Behind them, Ike and his men, remounted now, thundered through the breach in the first barricade. No sooner had they passed through than another wagon was brought out behind them, resealing the breach. Dozens of the townsmen, who had been waiting behind the buildings, rushed out to man the second barricade.
Billy saw it first, and realized before anyone else that they had ridden into a trap. All twenty men were caught within a fifty-yard pen, with armed men behind barricades at each end.
“Pa, we’re trapped!” Billy said.
“Shoot!” Ike replied. “Shoot the bastards!”
The men who had ridden in with the Clintons, suddenly realizing the hopelessness of their position, threw their guns down and started running to either side of the street with their hands up.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” they shouted.
“You cowardly bastards!” Cletus called toward them. He shot one of the fleeing men; then Cletus went down, shot by one of the defenders. Now, only Ike, Ray, and Billy were left, and the three men were shooting and getting shot at. Ray went down, then Ike, and Billy was alone.
“Billy, give it up!” Falcon said. “It’s over!”
Billy pulled the trigger on an empty chamber. Then he picked up guns from both Cleetus and Ray and, with a gun in either hand, started firing again.
“Billy, no! It’s over!” Kathleen shouted, suddenly darting through the barricade.
“Where did she come from?” Denham asked.
“Kathleen, get back here!”
Billy, who was firing both pistols wildly, suddenly saw a hole appear in Kathleen’s forehead.
“No!” he cried in anguish. “Kathleen, no!”
“Give it up, Billy!” Falcon said. “It’s over!
Falcon came out from behind the barricade then, and started toward Billy, who was now standing there, holding both guns down by his side, staring at Kathleen’s body.
“Drop your guns, Billy,” Falcon said as he approached him.
Billy looked up at Falcon. The expression on Billy’s face was that of a wild man.
“No!” Billy shouted. Raising both guns, he began shooting at Falcon. One of his bullets nicked Falcon’s arm and another took off Falcon’s hat. Falcon had no choice but to return fire, and when he did so, Billy fell forward. Billy lay there for a second; then, wriggling forward on his stomach, he worked his way through the dirt of the street to Kathleen’s body. Reaching out, he took her hand in his, squeezed it, then died.
One hour later, with the street cleaned up and with the bodies of the Clintons and Kathleen down at the undertaker’s, the morning stage left for La Junta. Falcon saw it go by, saw Rachael looking through the window as it left. She didn’t wave, and neither did Falcon.
EPITAPH FOR HIGBEE.
This is the final issue of the HIGBEE JOURNAL. Should some future historian happen upon this journal, it might be of interest to know that only twenty-five copies of this issue will be printed. Only twenty-five copies, but this will be enough for every man, woman, and child remaining in Higbee.
Three months ago Higbee was a vibrant community, with the prospects of a railroad to be built by General Wade Garrison. That railroad, the Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas, would have connected our city to the rest of the country, indeed to the rest of the world. We had wonderful business enterprises. Moore’s General Store was as fine a store as one could find this side of Denver. Moore’s is no more. Our apothecary, leather goods store, hardware store, mortuary, all wonderful establishments of commerce, are gone, too. The Golden Nugget, where once we could gather in a convivial atmosphere and be entertained by the beautiful music of one of our nation’s greatest musicians, is also gone, as is the Morning Star Hotel. Even the church closed its doors when the parson, Reverend E. D. Owen, found that he no longer had a flock to tend.
This all came about by the greed and evil machinations of one man, Ike Clinton. In this one man’s twisted mind, the railroad, which would have guaranteed growth and prosperity for Higbee, was a threat, and he set about to stop it.
If a final score is somewhere being kept, let it be known that Ike Clinton succeeded in stopping the railroad, though not in the way he intended. Clinton’s evil greed cost him his own life, as well as the life of his three sons. It also brought about the demise of Kathleen Garrison, a beautiful, innocent young lady who provided meaning to her father’s life.
When Kathleen Garrison was killed, the spark which sustained General Wade Garrison was extinguished. Losing all reason to live, General Garrison stopped the building of the railroad. He left town, a broken and dispirited man, and at last report, was living the life of a recluse in a home for the mentally disturbed in Memphis, Tennessee.
Without the hope of a railroad, that which was sustaining the growth and vibrancy of Higbee, the town withered and died. And now, as I set the type that will reproduce these words, I can only hope that at least one of these journals will survive until some future time, one hundred, or maybe even one hundred fifty years from now. To you, dear reader in the future, I leave these final words. Our town, which will be but a faded shadow in your history, was once bright with hope and promise. And long after the last building has turned to dust, the spirits of such men as Norman True, Carl Moore, Titus, Travis, and Troy Calhoun, General Wade Garrison, Corey and Prentiss Hampton, and such women as the general’s daughter Kathleen, the talented pianist Rachael Kirby, and yes, even the madam, Maggie, will occupy this place until the entire planet returns to dust.
I am Harold Denham, editor and publisher of the Higbee Journal.
I bid thee all a final farewell.
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