Showdown at Cutters Gap

A story very loosely based on Daniel Nine

By Bob Freye

The main street was nearly deserted, except for two solitary figures. One rolled through town, pushed by the wind. It’s dry branches scraped on the wooden sidewalk, adding a rhythmic patter to the swish of gingham and petticoats. Ann Wistfal stood with her face toward the morning sun, unblinking, watching the horizon for any sign of horses on the trail. The rest of the town was boarded up inside their shops and homes. The residents of Cutters Gap would come out only after the danger was past. In the meantime, they would leave Ann to stand alone, with only a tumbleweed for company.

She saw them first as dark specks near the edge of the horizon. They made their way slowly toward town. Once or twice, they vanished momentarily into a gully or behind a stand of trees. In this flat country, such cover was rare. A person didn’t stand much chance of sneaking up on a neighbor. And so Ann could stand at the end of the boardwalk and measure the arrival of the three horses and their riders.

They rode in the open country with purpose, but at the edge of town they slowed the horses to a more cautious pace. They thought it better to amble into a friendly greeting than to rush headlong into trouble. The sight of Ann Wistfal standing in the middle of the road didn’t do much to calm their nerves. Three strong men, dark and shaggy from the trail, their horses thick with tempered muscle, their saddles hung with shotguns and large-bore rifles, and yet they reigned in at the sight of a woman standing not much more than five feet tall in their path.

They assembled in a line across the road. The outside riders took a long look at the buildings on either side, peering at the windows for any glint of sun on the steel of a gun barrel. The one in the center paid no attention to anything except the woman. He prodded his mount forward a few steps and peered down at her under the crumpled brim of his hat. His clothes were turned almost to the color of road dirt, and his moustache puffed out tiny clouds of dust when he talked.  

“Can I assume,” he said in a voice that seemed to rumble from deep inside his chest, “that you are here to see me?”

“I am.” Ann planted her hands on her hips and stared up at him with eyes that seemed to smolder. “I have something to say to you, before you ride into this town.”

“I suppose I could just go round you,” he said, more to himself than to her. “It’s a big road.”

“I don’t intend to be gotten around.”

The rider considered the width of the road and the relatively small space occupied by the woman. There was room on either side for a wagon and a marching band, much less a horse and rider. Truth be told, he wouldn’t even have to go out of his way. His horse would brush her aside as easy as a mosquito. Scout was good natured, for a trail horse. But he would walk over any obstacle in front of him, if ordered. No, this woman was no reason for him to delay his business.

Still …

“Alright,” he said, sitting back in the saddle. “Speak your mind.”

“I know what you’ve come to do,” she began.

“Is that right?” he wondered aloud.

“And I know you have every right,” she continued, gaining momentum, “but I’m here to ask you to stay your hand. These people haven’t done you any favors, and I’d even say they’ve all been downright impossible.”

“Sounds like you don’t like your neighbors,” he said.

She stopped for a moment, looking a bit surprised, and then regained her composure.

“Let me say that differently,” she said. “I’m not good at finding the right words.”

“You strike me as a woman who can always find words,” he said, smiling, “even if they aren’t the right words.”

She burned a bit, from the look of her cheeks. But she did not stop.

“I should say that we have been downright impossible. All of us.”

“I don’t remember you insulting my cowhands, and I don’t recall hearing that your fists were on my trail boss when he was thrown out of the community theater.” 

“No,” she said, “but we are all together in this. These are my neighbors, as you say. And we all share in the same ingratitudes.”

He couldn’t remember for certain if ingratitudes was a real word, but he admired her determination. He wondered if she would go so far as to make up a whole new language just to apologize for these neighbors of hers.

These ingratitudinous neighbors, he thought to himself. And he couldn’t help but laugh.

“I don’t think this is very funny,” she said with her jaw set and her eyes narrowed to a righteous scowl.

“It is from where I’m sitting,” he chuckled.

He swung his leg over and lowered himself to the ground. “So why don’t I come down and try to see things from your angle.”

The reigns dropped to the dust, and Scout relaxed. He would wait, right were he stood, until his rider needed him. 

Ann watched the man walk past her a few paces and stare off down the street. “This is a nice town,” he said, “except for the people. But that won’t always be the case.”

“If you have any intention of walking in here and—“ she sputtered, but he stopped her.

“If you could be quiet for one minute,” he said, “I’d tell you that the railroad is coming through this town, and soon.”

She was about to ask if he was certain of that, but she thought better of it.

He saw her mouth open and then close without a sound, and he smiled. First time for that, he thought.

“It could be months, and it could be as much as a year,” he told her, “but it won’t be long. Then everything will change. This won’t be any little town. People will have to learn to behave. They’ll all have to grow up.”

Ann looked down the street. She could see the bald head of Avery Caldwell, mayor of Cutter’s Gap, shining in the window of his millenary shop. Chatman Olsted was hiding behind the thick door of his bank, peeking out to see when the riders would proceed to the center of the town and begin shooting the place up. He would then run away, leaving others to face the bullets. The door to the dentist’s office was wide open. Doc Hallaway was already gone. He didn’t mind causing pain, but he couldn’t take much of it himself.

The man was right. They would all have to grow up. But Ann wasn’t certain they could.

“Anyway, I’ll let you tell them the news,” the rider said. He turned and walked back to Scout, who braced himself as the man climbed back up.

“By the way, how are the boys?” he said as he swung his leg back over and settled onto the saddle. 

Ann looked up at him. The fire was gone from her face now.

“Growing like weeds,” she said, “and twice as troublesome.”

He grinned.

“They’re good boys,” he said. “You can be proud of them. Anything you need?”

“Can’t complain,” she told him. “The only thing—“

She stopped, suddenly self-conscious.

“The only thing?” he repeated.

“No.” She shook her head.

“You would face me down in the middle of the road, but you won’t answer a simple question?” He was grinning again.

“If I hadn’t been here,” she asked, “what would you have done?”

“Oh,” he drew in his breath, “I suppose I’d have given them a good talking to.”

She smiled. “I suppose so.”

“I’ve answered your question,” he said, “so why not answer mine?”

She drew herself up to a full five feet two and one half inches.

“Well, I was thinking,” she stammered, “just that what the boys need is a man around the house.”

She had more to say, but the words were suddenly choked off somewhere in her throat.

“I’ll keep my eyes open,” he said.

His face didn’t change much, but Ann thought she saw a flicker of movement that may have been a very shy wink or a very nervous twitch of the eye.

Then he was gone, turned back away from town, riding out with his two trail hands, one on either side. Ann watched Boyd Cutter ride away from his town, the town he had built, the town he owned. And she wondered when he would tire of the trail and return to Cutters Gap.

[-] © 2006