WILD BUNCH WEDNESDAY - Story With No Name

As nobody claimed Part 16 and Broken Trails is right behind this story here follows Part 16.
The story is to good to die - so here's the challenge. Walt Arnside's fate lies in someone's hand.
Also, an apology, this episode is uneditted and has come straight from the top of my head.

PREVIOUS:
Parts 1-10 can be read on The Culbin Trail (http://ijparnham.blogspot.com)
Part 11 can be read on Open Range (http://jacksopenrange.blogspot.com)
Part 12 at Charlie's Tokyo West blog (http://tokyowest.typepad.com/charlies_blog)
Part 13 is here on Broken Trails
Parts 14 and 15 at Davy Crocketts Almanack (http://davycrockettsalmanack.blogspot.com)

The authors involved in this are I.J.Parnham, Jack Giles, Chuck Tyrell, Jack Martin, Joseph A. West, Robert S. Napier, Richard Prosch, Peter Averillo, Paul Dellinger, Evan Lewis and James J. Griffin.





STORY WITH NO NAME - Part 16


Walt closed his eyes and lay back. There was a deep throbbing along the right side of his skull. Apache war drums that signalled his demise.
What was the point of trying to escape, anyway? His mind dwelt on the lack of a future. Even if he was free the heat of the desert would still kill him and if that didn't - even if he survived that long - then the deep chill of the desert night would finish the job.
He laughed. A patchy, croak from his parched throat that edged towards insanity.
Just thoughts that invited the vision of a naked man without food and water wandering around in ever decreasing circles until the inevitable end.
Too engrossed in his own problems Walt failed to hear the faint jingle of harness.
When he did open his eyes he found himself looking up into the face of an angel.
"I've died and gone to heaven," Walt sighed.
"You wish," the angel's voice was soft and husky. "Believe me, this is Purgatory."
Pale blue eyes that were almost white held Walt's for a moment. Fine blond hair framed a face that was almost feminine except for the fine bristles that curved over the upper lip and peppered the chin.
The eyes flicked away to glance at the corpse hanging from the cactus. The angel raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"Silas," Walt groaned. "Silas Bartlett."
The angel nodded: "Thought it might be."
He strolled over to inspect the corpse. In doing so he dislodged the mirror but Walt could not be sure if was by accident or design. Whatever, he was grateful for the relief.
Having finished his inspection the angel hunkered down close to Walt's outstretched right arm.
"Where's Roden?" the sharp question made Walt look over the angel's head to where a bunch of riders waited impatiently.
The man who had asked the question looked like the one who had put the lead into Walt's belly.
" I would have thought that was obvious," the angel spoke softly as he pointed in a south westerly direction. "Just follow those tracks, Deuce."
Deuce Harmon, Roden's segundo, stared at the direction indicated before turning his gaze to Walt's prone body.
"He's done for," Deuce stated. "Let's get going."
"You go, Deuce," the angel suggested. "This is as far as I'm going."
"The hell with you, Sawtell," Harmon shouted. "You signed on for the whole shebang."
"Deuce, you just happened to be going in the same direction as me," Sawtell did not move; he just sat there staring down at Walt. "The man who was going to pay me is dead. So no incentive to go any further."
"Leave it, Deuce," one of the other riders suggested.
"Leave it, hell," Deuce sneered.
Walt could only lie and watch and even then could not believe what he had witnessed.
It was like watching a rattlesnake uncurl and strike. That was the speed with which Sawtell moved. A fluid action that saw man and gun as one, the single shot crashing out to leave Deuce Harmon dead in the sand.
Harmon had no chance to draw his gun when his life was plucked away. Nor were any of the others prepared to exact vengeance as, to a man, they rode out into the desert to follow the tracks that would lead them into the arid wastes of the salt flats.
And Sawtell just sat there as though he had not moved.
"Well," Sawtell smiled. "I suppose I had better go."
"Not interested in the gold?" Walt blurted out, fearing that Sawtell would leave him to die.
"Fool's gold," Sawtell shrugged. "The deserts are full of myths and legends. Spanish galleons and fabulous cities. Fool's gold, friend."
"Silas had a map," Walt insisted.
"Of course, he did," Sawtell laughed. "And how many lives has the desert claimed of idiots that had maps that promise nothing?" as he spoke he drew a long bladed knife from a boot sheath. "If I were you I would give up and go home."
"I don't think that's possible, right now," Walt growled.
"This is true," Sawtell laughed, leaning forward to cut Walt's right hand free.
"Now you have an option."
Sawtell straightened and began to walk away.
"Hey, what about the rest?" Walt shouted at the retreating back.
Sawtell paused only to glance over his shoulder: "Gave you a fighting chance, friend. You have a free hand."

WILD BUNCH WEDNESDAY - Story With No Name

The Story With No Name reaches the 15th instalment over on Davy Crockett's Almanack (http://davycrockettsalmanack.blogspot.com)
This episode comes from western author, James J.Griffin and features a death in the desert.
Many western writers have taken part in the telling of this tale. They include I.J. Parnham, Jack Giles, Chuck Tyrell, Evan Lewis, Jack Martin, Richard Prosch, Robert S. Napier, Joseph A. West, James J. Griffin and more.
All the details and links can be found at Davy Crockett's Almanack.
And if you want to take part - then just stake your claim by leaving a comment on this week's episode.

WILD BUNCH WEDNESDAY - Story With No Name part 13

The Story With No Name continues.
Parts 1-10 can be found at The Culbin Trail (http://ijparnham.blogspot.com)
Part 11 can be found on Open Range (http://jacksopenrange.blogspot.com)
Part 12 is at http://tokyowest.typepad.com/charlies_blog

The continuation of the story is open to anyone who wants to join in. Just leave a comment to claim your spot.

And so Jack Giles returns with Part 13


THE STORY WITH NO NAME - Part 13

“Whoa, there,” Zack Roden frowned. “Who made you boss of this outfit?”
“Why don’t you just do as you’ve been asked?” Lola intervened, moving so that she placed her body between Roden and Walt. “Just take a look at them. Neither Walt nor Silas are in a fit state to run away.”
Roden nodded: “Then I’ll take a little insurance. Just hand over the map Walter and I’ll be on my way.”
Walt shook his head: “What happened to trust, Zack?”
“That was then,” Zack admitted, unable to make eye contact with his old friend. “Time changes things – now I don’t trust anyone.” He lifted his head to look directly at Walt. “This time – I will.” He paused, dramatically. “For old times and the fact that you won’t be going anywhere for a while. But, be warned, you betray my trust – I will hunt you down and kill you.”


The days passed into weeks as Walt Arnside healed wounds old and new. When he had become fit enough both he and Lola had sat outside talking over old times to the point that he believed that they had a future together. The more they talked so Walt became convinced that the supposed treasure meant nothing to Lola.
There were times when he could envisage a future where he settled on this tract of land and raised his own herd of cattle. Yet, he knew, that to realise that dream it would take hard cash and that was something that he did not have.
He knew that the answer lay in a share of that gold. All he had to do was convince Lola of his necessity in continuing with the venture.
The only doubt in his mind was Silas who had recovered from his wound. But it had left him aged and ashen skinned. He spent all day sitting by the open grate with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It was as though the fight had gone out of him.
“Damn hell, how’d I get caught up in all this?” he demanded of the bucket that he was taking towards the pump.
A distant cough had him dropping the bucket as he spun around; his hand reaching for the butt of his pistol. Only to stop and grin at the sight that met his eyes.
Long legged and ungainly the camels looked but it was a sight to behold. It had been many years since he had laid eyes on the beasts and back a few years to the time that he had joined the US Camel Corps. It was a pity that the troop had been disbanded for he had a great love for the gentle creatures. Sure they had a bad side for they spat or bit out at those who did not treat them decently.
The lead camel knelt down close by the corral and Roden looked as though he was about to fall over the long neck. His body tilted at an angle of 45 degrees but the hook of his leg and hold on the saddle pommel kept his balance. With practised ease he dismounted and ambled towards Walt.
“Absolutely marvellous,” Roden grinned by way of greeting. “An experience to savour,"
“You brought company,” Walt observed as he spotted a turbaned head behind one of the camels.
“Oh, Hassan,” Roden replied. “Well, someone has to teach us how to handle those beasts.
Besides he comes strongly recommended by Hi Jolly.”
“What?” Walt gasped, recalling the troop’s lead camel driver, Hadji Ali.
“Didn’t go to Las Vegas, old chap,” Roden said, seriously. “I heard that old Hi Jolly was over in Tucson and I thought it might be better to hear things from the camel’s mouth – as it were. Which was just as well as it turns out. We have a problem – a big problem. There’s a chap called Vic Sawtell hunting camels.”
“Sawtell?” Walt queried. “You sure? The man’s a killer.”
“Exactly,” Roden agreed. “Seems he was waiting for someone in Bannon.”
“Silas,” Walt deduced.

Wild Bunch Weednesday; Story With No Name

The weekly serial known as The Story With No Name has the 12th Episode at http://tokyowest.typepad.com/charlies_blog
This episode comes from the Black Horse Western writer Chuck Tyrell

To read the first ten episodes then http://ijparnham.blogspot.com is the place to go.
Part11 by Peter Averillo is to be found at http://jacksopenrange.blogspot.com

If you would like to be the author of Episode 13 then stake your claim here in the comments section or at Charlies blog.