Imagine, a gnarled hand on a gun, a heart pounding in your chest, and a looming decision that could mean life or death. That's the harsh reality for Laramy, our protagonist in the thrilling western tale, "The Last Ride," first published in 1935. Stand by his side as he faces a deadly confrontation with a gang of outlaws, only to discover the life he's taken was an innocent youth's. This harsh revelation sends shockwaves through the storyline - a stark reminder of the bleak repercussions of violence and the moral complexities that haunt our hero.
Just when you thought the dust had settled, we're thrown back into the fray as we expose the dark plans of Mark Rahali and his gang. Laramy, now in the crosshairs of their nefarious plot, receives a grim warning from a dying youth. With his life hanging in the balance, will Laramy muster enough strength to stand his ground? The life-or-death tension escalates, leaving us with the poignant image of Laramy pressing on, haunted by the youth's passing. This episode is not just a thrilling ride but a poignant exploration of human nature amidst the unforgiving landscape of the wild west. It's a world where survival is the only law, and justice is as swift as the bullet from a gun. To download this chapter go to Legends of Dodge City.
This story was originally published in the October 1935 issue of Western Aces Starting life as an unsold submission written by pulp author Chandler Whipple. Popular writer Robert E Howard offered to rework and improve the tale, here published in Bookform and in other places as the Last Ride Wild West Podcast produced the audio version of the original transcript as it was first published. This story is in the public domain. Chapter 5, first Blood. For an instant the scene held. Then Scarface made a convulsive movement to duck behind the chair, back up, yelled Laramy, swinging his gun directly on him and backing toward the door. But the tall outlaw who had impersonated Big Jim had recovered from the days of his surprise. Even as Laramy's pistol muzzle moved in its short arc towards Braxton, the tall one's hand flashed like the stroke of a snake head to a gun. It cleared leather just as Laramy's 45 banged. Laramy felt hot wind fan his cheek. But the tall outlaw was sagging back and down, dying on his feet and grimly pulling the trigger as he went. A hot welt burned across Laramy's left thigh. Another slug ripped up splinters near his feet. Harrison had dived behind the Morris chair and Laramy's vengeful bullets smashed into the wall behind him. It all happened so quickly that the others had barely unleathered their irons as he reached the threshold. He fired at Braxton, saw the Scarface's one drop his gun with a howl, saw Big Jim sprawl on the floor, done with impersonation and outlawry forever. And then he was slamming the door from the outside, wincing and voluntarily, as bullets smashed through the panels and whined about him. His long legs flung him across the kitchen and he catapulted through the outer door. He collided head on with the two men he had seen in the corral. All three went into the dust in a heap. One, even in falling, jammed his six gun into Buck's belly and pulled trigger without stopping to see who it was. The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.
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Laramy, flesh crawling with the narrowness of his escape, crashed his gun barrel down on the other's head and sprang up, kicking free of the second man whom he recognized as Mark Raleigh. He of the white sombrero and flashy pinto. Raleigh's gun had been knocked out of his hand in the collision With a yelp. The dry-gulcher scuttled around the corner of the cabin on his hands and knees. Laramy did not stop for him. He had seen the one thing that might save him a horse, saddled and bridled, tied to the corral fence. He heard the furious stamp of boots behind him.
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Harrison's voice screamed command, as his enemies streamed out of the house and started pouring lead after him. Then a dozen long leaps carried him sprout a legged to the startled Mustang. With one movement he had ripped loose the tether and swung aboard Over his shoulder. He saw the men spreading out to head him off in the dash they expected him to make toward the head of the canyon. Then he wrenched the coyose around and spurred through the corral gate which the outlaws had left open.
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In an instant, laramy was the center of a milling whirlpool of maddened horses. As he yelled, fired in the air and lashed them with a quart hanging from the horn. Close the gate, shrieked Harrison. One of the men ran to obey the command, but as he did, the snorting beast came thundering through. Only a frantic leap backwards saved him from being trampled to death under the maddened horses. His companions yelled and ran for the protection of the cabin, firing blindly into the dust cloud that rode as the herd pounded past.
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Then Laramy was dashing through the scattering horde and drawing out of six gun range, while his enemies howled like wolves behind him. Get along, coyose, yelled Laramy, drunk, with the exhilaration of the hazard. We done better than I hoped. They got to round up their broncs before they hit my trail, and that's gonna take time. Thought of the guard waiting at the canyon entrance did not sober him Only way out through the tunnel. Maybe he thinks the shooting was just a family affair and won't drill a jant riding from inside the canyon. Anyway, kaius, we take it on the run.
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A Winchester banged from the mouth of the tunnel and the bullet cut the air past his ear. Pull up, yelled a voice, but there was hesitancy in the tone. Doubtless the first shot had been a warning and the sentry was puzzled. Laramy gave no heed. He ducked low and jammed in the spurs. He could see the rifle now, the blue muzzle resting on a boulder and the ragged crown of a hat behind it. Even as he sought, flames spurred it from the blue ring.
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Laramy's horse stumbled in its headlong stride as lead plowed through the fleshy part of its shoulder. That stumble saved Laramy's life, for it lurched him out of the path of the next slug. His own six-gun roared. The bullet smashed on the rock beside the rifle muzzle. Dazed and half-blinded by splinters of stone, the outlaw reeled back into the open and fired without aim. The Winchester flamed almost in Laramy's face. Then his answering slug knocked the guard down as if he had been hit with a hammer. The Winchester flew out of his hands as he rolled on the ground.
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Laramy jerked the half-frantic Mustang back on its haunches and dived out of the saddle to grab for the rifle. Damn, it had struck the sharp edge of the rock. As it fell, the lock was bent and the weapon useless. He cast it aside, disgustedly, wheeled toward his horse and then halted to stare down at the man he'd shot. The fellow had hauled himself to a half-sitting position. His face was pallid and blood oozed from a round hole in his shirt. Bosom, he was dying.
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Sudden revulsion shook Laramy as he saw his victim was hardly more than a boy. His berserk excitement faded. Laramy, gasped the youth, you must be Buck Laramy. Yeah, admitted Laramy, anything, anything I can do. The boy grinned in spite of his pain, thought so. Nobody but a Laramie could ride so reckless and shoot so straight. Seems funny being plugged by a Laramie after worshiping him most of my life. What Ejaculated Laramie. I always wanted to be like him, gasped the youth. Nobody could ride and shoot and fight like them. That's why I'd chime up with these bullcats. They said they were starting up a gang that was to be just like the Laramies, but they ain't. They were passing the dirty coyotes. Once I started in with them, though, I had to stick. Laramie said nothing. It was appalling to think that a young life had been so warped and at last destroyed by the evil example of his brothers. You better go and raise a posse if you're aiming to get them rats. The boy said he's gonna be held to pay tonight. How's that Question, laramie?
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Remembering Harrison's remarks about something planned for the night, he got him scared, murmured the boy. Harrison scared. You might have told Joel Waters he was boss man of the gang. That's why he come here last night. They'd aimed to keep stealing for another month. Old Harrison would have had most of the ranches that ran here by then for closing mortgages.
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When Mark Rahali failed to get you, old Harrison said outward for the boys to get together here today. They figured on hunting you down If the posse from San Leon hadn't already got you, if they found out you didn't know nothing and hadn't told nobody nothing. They just aimed to kill you and go on like they'd planned from the first. But if they didn't get you or found out. You talked. They aim to make their big cleanup tonight and then ride. What's that, ask Laramie? They're going down tonight and burned Joel Waters ranch buildings and the sheriffs and some of the other big ones. They'll drive all the cattle off to Mexico over the old Laramie trail. Then old Harrison will divide the loot and the gang will scatter. If he finds you ain't spilled the works about him being top man, he'll stay on in San Leon. That was his idea from the start. Ruin the ranchers, buy up their outfits cheap and be king of San Leon.
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How many men's he got? Between 25 and 30, panned the youth. He was going fast. He choked and a trickle of blood began at the corner of his mouth. I ought not to be squealing, maybe Tainted Laramie way, but I wouldn't to nobody but a Laramie. You didn't see near all of them. Two died on the way back from San Leon yesterday. They left him out in the desert. The rest ain't got back from driving cattle in Mexico, but they'll be on hand by noon today.
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Laramie was silent, reckoning on the force he could put in the field. Waters punchers were all he could be sure of, six or seven men at the most, not counting the wounded waters. The odds were stacking up. Got a smoke, the youth asked weakly. Laramie rolled a cigarette, placed it between the blue lips and held a match.
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Looking back down the canyon, laramie saw men saddling mounts. Precious time was passing but he was loathed to leave the dying lad. Get going, muttered the boy uneasily. You got a tough job ahead of you, honest men and thieves, both again you. But I'm betting on the Laramies, the real ones, he seemed wandering in his mind. He began to sing in a ghastly whisper the song that Laramie could never hear without a shutter.
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When Brady died, they planted him deep, put a bottle of whiskey at his head and feet, folded his arms across his breast and said that King Brady's gone, do his rest. The crimson trickle became a sudden spurt. The youth's voice trailed into silence. The cigarette slipped from his lips. He went limp and lay still Threw forever with the wolf trail. Laramie rose heavily and groped for his horse trembling in the shade of the rock. He tore the blanket, rolled from behind the saddle and covered the still figure Another debt to be marked up against the Laramies. He swung aboard and gout through the tunnel to where his own horse was waiting, a faster mount than the coyose he was riding. As he shifted mounts, he heard shouts behind him. Knew that his pursuers had halted at the body. Knew the halt would be brief. Without looking back, he hit the straightest trail he knew that led toward the ranch of Joel Waters.