Encounter At Kirk's Rock
Back when the West was young, all manner of desperate criminals were likely to pass by a particular feature of the desert landscape. With as many heroes hot on their trail. But not usually on the same day.
This story was originally a submission to FurAffinity's [url=https://www.furaffinity.net/user/thursdayprompt/Thursday Prompt[/url] writing group.
Encounter At Kirk's Rock
By: DankeDonuts
https://dankedonuts.sofurry.com/
Slanted, sun-seared stones wavered in the mirage-like mist of a desert afternoon. The scattered sagebrush stood still and quiet: they knew that justice was coming, and weren't of a mind to get in the way.
Sheriff Wes Talbert motioned his posse to dismount their horses at the base of a misshapen mound of rock and shadows. The Mountain Lion pulled a lever-action rifle loose from his saddle. Then patted the back of his neck with his kerchief, while a dry-lipped Ram took a draw from a water canteen and passed it along to a Possum. Who handed it over to Wolfhound, next to a Horny Toad and a Hare, then finally over to Wes.
Properly slaked, the party made their way around to the other side of the rocks. Eyes out for any sign of danger, be it from desperate furs or hungry vermin. Under a ridge of red rock, the Ram, who went by the name of Texas Tate, pointed out the signs of a camp sloppily dismantled. A freshly extinguished campfire. A discarded tin cup. Poorly covered footprints. From these, the posse followed a trail of broken branches and scuffed sandstone to a thin passageway up towards the summit of the rocks, hemmed to one side by more of the same.
With an outstretched arm, Wes stopped his men from assailing it. Recognizing a trap when he saw one, the Sheriff pointed his rifle over to a suspiciously silent collection of bushes and boulders some two stories above his own head to the left. Specifically, at a boulder that appeared to have grown an extra shadow. He waited until his men had picked their own targets before addressing the hidden figures.
His voice was hoarse from the long ride, and general crankiness. "Crazy Jack Colston! I am the law of this county! You are your gang are wanted for the murder of five men and theft of the Booking Railroad payroll! I am giving you ten seconds to throw down your arms and come along peaceably, or I will drag your corpse to Hell on the back of my horse!"
A white kerchief came up from the stone, followed by the head of a young-faced Fox. "Mr. Sheriff Sir, I think there's been some kinda mistake. I'm the Whiplash Kid. These are my Dust Riders." He pointed out a threesome -- two Ferrets, one a woman, and an Armadillo in a sombrero -- who were coming out of their own hiding spots up on the ridge, rifles lowered. "We're laying an ambush for the Morwin Brothers. They's cattle rustlers outta Deadgulch. I ain't heard tell of no man name of Colston." His friends offered tentative shakes of their heads.
The Sheriff considered this news. "You the same Whiplash Kid that stopped that oil baron from tearing down the town of Black Tar?" He did, indeed, have a whip strapped to the side of his leather chaps.
"That, sir, I am! Not to rush you in the charge of yer duties, but there is a kindly rancher's widow who needs her livelihood returned to her. So we'd appreciate it if y'all just move along--" The Fox's ears flared forward. He and his lifted their rifles at something over the Sheriff's head.
Wes turned to see a trio of horse riders come to a stop amid the brown grass of the flatlands. His weapon, and five more joined the barrage of death that threatened to come down upon the strangers if they made but one false move. "Lower your weapons and state your business," the Mountain Lion demanded.
The first rider, a Monitor Lizard in tailored clothes and a felt derby, held green hands high away from two holstered six-shooters. He spotted the five-point star gleaming in the sunlight and smiled. "I've no quarrel with anyone who doesn't have a price on their head, Sheriff. Now, if your Possum friend there happens to be Horace Afferton -- who is sought after in the Wyoming Territories for despoiling a number of women of Christian character -- I should have to have a few words with him. Very brief ones."
"I've known Skinny Joe for going on ten years. He's not your man." Wes turned to the next rider. "And what brings you this far out from a cold drink and a warm bed?"
A one-handed Bloodhound, with a shotgun crossed over his lap, straightened up in his saddle. "I'm lookin' fer the man that shot my paw."
"You go about any revenge killing in these parts, I'll slap a cuff behind the other one. And let the judge decide how to dress your neck." Wes faced the last rider, a silver Cat in tasseled vest armed only with a guitar. "So how'd you end up riding alongside a bounty hunter and a better-be-ex-vigilante?"
The Cat offered a bright, friendly smile. "Well now, that there's a right funny story. Y'see..." He started strumming his instrument. "It all started when I sat down ter what I believed would be an upright, friendly game of poker--"
"That's enough out of you!" Wes lowered his riffle, and spit a mouthful of dust onto a stone that was happy to start sizzling. "Am I to understand that no one present in this burning pile of dirt and scorpion shit is a murderer, bandit, cattle thief, fugitive, gunslinger, or card sharp?"
A round of emphatic nays followed, from all about the scene. Including a finisher from Skinny Joe: "And I've never even been to Wyoming!"
Sheriff Talbot found his kerchief and patted his neck down again. "Alright, then. You all go about your business. Except you." He pointed at the Hound, who merely huffed back at him. "You go find some other business while you still have most of your limbs intact."
The parties went their separate ways not a minute after. The Whiplash Kid and his allies returning to their hiding spaces. The strangely united trio drifting along to the west. And the posse following its leader back around the way they had come. The Mountain Lion looked over the lonesome terrain and told his men, "Let's round up the horses. We'll try over at that similarly shaped outcropping over yonder."