The Devil's Boneyard Read online

  Surprised just as much as Ben and Mack, Pete was stunned and could do nothing but stare at his partner for long seconds until Ormond keeled over sideways. In the critical time it took before he thought to dive for the weapon Ormond had dropped, Ben had time to reconsider his next act. “Get out!” he roared at Mack and hustled out the door after him, instead of putting a bullet in Pete. He slammed the door just as a shot from Pete impacted in the heavy wooden door.

  “Son of a gun!” Mack exclaimed. “Why didn’t you shoot the other one when you had the chance?”

  “I ain’t sure,” Ben answered honestly. “I thought as lawmen, we oughta turn one of ’em over for trial, if we could.” He paused and shrugged. “Besides, after I shot Ormond, Pete waited too long before he made any move for the gun, so it woulda been an out-and-out execution.”

  Mack thought that over for a few seconds before he said, “I reckon.” Then it occurred to him. “Where the hell did they get that gun?” There was no time for speculation on that at the moment, because they were alerted by the sound of someone trying to kick in the front door.

  “That’s where!” Ben exclaimed. He ran to the gun case to grab the double-barrel shotgun. After he broke it to make sure it was loaded, he got behind the desk where Mack had already taken cover.

  Outside the door, Walt Murphy, his sack mask pulled over his head, directed the assault against the office door. Charlie and Temple provided the muscle, thinking the shots they had heard signaled the death of at least one of the lawmen and, since there were two shots fired in quick succession, possibly both of them. Walt was encouraged by the absence of sounds from inside that would indicate any defense. “It’s givin’, boys,” he offered as support for their efforts when the door showed signs of separating from the latch.

  Finally, when the door was forced to fly open and bang against the wall, the doorway was filled by Charlie and Temple. The blasts from the shotgun, one barrel for Charlie, the other barrel for Temple, knocked both men backward. Seeing them crumple like rag dolls, Walt needed no time to make a decision. He jumped off the steps, grabbed his horse’s reins, and as soon as he got one foot in the stirrup, he whipped the horse to a gallop before he threw his other leg over and landed in the saddle. Ben and Mack both rushed outside but were too late to stop him. They both threw a couple of shots after the masked rider, but he was already out of normal pistol range by then. They could only watch as he disappeared past the stable and out the north end of town. The thought that struck Ben was the rider rode a fine-looking buckskin horse, and it made him recall the horse that Walt Murphy rode. Surely not, he thought, not even Walt Murphy would stick his neck out that far. Or would he? It was a lot of money, but would his share be worth the risk just taken by the masked rider? Only if that man had it in mind to eliminate his partners once the job was done. His speculation was interrupted then by a question from Mack.

  “What do we do about the situation we’ve got in that cell now?” Mack asked when they walked back inside the office. “We’ve got one dead man and one man with a gun in there.”

  “I reckon, for a start, we could find out if he feels like tossin’ that gun outta the cell,” Ben said. He looked back out the door when he heard the sounds of the spectators out in the street, now that all the shooting seemed to be over. “Better go ahead and decide before Tuck shows up to take over.”

  “Well, let’s see what he’s gonna do,” Mack said, referring to Pete. They went to the cell room door and Mack cracked the door just wide enough to talk through. “It’s all over now, Pete. I want you to throw that gun out through the bars and you won’t get shot. Is Ormond dead?”

  “How do I know I can trust you?” Pete answered back. “Damn right, Ormond’s dead. I throw my gun away and you’ll shoot me, like you did Ormond.”

  “Ormond didn’t give us no choice,” Mack replied. “He shot at me first. So I need you to throw that gun on out, all right?”

  “What was that shotgun blast?” Pete asked.

  “That was some of your gang, I reckon, tryin’ to break in the office.”

  “Are they dead?” Pete asked.

  Mack looked at Ben and shrugged before answering. “Well, yeah, they’re dead. We didn’t have no choice. We had to shoot ’em. So whaddaya say, you ready to throw that gun out?”

  Pete was not at all confident that he could believe the sheriff. The more he thought about what just happened, the more it became clear in his mind that the sheriff and Ben Savage had decided to execute all of them, rather than go to the bother of housing them, feeding them, and transporting them to trial. When Bragg pressed him again to throw the weapon through the bars, Pete answered, “I don’t think I can trust you. I think I’d best keep this pistol. If you want it, you’re just gonna have to come on in here and get it.”

  Mack and Ben exchanged glances again, both finding it hard to believe the situation they found themselves in. To make matters worse, Tuck Tucker stormed into the office then, after stepping over the two bloodied bodies on the front steps. “I came as quick as I heard the shootin’,” he exclaimed, “in case you needed any help. I sent some young’un to fetch Merle Baker. Told him to bring a wagon, ’cause we’re gonna have more bodies than he can carry on that little handcart of his.” Ben and Mack both turned to shut him up, but it was too late. As was Tuck’s usual habit of talking loud to make up for his lack of statue, his booming voice carried into the cell room, further enforcing Pete’s conclusion that they intended to kill him.

  While a small crowd of spectators milled around outside the sheriff’s office to view Merle Baker’s efforts to pick up the mess the shotgun had made, Ben and Mack made an unsuccessful attempt to convince Pete to surrender the gun. “This gun’s the only thing I’ve got to save me from gettin’ the same thing Ormond and the others got. So, if you want it, you’re gonna have to come in and get it. But I’m warnin’ you, I’ll shoot the first one sticks his head in that door.”

  “If you do, you’ll still be locked in that cell,” Mack replied. “It won’t do you any good if you shoot me.”

  “Maybe so,” Pete said, “but it’ll be better’n you shootin’ me.”

  “He’s kinda got us by the short hairs, ain’t he?” Mack speculated. “I ain’t about to walk in that door and get shot. Maybe we can catch him when he gets to sleep.”

  “Maybe,” Ben said, “but if he happens to wake up when you’re sneakin’ in, one of you is gonna have to shoot the other one.”

  “Well, what am I gonna do?” Mack asked in frustration. “I can’t just leave him settin’ in there like that.”

  “Why not?” Ben asked. “Hell, let him sit in that cell with that body, his supper scattered on the floor outside his cell, no fresh water, no emptyin’ his thunder mug. Give him time, he’ll be ready to come outta there by the time a couple of marshals come to pick him up.”

  “I’m gonna need to do some work on my front door, though,” Mack said after he thought about what Ben said.

  “Most likely Ham Greeley’s outside with the rest of ’em,” Ben said. “Maybe he can fix you up right away.”

  “He’s out there,” Tuck chimed in. “I’ll go get him.” He started toward the door, then paused long enough to say, “I think that’s a good idea to let that son of a gun set there and stew in his own juice.”

  “Glad you approve,” Ben said. When Tuck went outside to get Ham, Ben decided he still had an appetite for supper. “Unless you want me to stay here right now, I’m gonna go up to the hotel and get something to eat before they close. I’ll be back afterward, all right?”

  “Oh, sure,” Mack was quick to reply. “You know I appreciate your help, but I reckon I can watch my jailhouse. You don’t have to come back here tonight, if you got things to do at the Coyote.” He paused, then said, “I don’t reckon that one wearin’ the mask will make another try at gettin’ him outta here, you think?”

  “Well, I can’t say for sure, but I wouldn’t think so,” Ben said. “It’s my opinion that he ain�
�t likely to try anything by himself. He was the only one wearin’ a mask and it wasn’t a bandanna tied around his neck. It was a sack coverin’ his whole head. Those two fellows with him didn’t even wear bandannas. I figure he’s got too much to lose. He’s afraid he’d be recognized, and I’ve got a feelin’ he’s hightailin’ it to Waco right now on that buckskin he likes to ride.”

  This got Bragg’s attention. “You know who he is?”

  “No, I’m only guessin’, and I ain’t got any way to prove it.” He changed the subject before having to name a name. “We’ll see how ol’ Pete likes livin’ in there with his partner, especially after his skin changes color and he goes stiff as a board.”

  * * *

  “There’s Ben!” Ruby exclaimed, out on the front porch with Rachel, Clarice, and Tiny. After they had heard the shots fired down at the jail, they were straining to see what had happened. When Rachel came over to stand beside her, Ruby pointed toward the small crowd of mostly Golden Rail patrons gathered around the sheriff’s office. “There he is,” she said again when the crowd parted to let him through.

  “I see him,” Rachel said, relieved to see that he seemed to be all right. “But where’s he going?” She asked when he turned to walk down the street, instead of turning to head toward the Lost Coyote. She walked down the steps then, to stand in the street, so she might see where he was going. “He went in the dining room,” she said when he went in the side door of the hotel. She turned to look in amazement at Ruby, who had followed her to the street. When Tiny came down the steps to join them, she turned to him. “It looks like they had a small war down there and Ben went to the dining room at the hotel. That’s just like him, isn’t it?”

  Tiny looked at her and shrugged. She obviously thought Ben should have come at once to the Coyote to let them know what had happened and that he was all right. “Well, it is time for supper, and the dinin’ room don’t stay open very late,” he offered.

  Rachel favored him with a look she reserved for small children and most men. She shook her head and said, “I’m going back inside to make sure nobody’s in there serving themselves free whiskey while we’re out here gaping at the jailhouse.” Tiny winked at Ruby and followed Rachel inside.

  Ben’s firsthand accounting of the incident at the sheriff’s office was delivered to the staff at the hotel dining room as he hurriedly ate his supper. After that, he went back to Mack Bragg’s office to see if there had been any progress in the disarming of Mack’s prisoner. There had not, but Ham Greeley was already fixing the front door up with a solid bar across it in addition to the lock. And Mack was satisfied to continue the standoff with Pete Russell until the federal marshals came to pick him up, if necessary. Since the sheriff seemed all right with the situation, as unusual as it was, Ben felt no need to stand guard with him. Only then did he return to the Lost Coyote.

  He found that everyone in the saloon had already been briefed on the occurrence at the jail by Tuck Tucker. “Did you enjoy your supper?” Rachel asked when he walked over to join her at the end of the bar.

  “Yeah, I did,” he answered, not finding her question sarcastic at all. “Myrtle cooked pork chops again, but they weren’t fried. They were in some kinda heavy gravy—pretty good.”

  She shook her head patiently, then said, “Well, we’re glad to see you’re all right. Tuck told us what happened.”

  “Figured he would,” Ben replied. There was no time for further comment, because Henry Barnes joined them at that point.

  “Glad to see you’re in one piece,” Henry greeted him. “When the shootin’ started down there, I walked out to the front of the stable and I saw that fellow wearin’ a sack on his head when he rode right by me. Scared the devil outta me, but he wasn’t payin’ me no mind. Ridin’ a buckskin, he was flat-out flyin’. I stepped back inside the door, figured he looked like he was too busy to stop and talk.” He chuckled at his humor. “Unusual buckskin horse,” he commented.

  “How so?” Ben asked, interested.

  “I don’t know why I even noticed it. I mean, with a rider wearin’ a mask and gallopin’ like hell right by me. You know how a buckskin has black stockings on his lower legs, like that dun you ride? Well, that buckskin’s left front leg had only a sock just above the hoof, and the rest of his legs had regular stocking markings.”

  “Well, that’s mighty interestin’,” Ben said, thinking he’d give a dollar to get another look at the buckskin Walt Murphy rode. He wished he had been as observant as Henry had been today. When he had seen the horse that day when Walt rode it to the church, he just admired the lines of the horse.

  CHAPTER 12

  The next morning, Ben waited until after breakfast before saddling Cousin for the twenty-mile trip to Madisonville and the railroad where he wired Captain Randolph Mitchell, his former commanding officer when he rode with F-Company, Texas Rangers. He knew Mitchell would contact the proper person in the marshal service to send a couple of deputies over to transport Pete Russell to trial. It might even be a feather in Mitchell’s cap since the capture of the surviving bank robber had been the work of a Ranger. After sending the wire, Ben spent a couple of hours in Madisonville, killing time while he rested his horse, and long enough to get a confirmation wire from Mitchell and eat dinner at the hotel dining room. Mitchell’s wire said he might have to hold the prisoner for as long as a week, depending upon the availability of the deputies to do the job. There was also the option of Ben transporting the prisoner to Austin, himself. But he gave that no consideration at all. The only reason he had gone in pursuit of the bank robbers was because they stole his horse. Once he got his horse back, it was the marshals’ or the Rangers’ business, and they were welcome to it. He was happy to give Mack Bragg a hand, but now he was ready to retreat to the Coyote and his saloon business.

  When he got back to Buzzard’s Bluff, he went to the sheriff’s office first to tell him what Mitchell had said, so he would have an idea of how long he would have to hold Pete. “Well, so far, he ain’t budged from his standoff,” Mack said. “Every time I crack that door, I hear that pistol cock, so there ain’t no worry about havin’ to feed him, or anythin’ else”

  “He’s gotta get hungry some time,” Ben reckoned, “we’ll just have to wait and see. It can’t help his resolve to have to look at last night’s supper scattered across the floor. He oughta be about ready to take a chance on your word by suppertime tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Pete Russell was more determined, or more frightened, than either Ben or Mack had speculated. The jail standoff continued unbroken over the next couple of days and soon became the main topic of conversation in the little town on the Brazos. Mack took longer and longer peeks through the cracked door as Pete became more and more weary and less alert. He reported the different stages Ormond’s body was passing through, from rigor mortis when it was stiff as a board until the body went limp again. The skin, what Mack could see through the crack in the door, went from green, to purple, to black, and the corpse’s eyes and tongue bulged out to create a hideous façade. While the sight was unnerving to Mack, Pete somehow persevered and Mack was convinced Pete just wouldn’t permit himself to look at the body.

  In the end, however, it was not the repulsive sight that ended the standoff. It was the smell. After two full days, the body had begun to putrefy, emitting an odor, both strong and unpleasant. Another day passed, and with it, there arose an odor so foul as to be overpowering. The next morning, Ben found Mack sleeping in a bedroll outside the front door of his office. When he asked the reason, Mack said, “Just stand up there next to the door and take a deep breath.”

  “I figured it had to be pretty soon now,” Ben declared. “And he still ain’t give up yet?” Right after he said it, he heard what he thought was a cry for help.

  “Yeah,” Mack complained, “he’s give up, but I’m lettin’ him holler for a while for settin’ in there like a jackass till that corpse stunk up my whole office. He oughta have to sniff it all up by hi
mself.”

  “Has he tossed that gun out?”

  “Yeah, he tossed it through the bars last night, but I let it lay,” Mack said. “When I opened the door, the smell liked to knocked me down, so I closed it to keep it from fillin’ up my office. That didn’t do no good. About three o’clock this mornin’, I had to grab my bedroll and come outside.”

  “I expect we’d best get that body outta there,” Ben said. “I’ll go see if I can roust Merle Baker out. I doubt he’s gonna want to take the body in the condition it’s in, but he might have something to clean out the smell. We’ll most likely just dig a hole and dump it in it, maybe pour some kerosene on it and burn it. But first, we’ll have to rescue your prisoner, bring him outside, and handcuff him to the steps, I reckon. I expect you’d better feed him, too. I’m surprised he can make as much noise as he is. Whaddaya say? You ready to get him? I’ll help you if you are.”

  Mack nodded reluctantly. “One thing I’m gonna do is fix those damn windows over the cells,” he said, thinking that the cause of all the trouble that followed.

  “I reckon,” Ben replied.

  The activity at the jail did not go unnoticed by the early risers in the little town, and pretty soon there was a gathering of spectators. Some even ventured close enough to get a whiff of the odor emanating from the cell room. One of these was Tuck Tucker, who walked into Mack’s office but turned around immediately. “I think that feller is startin’ to turn,” he announced to Ben and Mack.