Blood Bond 3 Read online

  “He hired them especially for this job,” Sam said. “And those that got away are still riding. Bet on it. Nothing left behind to connect the Broken Lance with this night’s trouble. He’s getting smarter.”

  “How many men were there?” Matt asked.

  “Ten, I’d say,” Teddy said. “They was all wearin’ dark dusters and come out at us fast and hard. I’d guess that we wounded maybe two of them. How bad is anybody’s guess.”

  “And they headed north,” Mark said. “Straight for the New Mexico border.”

  Dr. Winters stepped out on the porch of the ranch house. “Gentlemen, Ed Carson just died.”

  Matt pulled Beavers over to one side. “Get you a fresh horse and ride for the settlement. Get a wire out or some kind of message to Ranger Headquarters. Advise them we need Josiah Finch in here and we need him right now!”

  “I’m gone, Matt.”

  “I’m here now.” The voice came from behind the bunch.

  They all turned around. Josiah Finch sat Horse about twenty-five feet from them. Horse moved as quietly as the Ranger.

  “I seen the fire from miles off,” Josiah said. “Figured it had to be trouble.” He looked at Matt and Sam. “By the power vested in me by the State of Texas I now say that you two is swore in Texas Rangers. Raise your right hands and repeat after me.”

  He swore them in on the spot. “Now, by God, you two will not be a-ridin’ hellbent around for trouble. You’re Texas Rangers now.” He dug in his saddlebags and tossed the badges. “Pin ’em on, boys. You!” he pointed to Pen Masters. “You’re now marshal of Nameit.”

  “Me?” Pen shouted. “The hell you say!”

  “And you,” Josiah pointed to Bam, “is his deputy.”

  “That’s disgusting!” Bam said. “What’ll all my friends say?”

  “Knowin’ the kind of people you been associatin’ with for years, they’ll probably shoot you on sight,” Josiah said, his eyes twinkling with dark humor. “Matt, Sam, give them two new lawmen your marshal’s badges and switch your saddles to fresh horses. We got some trackin’ to do. First light, one of you boys ride to the settlement and send a wire to Austin—Ranger HQ. Advise them we got two new Rangers—Matt Bodine and Sam Two Wolves—and to put them on the payroll. Let’s ride, boys.”

  Daylight found them closing in on the men who had attacked the ranch. The outlaws had ridden hard for ten miles, then rested and back in the saddle had been walking their horses.

  “Does it bother you at all that we just might be in New Mexico?” Sam asked Josiah.

  “Nope.”

  “But you have no arrest powers outside of Texas.”

  “I do as long as I keep the criminals in sight.”

  “But we haven’t seem them yet!”

  “Seen their tracks. Same thing.”

  “You are a very exasperating man,” Sam told him.

  “I’m a Texas Ranger. That says it all. And so is you boys. Bear that in mind.”

  “Smoke from a campfire up ahead,” Matt said, spotting a thin line of smoke in the distance.

  “That’ll be them,” Josiah said.

  Sam looked at Josiah. The man’s jaw was set and his eyes focused straight ahead. “Why do I get this feeling that we’re just going to ride right into the outlaw camp—if it is the men who attacked the ranch—announce who we are and demand their surrender?”

  “ ’Cause that’s what’s we’re gonna do,” Josiah told him. “Ain’t no point in pussy-footin’ around and bein’ polite and all that. We’ll know where we stand as soon as they jerk iron. If they don’t jerk iron, we got the wrong bunch and we can step down and have coffee with them.”

  “And if they are the right bunch?” Sam asked.

  “We shoot them and then drink their coffee. Lawin’s easy once you get the hang of it.”

  “Incredible,” Sam said.

  “Thank you,” Josiah replied.

  Six men looked up from their breakfast as the three Rangers approached their camp. Two of them wore bloody bandages; one on his leg, the other arm-shot. All had dark dusters tied behind their saddles.

  “Get ready,” Josiah said. “We got two apiece.”

  “We have them outnumbered,” Sam said, the sarcasm thick in his voice.

  “Sure do,” Josiah agreed. “Glad to see you’re gettin’ the hang of it so fast.”

  The three Rangers had the reins in their left hands. Their right hands were close to their guns. The outlaws were heavily armed, and the men brushed back their coats, exposing their pistols.

  “Texas Rangers,” Josiah announced. “Stand or deliver, boys.”

  The outlaws chose the former, grabbing for iron. The camp exploded in gunfire, gunsmoke filling the air with puffs of gray clouds. At that range, it was nearly impossible to miss. It came down to who cleared leather first, and the Rangers did. When the shooting stopped, three outlaws were stretched out in the dirt, dead. Two were hard hit and probably dying, and a third stood holding his one good arm in the air. His right arm dangled bullet-shattered by his side.

  “You damn people are crazy!” the wounded outlaw said.

  Sam wanted to tell him that he agreed wholeheartedly with that assessment, but held his tongue, figuring Josiah would take exception to it.

  “Stand over yonder,” Josiah told the man, motioning with his Peacemaker.

  The man moved slowly back.

  The Rangers swung down from their saddles and began checking the camp. Josiah tied the wounded man’s good arm to his belt and poured himself a cup of coffee, using his own cup from his saddlebags.

  “Might catch hydrophoby from them yahoos’ cups,” he said. He looked at the wounded man. “Talk to me, boy.”

  “Nice day, ain’t it?”

  Josiah smiled, the slight curving of his lips resembling a rattler’s smile. “Now, boy, we can do this any number of ways. You can cooperate, and I might see that the judge goes easy on you. You can get smartmouthed, and I’ll just leave you out here, without horse, guns, boots, or food. And if you think I won’t do that, then you’re a fool.”

  The outlaw nodded his head. “Man come up to our camp outside the trading post called Roswell. Up north of here. Must have been three, four weeks ago. It was at night. Never did get a good look at him. Said he wanted a job of work done. Wanted a rancher name of Carson burned out and his cattle drove off. Throwed a sack of money onto the ground and left. Took Steven there,” he nodded at a dead outlaw, “ ’bout a week to round up enough boys to pull it off. Then we done ’er. Now I’m sittin’ here shot up lookin’ at you. That’s all I know about it.”

  Josiah sipped his coffee and stared at the man. One of the wounded men screamed horribly and then died. The other was lung shot and belly shot and wouldn’t last much longer. “It’s my duty to tell you that you’re under arrest for murder. That rancher died last night.”

  “You’ll play hell provin’ it was me that kilt him.”

  “That’s a fact,” Josiah agreed. “But you was a part of it, you confessed to it in front of three Texas Rangers, so that means you’ll spend some years in prison. Which horse is yours?”

  “The bay over there.”

  Matt saddled the bay while Sam collected the guns and personal effects from the dead. The men sat around the fire, for the morning was still cool, drinking coffee and frying bacon while they waited for the other outlaw to die. As soon as he passed, his body was dragged over to a ravine to lie with the others. A small bluff was caved in over them. Josiah got his Bible and the men took off their hats.

  “Oh, Lord,” Josiah said. “Do what you can for these sorry bastards. Amen. Let’s ride.”

  They headed back to Texas.

  They rode into Nameit, dirty and tired and hungry and wanting a hot bath, some food, and rest. The wounded outlaw—his name was Charles Gruen—was treated by Dr. Winters and tossed into one cell of the three-cell pokey.

  “Now what happens?” Gruen asked.

  “You get tried soon as I can get a judg
e over here,” Josiah told him. “Might be next month, might be next year. Then we either hang you or you go to prison.”

  “I want a lawyer.”

  “Sure, you do. But they ain’t no lawyers in this town. Thank the Lord.”

  “I was driven to a life of crime. I had a terrible childhood,” Gruen said. “My daddy beat me.”

  “He didn’t beat you enough,” Josiah told him. “Now shut up.”

  There was a note on the desk stating that Pen and Bam were out chasing some petty thieves. They would be back first light.

  The men took their baths, shaved, then got something to eat. Josiah turned up the lamp on the office desk and took pen and paper and began writing out his report. He left it on the desk when he went out back to use the privy. Sam picked it up and read, “Me and Bodine and Two Wolves picked up their tracks heading north from the burned-out ranch. We found the six of them the next morning. I think we was in Texas. We braced them, they jumped, we shot them. Killed five—I spoke words over them—and we brung Charles Gruen back to Nameit for trial.”

  “That pretty well says it all,” Matt said, reading over Sam’s shoulder.

  “He’s not a wordy man, is he?”

  Dodge rode up and walked into the office. He looked at the outlaw sitting on his bunk in the cell. Back in the main office, he poured a cup of coffee. “John Lee is hirin’ more men. I got that word this afternoon.”

  “How’s his mouth?” Matt asked with a grin.

  “Sore, so I’m told,” the old gunfighter turned rancher said with a smile. “I’m told they can’t tell about Nick’s mouth until the swellin’ goes down.” He looked at Sam. “Watch your backtrail, boy. Nick’s swore to kill you. And don’t take him lightly. He’ll kill you any way he can.

  “I never take death threats lightly. I guess I should have shot him when he drew on me, or tried to draw on me, back in the saloon.”

  “You mighty right you should have,” Dodge said. “But I understand why you didn’t.”

  “You’re out pretty late, Dodge,” Matt said.

  “Jimmy’s on the prod. We’re lookin’ for him. He left home swearin’ to kill John Lee. That was about noon today. Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of him since.”

  Josiah had entered through the back door and stood listening until the foreman had finished. “Is the boy any good with a gun?”

  Dodge shrugged. “Average, I’d say. He’s not fast, if that’s what you mean. But he’s real good with a rifle.”

  “What brought this on?” Sam asked.

  “No one knows. But he was real fond of Ed Carson. Funeral’s at dawn, by the way. Ed always requested that.”

  “We’ll be there,” Matt said. “What do you want us to do about Jimmy?”

  “Rope him if you see him. But I don’t think you will. I think he’s hid out plannin’ on how to get a shot at John Lee.”

  Josiah sighed audibly. “If he does that, it’ll have to be called murder, Dodge.”

  “I know it. And you boys will have to go after him.”

  “Damn!” Matt swore.

  The service was a simple one, with the Reverend Willowby officiating. Halfway through the service, Sam looked up and saw a dust cloud rolling toward them. He dropped to his knees and put an ear to the ground, just as Willowby stopped in the middle of his sermon and looked disapprovingly at him.

  Sam jumped to his boots. “Riders! A lot of them and coming straight for us.”

  “Not even John Lee would do something this horrible!” Ed’s widow cried.

  “Let them open fire!” Josiah yelled. “If they do that, we can take it to a court of law and stop John Lee.”

  “Get the women in the house!” Jeff Sparks called. “Move, people, move!”

  The riders, fifty or more strong, all wearing bandanas over their faces, circled the ranch-house area, shooting at anything that moved. All of the smaller ranchers who had moved back into the area were at the funeral with their families, several of them with small children.

  One woman went down, crying out as a bullet hit her in the shoulder. A young girl, no more than five or six, ran crying and screaming toward the circling gunmen. A horse knocked her sprawling. She did not move.

  “You goddamn no-good Godless heathens!” Reverend Willowby roared, grabbing up a rifle from a saddle boot and opening up. He knocked one rider out of the saddle and shot another in the knee, the man screaming in pain, dropping his six-shooter and grabbing at his leg.

  Vonny Dodge was down on one knee, both hands filled with Colts, and his aim was deadly. He was literally making each round count. The old gunfighter was showing his skills as he emptied saddle after saddle.

  Nettie Carson screamed once and called out her dead husband’s name as a bullet tore into her back just as she was climbing up the steps to her house. She sprawled face down on the porch and lay still.

  “Oh, Sweet Jesus Christ, no!” Jeff Sparks yelled, watching Noah run to his mother’s side, shooting as he ran. The other Flying V hands ran to cover Noah, all of them throwing lead as fast as they could.

  “They’re trying to torch the house!” Sam yelled. “Come on, brother.”

  The men and women had managed to exit the lonely gravesite and make it to some sort of cover. The blood brothers ran around the side of the ranch house and began emptying saddles, the torches falling harmlessly to the ground.

  The attackers tore down the corral and scattered the horses. Most of the horses of those who had ridden over had run off, frightened and panicked. Several buggies had overturned as the scared animals bolted, smashing the buggies into buildings, water troughs, other wagons. The attack broke off, the riders galloping away, leaving behind them a scene of blood and death and misery.

  Josiah caught up with the brothers. “We’ll see to the wounded first,” he said, his face hard and his words grim. “Then you boys will find out what it means to be called Texas Rangers.”

  Noah was sitting on the porch, his mother’s hand cradled in his lap. He was crying soundlessly, tears streaking his tanned face. Lisa sat down beside him and put her arms around him, comforting him.

  “The little girl’s arm’s busted,” Tate called. “But other than that she seems to be all right.”

  “Some of you boys carry that wounded lady into the house,” Dodge called. “Move.”

  Red was cussing, tying a bandana around his wounded leg. Compton was matching him word for word, a bullet-shattered arm hanging by his side. Jeff Sparks had a gash on his forehead and Denver had taken a round in the side and was down on the ground.

  Doc Winters was busy, issuing orders and cleaning out the wounds. Other than that, there was little he could do to fight any infection that might set it. When he ran out of alcohol from his bag, he ordered vinegar from the house to be used.

  “Acetic acid,” he explained. “Just do it, it works.”

  Josiah walked over to Jeff. “We’ll be catchin’ our horses and ridin’. Ain’t no point in stayin’ around for the buryin’. Trail’ll be cold by then.”

  “Are you going to call for more Rangers?”

  “Nope.”

  “For God’s sake, man—why not?”

  “Three of us here now. Don’t need no more.”

  “What about the wounded outlaws?” Dodge asked.

  “I ain’t got time to fool with nothin’ like that. We got to get on the trail of them that’s ridin’ off.”

  Matt and Sam were bringing in their horses and selecting spare mounts.

  “I don’t understand,” Jeff said.

  “I do,” Dodge said, his words flint hard.

  “We’ll borrow some food from the house,” Josiah said.

  “Bell,” Dodge called. “Get that wagon tongue up over yonder. Lash it up high.”

  Bell’s smile was savage. “Right, boss.”

  Matt and Sam were in the saddle when Josiah swung up into his. Barlow and Chookie and Parnell were building nooses as they rode out.

  When there aren’t any trees around, a
nd the barn’s been burned down, a lashed-up wagon tongue does just fine for a hanging.

  Chapter 14

  “They’re headin’ away from Broken Lance range,” Sam said. “And those tracks say they’re riding hard.”

  Josiah nodded his head in agreement. “They’ll ride for miles in this direction, with one or two of them breakin’ off ever’ now and then, mixin’ their tracks in with cattle or followin’ a creek bed for a time. You agree with that, Matt?”

  “Yes. We’ll probably have to split up before very long. How do we play this, Josiah?”

  “You bring ’em in upright and you’ll be doin’ a lot of paperwork and spendin’ days listenin’ to lawyers yelpin’ back and forth. Personally, I’m a man who believes in law and order. I ain’t never testified against an innocent man nor shot an innocent man. Now, I’ve come close, but some inner sense has always warned me off. We ain’t dealin’ with innocent people. Anyone who would attack folks at a funeral, shooting women and kids and interruptin’ God’s word is trash. There ain’t no pity in my heart for trash. I’ve had high words of praise spoke to me. I’ve had medals given me by the governor. All because I’m supposed to be a good lawman. But I swear on my wife’s grave I’ll not bring none of this bunch in alive. If I have to take this badge off and stomp it into the dust I’ll show no mercy to this pack of hyenas. Them’s my words. You boys do what you want to do. I’m veerin’ off here. See you.”

  Josiah Finch turned his horse and was gone, following two sets of tracks that had just left the main pack of outlaws and hired guns.

  The brothers rode on in silence, both of them thinking of Mrs. Nettie Carson, shot in the back and lying dead in a pool of blood on her front porch.

  “Two riders branching off here,” Sam broke the silence. “See you, brother.”

  Matt rode on for another mile. Two more men left the main body and cut west. He let them go, continuing to follow the larger group. He saw where the group had stopped, perhaps to rest their horses, but more than likely to make plans. He would have to assume they were ambush plans. And in this country, where the terrain was so deceptive, an ambush would be an easy thing . . . if a man wasn’t very careful.