snaps of the skeleton holster. Jack just wondered what else could go wrong on an otherwise peaceful day. Frank slid the .45 automatic underneath the table.
"You want to skeedadle out of here, boy? Or take that final trip to the bone orchard?", hissed Frank.
"I want to see if you still got the sand to fight like Kilkenny cats, Uncle Frank. Then we can wind up our business later.", snarled Jack.
Captain Perez had a wanted dodger in his gloved hand as he examined the faces in the room. The rest of the Federales spread out taking positions by the entrance and back exit. There were several nervous men who breathed a sigh of relief as the Federale captain strode over to the table where the gringos sat. He gave the gringos a feral smile.
"It has come to my attention that I had two esteemed guests in my district. 'Red' Jack Marston and 'Sin-Killer' Kerr. Muy bueno, amigos! You will make me a very rich man. Now.." Captain Perez never finished his sentence. A bone-handled throwing knife had punctured his throat.
Frank Kerr upturned the table as bullets smacked into the wood. He pulled the trigger twice and was rewarded with the sight of a federale slumping against the wall, a trail of blood sliding down. He shot another federale trying to draw a bead on Jack from the entrance.
Jack Marston grabbed the nearest federale and blew the man's hat clean off with his .41 caliber revolver. Bits of bone and gristle splashed onto the bar behind him. He snatched up his Mauser, then emptied his 10-shot magazine into a trio of federales grouped by the bar. Their spasming and jerking bodies dropped to the floor like so much cordwood. More blood seeped onto the adobe floor.
After skewering Captain Perez with the throwing knife, Shotgun Anne jacked a round into her Randall Special and shot another federale in the chest. The blonde manhunter spun, jacked the lever again, and blew out the brains of a second federale. She was about to shoot again when a vicious butt-stroke clipped her head. The federale stomped on the Randall Special pinning it to the floor. He gave a toothy grin towards Shotgun Anne as he leveled his Winchester carbine. That smile got vaporized as Shotgun Anne pulled her sawn-off 12gauge Parker out and squeezed both triggers. She ran her fingers alongside her head to make sure nothing was amiss.
"You okay, Anne? That sonuvabitch clipped 'ya pretty good.", asked a concerned Frank.
"I'm still breathing ain't I? We're gonna have us some Rocky Mountain oysters, Tex-Mex style! Yee-hah!", shouted Anne as she pulled out a stag-handled skinning knife.
Red Jack Marston shook his head as he reloaded both his belly gun and his Mauser. Whatever his Uncle Frank had to say to him, it had better be damned important...