Guns of Great Oaks

“Run!”  

The yell startled Dan Sabre out of his nap. The boy of 16 leaped off the Sabre house's front porch. He saw a rider slumped in the saddle approaching as fast as his wounds would allow him.   

“Run!” the rider roared again, “grab your family and get out of here.”  

Dan recognized the rider as Jack Benti, their neighbor.   

“What is the matter, Mr. Benti?” Dan asked as he ran toward the approaching horse.   

“It’s Choctaw Charlie and his gang,” answered Jack.  

Dan was shocked. He thought their tiny town of Great Oaks, in northwestern Arkansas, was safe from attack by Choctaw Charlie and his band of heartless killers and thieves.  

Dan reached Mr. Benti as he fell from his saddle. Dan propped up Mr. Benti’s head and shoulders.  

“Let me go get my father,” Dan said.  

“No!” Mr. Benti cried, “There is no time! Grab your family and get away from here! Choctaw Charlie is coming this way. I can survive. You must go.” 

He stopped and coughed, causing blood to trickle down from the corners of his mouth.  A faint, continuous tremor shook the earth beneath them. Dan snapped his head up. A line of riders was approaching.   

“Too late,” Mr. Benti groaned, “Hurry, get me to your house. We’ll have to fight from there.”   

Dan yelled for help. Derrick, Dan’s brother, ran out and --seeing Mr. Benti on the ground and the riders approaching-- pitched in with all his might to help Mr. Benti into the house.   

“Who’s coming?” Derrick asked. His voice was higher than usual and it was strained.  

“Choctaw Charlie,” Dan answered simply. 

Derrick’s face turned ashen and sweat broke out on his brow.  They carried Jack into the house and placed him on the kitchen floor. Melinda Sabre, Dan's mother, turned from the stove and with a cry of surprise, stooped  down over Jack.

“Riders comin’,” Lawrence Sabre, Dan’s father, drawled as he rushed in, “and they don’t look friendly.”  

Lawrence saw Jack Benti lying on the floor. He raised his eyebrows  and said,  

“What happened to you, Jack?”  

“Tangled up with them,” Jack said, jerking his head toward the riders, “that's Choctaw Charlie and his gang.”  

Lawrence’s jaw set and a fire leaped into his eyes. 

“Get ready,” he said, turning to his boys, “you boys know how to shoot, use that know-how. There’s a battle ahead of us and we’ll need every gun we can get.” He turned to Jack and said, “Do you think you could handle a gun?” 

 “I reckon,” Jack replied.  

“We're going to fight them?” Melinda asked, the color draining from her face.   

“I didn’t run away at Gettysburg, Melinda,” Larence said, “I won’t run away now. Besides, we don’t have time, they’re practically here.”

THE SABRE'S one ranch hand, Trig Rodgers, had come in with Lawrence but had broken away and was watching the riders from a grove of trees. He was sure they were up to no good. He checked them with his field glasses, sure enough, he recognized Choctaw Charlie, leading the pack. Trig dismounted and pulled his .30-.30 lever rifle and racked a bullet. He rested the rifle on a low-hanging limb of the tree he was standing behind. He waited until they were close enough, setting his iron-sights on the chest of a scrawny man with a thick, bushy beard. He slowly squeezed the trigger. 

DAN HEARD the crack of a rifle and watched a man fall from his horse. Trig, he thought. He watched Trig run for the house with dozens of bullets whizzing all around him. Trig burst in, gasping for breath.  

Choctaw Charlie’s gang got within 30 yards of the house and began circling, firing into the house. They proved to be nearly impossible to hit. 

They whooped and hollered and poured lead into the house, making it dangerous for anyone to try to shoot at them from the windows.   Dan peeked up and fired, swinging ahead of his target to head him off. The outlaw clutched his side and slipped from his horse. He didn’t roll away from the fray quick enough and was trampled by the horses behind him. Dan looked over at Trig and saw him nodding his approval.  

The door near Dan splintered and a tall outlaw with a long beard and long hair burst through. Dan twisted from his prone position and fired up into the outlaw’s chest. The impact threw the desperado back through the door.   Outlaws began to fire through the splintered door. Dan rolled to get out of the line of fire. Another outlaw jumped through the doorway, with a Colt .45 in each hand. Trig dropped the rifle he was reloading and pulled out his own Colt. The outlaw was the first to shoot, but both shots went high over Trig’s head. Trig fired twice and the man dropped to his knees, then to his face. Another outlaw fired from the doorway as Trig was scrambling for cover. It caught Trig in the shoulder. Dan saw Trig reel from the impact. Dan fired twice and the outlaw crumpled to the ground.  

Bullets came from inside the house and ripped into the wall above Dan’s head. They’ve breached more than one place, thought Dan. He saw a man move through the smoke. A tongue of fire leaped from the man’s gun. Dan flattened himself to the ground. The shot hit the floorboards in front of him, throwing splinters up in his face.   Dan looked over at Trig. Trig was firing at another entryway that the outlaws had breached. Where is everybody else? Dan wondered, his chest tightening with panic, are they dead? 

Dan looked up at the sky and prayed,   “Dear Lord, I need your help. Please lend me your hand.”  

The words had barely left his mouth when Trig crumpled over, unconscious from his wounds. Dan watched as men rushed him from inside the house. 

Suddenly,  a nimbleness and strength he had never felt before washed over him. All his senses spiked and he could feel the urge to move and destroy his enemy nearly overcome him. He knew exactly what it was.   

“Thank you, Lord,” he cried out.  

He fired and downed the first man that came at him. He racked in another bullet and shot the next man. He fired again and again until his rifle was empty, downing three or four more desperados. He jumped up, sidestepping one shot and then ramming the butt of his rifle into the man’s stomach. The man doubled over from pain. Dan swung his rifle up over his head and sent it crashing down on the man's neck. 

Another outlaw stepped through the door Trig had been guarding, behind Dan. Dan swung around and threw his rifle like a spear at the man's nearest knee. It snapped like a dry twig, followed by the man wobbling forward and collapsing, screaming with pain.  

He ran over to Trig and picked upt Trig's Colt pistol. He walked over to the outlaw and put a bullet in his temple. He then turned and fired at one outlaw after the other, until his pistol was empty. There are so many, thought Dan. 

He was beginning to tire. Bullets whizzed in every direction. Few outlaws were still circling the house, most were storming the house. 

He jerked around just as an outlaw fired his pistol. the bullet slammed into Dan's shoulder and spun him in a complete turn. The pain was more than Dan had ever felt. He rolled to avoid another shot from the outlaw. 

The outlaw fired again. The bullet slammed into Dan as he rolled underneath a table. 

Dan stopped trying to escape, the pain overcoming him. Is this how it ends? thought Dan. He had no idea whether or not his family was still alive. 

Outlaws surrounded him.  There was no help within miles and no way to reach them. No hope, Dan thought, no hope.  

He used the last of his strength to reach over and grab a pistol from a fallen outlaw. The outlaws was looking at something off in the distance. Dan shot the outlaw that had shot him.  The outlaws around him scattered without so much as a glance at their fallen comrade. 

Dan propped himself up and looked out the shattered window. Outlaws that were well enough were mounting up and galloping off. 

Then Dan saw what they were running from. 

A line of at least a hundred men from Great Oaks were galloping toward them. He lowered himself back to the ground and, mustering the last of his strength, whooped, 

“Thank you, Lord!”  

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